The feast of Christ the King marks the last Sunday after Pentecost and can be seen as a prelude to the Season of Advent. This theme of Christ as the king aligns well with Jesus’ consistent teaching of the kingdom of God. In God’s kingdom, Christ is the king. This theocratic concept, however, isn’t too attractive. It feels too archaic if not oppressive, especially when we just take the term, “God’s kingdom” or “Christ the king” at face value without unpacking how it’s linked with Jesus’ teaching.
The kingdom of God is God’s inner presence. Christ being a royal figure is the one who embodies the rules of God’s kingdom. These two are not two different realities but are always available deep in our hearts. God’s presence is 24/7 available and even beyond death. The life that is attentive and thus led by God’s inner presence is how one becomes Christlike. God’s presence born in us and lived out in the world is the embodiment of Christ in us and out in the world. Then how do the rules of Christ in God’s kingdom play out? In today’s teaching, Jesus is simply teaching us how to treat the vulnerable. Yet, this topic of moral teaching can be taught by anyone with exemplary moral authority. What he does differently here is that he is inviting the followers to be the “place” of hospitality. This is different from saying one becomes a hospitable person. One becomes a physical and geographical place of empathy and compassion as any physical being occupies Jesus embodies the presence of God. His physical nature becomes the channel of God’s perpetual availability to all. It becomes the place where hungry, thirsty, naked, sick, and estranged people can find their needs. This doesn’t mean that Jesus turns out to be a Roman welfare agency. Whoever comes to him is able to find existential fulfillment which originates from God’s presence. He affirms everyone’s worth to be alive and be seen. He then shows the way of life to true happiness. We often hear a slogan that says about the church. The church is not a place but a people. I think this is a false dichotomy. A person is a place, a physically and geographically specific area occupied on the earth’s surface. In the case of a person, it is mobile. Each one of us is called to become the place of Christ where the vulnerable find peace, courage, and rest. When we gather together, this place of Christ multiplies and becomes the place of Christs. This image of Jesus as a place echoes his analogy of the kingdom of God in Matthew 13:31-32: “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in his field; it is the smallest of all the seeds, but when it has grown it is the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches.” The place of Christ is where birds come and make nests. Now what I’ve unpacked regarding Christ the King as the embodiment of the rules of God’s inner presence means nothing if there’s no practical implication. We always ask ourselves, if we’re serious about us becoming the place of Christ, how to construct the place of Christ in us. First, we want to work with our experience of being vulnerable. Rather than forgetting about our personal experiences of suffering, we use them as a way to empathize with those who are suffering. We know what it’s like to be hungry, thirsty, embarrassed, sick, and isolated or lonely. Our own experiences are the way to join others. Yet, we don’t want to presume that others’ experiences are the same as ours. We only know what they’re “like.” We do not fully understand what they “are” because we experience them in different contexts and personal circumstances. This practice of keeping in mind our experiences of vulnerability, however, is not to remain in the past and continue to victimize ourselves. The healthiest way to transform the wound is to make it healed by accompanying those who are wounded. An unhealed hurt continues to hurt while only a healed wound can heal. (This can surely remind us of the term “a wounded healer.”) To become the place of Christ ourselves, no wounds can be buried but must be open for the radiant light of Christ to heal. The only way that our suffering is worthwhile is when our experience of it is used to walk together with those who are suffering. We become the shade that they can at least take a breath and a break. Then this specific image of creating a shade or shelter calls us a deeper question about ourselves. How peaceful do we feel about our presence? Is there room for others to sit in our presence? Am I too occupied with myself, my agenda, me, and mine? To physiologically make space to create the place of Christ in us, we breathe in and out as though we sweep in and out. Our hearts must be vacant to inherit the kingdom of God. |
Paul"...life up your love to that cloud [of unknowing]...let God draw your love up to that cloud...through the help of his grace, to forget every other thing." Archives
January 2025
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