The first chapter of Genesis God states – Let us make humanity, male and female in our own image.  All well and good. But if we are made in the image of an unseen God, then we can only come to learn something about God through taking a good hard look at ourselves. The tricky question then is, which image of humanity is God reflected in? Maybe all of them?

Like a double-edged sword, the mirroring of divine and human images cuts both ways. We can deduce that God is loving, relational, and collaborative because we also possess these qualities. Yet, we can equally imagine God as jealous, angry with a propensity for violence in pursuit of the ends of power and control because these are also very typical human characteristics. The Bible’s presentation of shifting and changing images of God -may in the end simply be the projections of our own conflicting images of ourselves.

The final Sunday before the start of a liturgical year on Advent Sunday is dedicated to Christ as King – begging the question – what kind of king, what kind of kingship is being imaged here?

Pantocrator is one popular image of Christ as King – omnipotent ruler of all of creation – often pictured on the concave half dome typical of many Orthodox churches. We see Christ as Pantocrator in St Martin’s great West window which is by no mistake a war memorial window. As Pantocrator, Christ is robed in the trappings of political power, the paramount operative in the zero-sum-equation of dominion through domination.

Christus Rex is another traditional image of Christ – an image depicted in the St Martin Chapel reredos. Here Christ is robed not as king but as high priest whose resurrection life springs forward from the cross – which is now firmly behind him in the background.  Both Pantocrator and Christus Rex images sit in uneasy tension with the other enduring image of Christ reigning not from a throne or a gilded cross but dying, nailed to a tree.

The final Sunday of the year is a celebration of the end time as depicted in 1 Corinthians 15 – when the Father will place all things in subjection under his Son who as dutiful Son will complete the Father’s restoration of the divine dream for all of creation.

Our images of power vie with the our images of vulnerability. We project humanity’s competing characteristics into the blank space that is the unseen God. If we are fashioned in the image of an unseen creator, then we can only come to learn something about God through taking a good hard look at ourselves. Thus the tricky question remains, which of our many conflicting self-images do we want Christ as king to reflect?

Interesting is an interesting word! What an interesting historical moment we are living through. Our culture rocks and reels as the tectonic plates shift unpredictably. Newton’s Third Law of Motion states that counteracting forces always come in pairs – as the pendulum of history swings between the order and chaos – between continuity and disruption – each vying for dominance. The theological thrust for designating the final Sunday in the liturgical year to the kingship of Christ crystalizes the waring tensions within us – counteracting forces finding expression in competing images of God.

In 1925 Pope Pius XI proclaimed the feast of Christ the King as an assertion of the Catholic Church’s protest to the rise of fascist and communist authoritarianism. He chose the images of strength in asserting the equally authoritarian power of the Church as the only center of allegiance for Roman Catholics. At a considerable cost to liberty and freedom of thought within the Church, he marshaled the Catholic legions for battle against forces in direct competition with the power of the Church.

The historical context for the origins of the commemoration of Christ the King today sounds a tone that is both timely yet also problematic as once again we are being called to face down a new resurgence of authoritarian forces. Pius XI drew on an old story of one authoritarian system asserting itself against competing, equally authoritarian rivals – strength against strength. For those of us who do not subscribe to the notion of an authoritarian church or even an authoritarian state, Christ the King is a very necessary reminder of the dangers in mistaking power for strength and vulnerability for weakness.

Human beings have rich imaginations – but left to our own devices – as it were- our imaginations tend to recycle familiar image patterns. Consequently, we only tend to recognise what we are already preconditioned to look for.  In the pursuit of the deeper search for the spiritual or soul-filled connection we so long for – the challenge is to allow the boundaries of our imaginations to become more permeable – less strictly policed by our conventional selves – allowing something new to break-in.

An example of the in-breaking of new insight might be that instead of the all too familiar counteracting pairing of strength with vulnerability, continuity with disruption as polar alternatives- we imagine new possibilities in a collaborative pairing of strength through vulnerability – with the forces of disruption seen not as destructive of continuity but as the timely reshaping and revitalizing of continuity over the long term.

We are storied beings – meaning we are only ever the stories we tell about ourselves. Stories are one of the most effective ways through which the unfamiliar breaks-in to disrupt the familiar patterns of recycled imagination. New spiritual insight breaks-in through the medium of stories that change through shock or surprise. Parables are disruptive stories – which like the needle on an old vinyl record jumps tracks as it hits a scratch in the record’s surface – disrupting the familiar melody and jolting us suddenly into a new one.

Matthew’s Jesus parable of the Sheep and the Goats allows new spiritual insight to break-in – disrupting our usual imaginings of Jesus’ kingship. In this parable Jesus presents kingship as service, strength through the embrace of vulnerability – the in-breaking of compassion disrupting the more familiar continuity of hardness of heart.

Matthew presents a picture of the end time when the Son of Man will come in his glory to sit upon his throne. But this is not Jesus clothed in worldly power. What breaks-into our imaginations through this story are the responsibilities of kingship being those of service, empathy, and a concern for the least important, the least powerful, the least able among us. Justice is the hallmark of this image of kingship in which Jesus echoes the prophet Ezekiel in our first lesson who speaks of God as shepherd of the flock seeking out the lost, bringing back the strayed, binding up the injured, strengthening the weak, and feeding them with justice.

We embrace the image of Christ the King because at the heart of the gospels stands the iconic image of Jesus’ royalty, not as one lifted high above us decked in robes of kingly power, but as one who stoops to reach down to join us in the one nailed to a tree. Christ’s kingship – breaks open the strength, or vulnerability, continuity, or disruption polarities with a new and revolutionary image of strength displayed in vulnerability, of disruption as necessary for long term continuity.

At its base the cross was wedged into place by three huge stones hammered into the ground. These are the stones of strength through service, strength in vulnerability, and strength as the fruit of justice.

Christ’s kingship extends over us to discomfort our search for easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships – so that we may live more deeply from less fearful hearts. Christ’s kingship extends over us to bless us with anger at injustice, oppression, and exploitation of the helpless – so that we may work tirelessly in the cause for freedom and peace with justice. Christ’s kingship extends over us to bless us with tears shed for those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation, and war – so that we may reach out our hand to comfort them by standing together in their pain. Christ’s kingship extends over us to bless us with enough foolishness to believe that we can make a difference in this world – so that we can do what others claim cannot be done. Amen (My paraphrasing of an anonymous Franciscan blessing)