Of Coronations
A reflection for Christ the King.
On May the 6th of next year, Charles will be crowned King Charles the 3rd, at Westminster Abbey. I have good reason to believe that the Archbishop of Canterbury has the occasion firmly in his diary. The Prime Minister of England will also be in attendance.
There will be lots of pomp and circumstance. There will be shouts of “Long Live the king”. People will wear spiffy clothes, trumpets will sound and choirs will sing. Afterwards, there will be a cup of English Breakfast tea and maybe a scone, or a marmalade sandwich. They will all need a little sustenance afterwards. It will be an extraordinary event. I count myself privileged to live in this age and to be one of the millions to gawp at this age-old tradition and see history in the making.
But in today’s gospel, we see an altogether different coronation. In fact, you could be forgiven for thinking that it wasn’t really a coronation at all. You could understandably and swiftly come to the conclusion that these are just some notorious felons, a few no-gooders getting their just desserts.
In fact, the Master has gone to exceptional lengths to place his finest moment in direct contrast to what we will see on our screens next year.
Instead of Westminster Abbey with its shiny brass and polished pews, we have nothing less than Golgotha-the Place of the skull. The name of the venue says it all.
Instead of a glittering crown of exquisite jewels, we get a spiky, harsh piercing crown of thorns.
Instead of a comfy throne with an embroidered plump cushion, Our Lord has a splintery crude cross.
Jesus will not have his hands anointed with fragrant holy oil, but instead, have them pierced with fearsome iron spikes.
There will be no triumphant trumpets and soaring choirs, instead, we get severe mockery and people staring on. The ones who will watch anything if it’s free.
Three groups of people mock Jesus. The leaders, the soldiers and one of the criminals. They mock Jesus’ identity and they mock his power to save. It is one thing to mock someone’s authority and power. What you do. But the mocking of one's identity is perhaps the harshest speech of all, for it is the mocking of who you are.
Listen closely.
First the soldiers.
“If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!”
Then the leaders
“He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Messiah of God, his chosen one!”
And finally one of the criminals.
“Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!”
Instead of the king being arrayed in gorgeous apparel, Our Lord is stripped naked. And at the end of the day, his tunic is not carefully dry-cleaned and folded away by the butler. It is gambled away to a lucky punter.
Instead of good quality Twining's English Breakfast tea or maybe a luscious show wine, Our Lord gets sour wine. This too is part of the mockery.
Almost as if to say “Here ya go, cop this!”
The cheapest roughest red that has had the lid off just a few days too many.
A far cry from the wine of the last supper used the night before and a very far cry from the wine at the wedding at Cana.
“You have saved the best wine until now.”
It is the darkest of sets and episodes. If you were trying to write something glorious and majestic, you would go for the whole Westminster Abbey scenario in May and not the place of the skull on Good Friday.
And it begs the question.
If our Lord really is King of Kings and Lords of Lords, then why O why did he choose the place of the skull and such a disfiguring, demeaning way to have a coronation?
Two Reasons.
First, to show that there is no place, no situation, no time in our life, ever, that he is absent from. Whatever dark place we might go to, whatever grim reality we find ourselves in, no matter how disgusting or abysmal, he has already been there and is there with us.
Secondly, so that you might see how much he loves you. “I will go to the place of The Skull and demonstrate in unequivocal and grizzly style, just what I am prepared to do for you. When I am on the cross taking my last breath you will see how much I adore you.”
It is this love, this unconquerable love, that makes him authentically King.
Yes, you could easily think that The Master had lost all control, all power, all authority. Any claim to leadership and being the brightest and the best was just phoney palaver...
He’d lost the plot, his clothes, his life, his dignity, and his power.
Or had he?…
There is a paradox that I know to be so very true and yet I can never understand it clearly, and the paradox is this.
That to consciously and willingly choose to surrender power actually shows that you are unassailably in control.
And that is what we celebrate here on the feast of Christ the King. This life-saving mystery, this paradoxical treasure. This is what we claim for ourselves; it is what we live in our daily lives. And we will rejoice in it, long after the last choir boy has packed away his music in Westminster Abbey and the Archbishop of Canterbury has put off his cope and mitre.