The Kingship of God is a scriptural concept and expresses a spiritual truth: God, the creator of all, is in charge of this world. And we are members of that kingdom. As such, our lives are worked out in the context of a world which is neither chaotic nor random but ordered by love and maintained in justice, an orderly world which is a kingdom, the very Kingdom of God.
Jesus himself was called King by several of his followers. During his lifetime on earth, Nathanael called Jesus “King of Israel” after Jesus said he’d seen Nathanael by a fig tree. (Jn. 1:49) The crowd used the title as a derisive one, mocking him while he hung on the cross: “He is the King of Israel; let him come down from the cross now…” (Mt. 27:42, also in Mk. 15) Those Magi went in search of the child “born King of the Jews” (Mt. 2:2), and even Pilate asked Jesus if he was, in fact, a king. (Jn. 18:37 & Mt. 27:11) The title was, from time to time, ascribed to Jesus after the ascension. Writing to Timothy, Paul confessed that Christ is “King of the ages” (1 Tim. 1:17) and called him “King of kings and Lord of lords.” (1 Tim. 6:15) For obvious reasons, John’s Apocalypse abounds in language about Christ the King, the righteous victor who will overthrow the wicked powers of this world: Jesus is “ruler of the kings of the earth” (Rev. 1:5), “King of the nations” (Rev. 15:3), and “King of kings and Lord of lords” (Rev. 19:16, also 17:14). Jesus talked about his kingdom, and he made mention of kings in many of his parables, such was the association readily made for his listening audience.
Jesus never called himself King, though, nor did he accept it when offered. The title he seemed to prefer was ‘Son of Man’ or ‘Son of God’, and yet Jesus resisted people making a ready connection between him and the great messianic hope of the people. The Messianic Secret of the gospels – the reason Jesus tells people to keep quiet that he is, in fact, the Christ – is because a commitment to discipleship must be the result of an organic faith, growing from the inside out, not following a leader like we are so readily programmed to do. The titles we employ – King, President, CEO – carry so many associations that they have the dangerous tendency to inhibit a truly heart-grown faith, the only thing which will lead to that kingdom within, the only thing which creates true discipleship.
For these reasons, then, Jesus and Pilate have what seems an unnecessary argument in Pilate’s chamber on the night our Lord was handed over to be crucified. (Jn. 18:33-37) Pilate wants desperately to maintain order on that clamorous night, and it seems he’s aware that Jesus has been wrongfully accused. “Are you King of the Jews?” Pilate asks, exasperated by the proceedings. Jesus answers in an odd way, not answering the question with a simple ‘Yes’ or ‘No’. “How’d you hear that?” Jesus asks. Pilate shoots back, “Look, tell me, what have you done?” Jesus gives an unusual answer once again, mentioning his followers and talking of his kingdom. “Aha! Then you are a King,” Pilate snaps back, thinking he’s caught Jesus. “You say that I am a king,” Jesus says, and again goes off on a seemingly disconnected musing about truth and his followers and pointing to his work of reconciling all things in Him: “Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.”
Jesus doesn’t deny his kingship, not at all. The fact that we celebrate the Feast of Christ the King is meet and right so to do. That God in Christ is King of everything is a standard of faith and a profoundly comfortable truth (…well, I suppose it’s decidedly uncomfortable if you are already a worldly power or principality). And Christ’s Kingship has profound consequences for the ways in which we live in this world, amidst these powers and principalities. Officially instituted in 1925 with Pope Pius XI’s encyclical, Quas Primas (In the first), the Feast not only affirms the scriptural witness about our Lord’s Kingship but also made clear in the early 20th century – a time of growing fascism and vitriolic nationalism – that the Christian’s supreme allegiance is due only one ruler, Christ the King, in heaven.
This is why Jesus makes Pilate squirm through an oddly philosophical conversation about kingship and kingdom on that heated night. What Jesus points to in not taking on the title “King” is that it is God’s nature to give and give freely and give of God’s very self. As Lord of all, God has everything, indeed, is everything. God is complete in Godself, the very fullness of Being. In God, there is no gift that is not shared (in truth, the opposite it impossible; if it’s not given freely it’s not a gift). The gifts of God, being that they are, by definition, of God are also, by definition, shared. God knows no other way than to give freely, vulnerably, fully. There is, then, in God, only blessing.
As ruler of all, we short-handedly call God “King”. Moreover, He could very well establish that fact by having us pay continual homage, receiving as a monarch our fidelity and love and service. But God doesn’t establish his dominion by power; no, he does the opposite: He makes Himself vulnerable, becoming one of us, even dying for our sake in a humiliating, dreadful means of public execution, dying so that we may live. Our Lord doesn’t ‘lord’ over us in the way we would otherwise associate with the term “king” or “monarch”. On the one level, He models for us selfless, unconditional love. On a much deeper level, however, He does this because He is this; by God’s nature He is selfless, generous, vulnerable and blessed – hence that greater mystery we call the Trinity, a mutual, egalitarian, self-giving monarchy of the One who is Three and the Three who are One.
The identity and nature of God cannot, therefore, be summed up in words like “King”. After all, God is not what God says He is, nor is He what we say. No, God is is who God shows himself to be by acting meaningfully and decisively in history and our lives. Faith, in turn, is not intellectual assent to a series of beliefs – God is King – but, rather, an experience of the living God, the experience of knowing that one’s life caught up in the life of God, the creator and lover of all.
We are called to a beatitude life, a life of supreme blessedness, which means we are called to share freely and with humility the gifts we have been given. Especially in this fast approaching season of gifts – gift-giving, gift-buying, gift-wrapping, gift-getting – it’s counter-cultural to celebrate that the only true gift is the one which is given away, freely, and used for the wellbeing of all – shared, not owned; given away, with no expectation or hope of return.
That’s what the gospels call a beatitude life, a life marked by blessedness, not fullness, not giftedness. Sharing of yourself in some small reflection of the way in which God, who is and yet never accepted the title, King of kings and Lord of lords, shared – freely, vulnerably, for the life and blessing of the world.