Sermon preached at Evensong on the feast of Christ the King 2025

In this church of coronation, going right back to William the Conqueror on Christmas Day in 1066, and where King Charles the Third and Queen Camilla were themselves crowned on 6th May 2023, it feels slightly uncomfortable to be reminded that the Old Testament is not wholly supportive of the notion of kingship.

The great prophet Samuel, a judge in Israel, was, we are told, displeased that the people of Israel came to him saying ‘we want a king.’ They were unhappy being governed by judges, such as Samuel and his sons (his sons had not covered themselves in glory, it must be said), and one suspects that Samuel was feeling more than a little rejected. The Lord confirms that this is the case, they have rejected Samuel along with his sons, but that by rejecting Samuel they are in fact rejecting the Lord their God – the one who appointed judges to rule Israel in the first place. By saying they want a king they are rejecting the king they already have; who is the Lord their God. They have never ceased in rejecting their sovereign ever since their liberation from Egypt, God notes, with what might be a weary shrug and an eye-roll.

In the end, God accommodates himself to the idea of an Israelite king, but tells Samuel to warn the people what a king will mean. Kings need a lot of maintenance; charioteers, horsemen, farmers, perfumers, bakers, people to serve them. Kings need to be able to make gifts to ensure loyalty, and that means land, and produce, and livestock. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, the Lord seems to be saying.

The psalmist, traditionally King David himself, is quite a bit more optimistic about what a good king can mean for a people and a land;

He shall keep the simple folk by their right (we heard from psalm 72): defend the children of the poor, and punish the wrong doer.

But he recognises that, to be good, kings need a king too.

Give the King thy judgements, O God : and thy righteousness unto the King's son.

Kings, and those who will succeed them, cannot be properly kingly without God as their sovereign.

I suspect I wouldn’t have lasted very long here at Westminster Abbey were I not somewhat in favour of our British constitutional Monarchy. British, or at least English Monarchs, haven’t always lived up to the promise of psalm 72 – some felt they had a divine right to do whatsoever they pleased – but at the very least, all but a very few of them had to come here, into this house of God not just to be given kingly authority, but also, one hopes, to be reminded that their temporal authority depends entirely upon the eternal authority of the one eternal King of kings. Those with any degree of sensitivity should have spotted that their coronation marked their dependence on Christ, on God – a solemn reminder that even kings need a king if they are going to be a blessing and not a blight on their people.

While this country does look a bit old-fashioned in having a monarch at all, let alone one who is anointed and crowned in a lavish and complex religious ceremony, it does indicate clearly the One to whom the Monarch is themselves subject. Being sworn-in by a judge, made subject to the Rule of Law might hint at the Divine Law on which it depends, but, for me, the theology needs to be more explicit, perhaps now more than ever. Kings, Presidents, wealthy and powerful individuals, need to remember their absolute dependence if they are to be a blessing. Kings, and their ilk, do need a king. 

The psalmist paints a glorious picture of the king who knows their dependence on God, and who rules according to God’s judgement and righteousness: 

In his time shall the righteous flourish : yea, and abundance of peace, so long as the moon endureth…. and …
All kings shall fall down before him : all nations shall do him service.

Now this could sound like a super-power demanding that lesser powers kow-tow; show how grateful they are, perhaps. But this obeisance is not a result of either military might or economic dominance. Kings bow down before this king because of the way he behaves.

he shall deliver the poor when he crieth : the needy also, and him that hath no helper. 
He shall be favourable to the simple and needy : and shall preserve the souls of the poor. 

This is the measure of a godly king, a godly ruler, even a godly super-wealthy entrepreneur; concern for the poorest, for those who cannot help themselves. Recognising our own dependence on God opens our eyes to the dependency of others, to reflect God’s compassion and mercy, and this grace is especially needful in those with great power if they are going to use that power well – if they are going to be a psalm 72 kind of king rather than Samuel’s worst nightmare. 

Kings need a king; the powerful need to know their dependence. 

Pilate knew that Jesus was accused of claiming to be the King of the Jews. By the end of their encounter, he had been challenged with the thought that this prisoner might be his king too. 

Jesus spoke of a kingdom, his kingdom, that was not from this world, not from here. Here, in this encounter, was the Praetorium, the Governor’s House, originally the tent from which a Roman Commanding Officer directed his army, with devastating effect to whoever dared resist. Here, ‘this world’, is a world of brutal power, of assured dominance, of command and control. 

My kingdom is not from here, said Jesus, not from this world. So you are a king, asks Pilate, but king of where and of what? What kind of threat are you?

For this I was born – said Jesus, reminding us (who know) that his was no royal birth; reminding us that he is fragile flesh, born of a nobody. His coming into the world was not to pursue some political or dynastic agenda, not to seek power or wealth – his coming into the world was to testify to the truth; to testify to the truth that he is, and the truth from which he comes; the truth which was sent to proclaim a kingdom, the truth which the Israelites rejected when they asked Samuel for a king, the truth that God is sovereign over all creation.

The truth that everything depends on and is subject to him, and that this subjection does not diminish us, or humiliate us, but calls us forth to justice and righteousness and compassion and mercy. We bow down before this King of kings not because we are forced to, but because we love to.

My kingdom is not from here, said Jesus, it does not begin in this world, from the place of power, of control, of coercion; it beings in truth, the truth that God is, the truth that is looking Pontius Pilate squarely in the eye, even as he struggles to contain, to categorise, to get some purchase on this prisoner.

My kingdom is not from here. Let us pray for the powerful, and for ourselves, that we may know our dependence, and rejoice in the King of kings who was born humbly among us ‘full of grace and truth’, that we may listen to his voice and dwell in his kingdom.