Christ and the thief by Nikolai Ge, 1893
The people stayed there before the cross watching Jesus. As for the leaders, they jeered at him. ‘He saved others,’ they said, ‘let him save himself if he is the Christ of God, the Chosen One.’ The soldiers mocked him too, and when they approached to offer him vinegar they said, ‘If you are the king of the Jews, save yourself.’ Above him there was an inscription: ‘This is the King of the Jews.’
ff
The Feast of Christ the King is celebrated
this Sunday next around the Christian world. It is the last Sunday of the
liturgical calendar. The church’s new liturgical year begins with the 1st
Sunday of Advent.
The extinguishment of European monarchies
throughout the early 20th century gave rise to a rash of ‘isms’ –
most of which have now disappeared in their turn. Nevertheless kingship survives in many of our
neighbouring Asian and Pacific countries - Tonga, Thailand, Malaysia, Cambodia,
not least of all, New Zealand, Papua New Guinea and ourselves. Many Maori of
Aotearoa recognise Tuheitia Paki as the Maori King.
The Feast of Christ the King was
instituted by Pope Pius XI in 1925 as his response to rampant nationalism,
atheism and growing Fascism. It was Pius’ way to impress on the faithful that
Jesus’ sovereignty was superior to all forms of political governance: Christ
has sovereignty over all. This teaching, however, clearly distinguishes between
God’s kingdom and the Church. The Church is not the kingdom of God and vice
versa. The Church is a servant of the kingdom. Its role is not to draw people
into the Church itself, but to herald the kingdom.
From this we must accept that genuine and loving acts of goodness,
kindness, and creativity may lead to the kingdom whether or not the ‘actor’ is Christian, Buddhist, Muslim, Hindu or
animist … for all humanity might say:
‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’ And his answer to us is:
‘Indeed I promise you, today you will be with me in paradise (cf Luke 23:42f).’
While hereditary, elected, nominated,
constitutional or absolute monarchies are relatively few they are in sharp
contrast to the recent American presidential elections where the promise of
good governance was overwhelmed by personal battles. Only Jesus can invite us
into his kingdom and the only deal being offered is that we must love
another.
Peter Douglas
HEAD OF SCHOOL SERVICES, NORTH
A
full harvest
by
Joan Chittister
Life is a thing of many stages and moving
parts. What we do with ease at one time of life we can hardly manage at
another. What we could not fathom doing when we were young, we find great joy
in when we are old. Like the seasons through which we move, life itself is a
never-ending series of harvests, a different fruit for every time.
The skill of life, of course, lies in
harvesting well and harvesting always, in taking the best that life has to give
at any stage, in being patient with ourselves along our way. The Sufi tell a
story about what happens when we force things: Once upon a time, the story
goes, a seeker found a cocoon resting quietly. Intent on seeing the butterfly
within, the seeker held the cocoon in loving hands, breathed warm breath upon
it and watched with excitement as the butterfly emerged. But hardly had the
newly hatched beauty spread its wings then it died. “Why did my butterfly die?”
the seeker asked the Holy One. “To teach you a lesson,” the Holy One said.
“Everything can be born in due time; nothing can be rushed.”
The secret of life is to let every segment
of it produce its own yield at its own pace. Every period has something new to
teach us: The harvest of youth is achievement; the harvest of middle age is is
wisdom; the harvest of life is serenity. The Rule of Benedict tells us to do
all things with counsel, to learn from those around us who have already gone
the way before us, to ask the opinion of the entire community when making major
decisions. Those are all good lessons. They can save us from ourselves. They
can stop us from forcing butterflies before their time. They can make the
harvest full.
—from A Monastery Almanac by Joan Chittister
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