“All life has emptiness at its core; it is the quiet hollow reed through which the wind of God blows and makes the music that is our life.”
Wayne Muller
This week we closed out the liturgical year with the Feast of Christ the King.
I used to think that this feast day was out of alignment with late fall on this side of the planet, offering nothing like the synchronicity of spring blooms bursting open in perfect unison with Resurrection Sunday, or the gentle way that winter’s long, dark nights fit Advent like a glove. To celebrate the triumph of our King, Jesus enthroned in all of His heavenly glory, just as everything outside is stripped of its former abundance and winter’s winds begin to blow? It seemed off somehow.
But the more that I follow Jesus deeper into His Kingdom, the more I think this might be the most appropriate seasonal pairing of them all. Because Jesus’ Kingship was, and is, and will always be established in our lives, in the Church, and in the world, through those who come before Him as He came before us - stripped of our cover and protection, unarmed, unguarded, vulnerable, and willingly exposed to the elements of this harsh and uncertain existence. Its only when we come to Jesus empty handed, that He becomes able to lead us Home.
I know this and yet I still struggle to live into it completely. I remember it, but then I forget it. Which just leaves me standing in the world in a way that looks a bit like a tree, refusing to drop its leaves come fall. Clinging to all of the things that are destined to crumble, decay, and pass away at my feet the next time the wind begins to blow. And by doing so hindering my own ability to receive the promises and provision of the Prince of Peace.
When we make claims with our lips that Jesus is King of kings and Lord of lords, but do so with our hands full of so many other methods and means of defense, we prevent ourselves from reaching out to really receive the life that is offered on Earth as it is in Heaven, through Him.
I love how this interchange is illustrated in the moments leading up to Jesus’ arrest. Where the soldiers roll up with the help of Judas, armed with torches and clubs , and Peter responds by slicing the servant of the high priest’s ear off. But rather than celebrating Peter’s loyalty or appreciating his effort to protect and defend him, Jesus rebukes him, saying “those who live by the sword will die by the sword.”
And this same rebuke applies to everyone in some way. If our aim is to have Christ enthroned in our lives, we have to examine the swords that we are still living by, and at risk of dying by. Recognizing that they may not look as much like a sword as we expect them to. Though they operate on behalf of similar assumptions.
Today, we stand on the threshold of Advent, and the feast of Christ the King sends us into the season ahead with a stunning and final reminder of where we are and whose we are and just what exactly it is that we claim has happened and will continue to happen. And with that comes the opportunity to enter Advent a little more changed by the previous fall. A little more bare. A little more exposed. A little more disarmed. With our hands and our hearts a little more open. And therefore a little more prepared to reach for and receive the gift that is this newborn King of Kings.