I grew up in Indiana, a four-season climate with blistering summers, splendid autumns, bitter winters, and glorious springs. The rhythm of life was visibly manifested in the sights and sounds and smells of nature all around me. So it wasn’t until I lived in Singapore, a tropical climate with much more subtle variations in the seasons, that I came to fully appreciate the liturgical calendar. The seasons of the church year bring a structure and shape to life that is comforting, hopeful, and empowering, albeit often under-appreciated and under-utilized.
In the Colossians lesson for this week we read that Jesus is the image of the invisible God. Jesus is Eternity stepping into time, Everlasting stepping into human history. Just as Jesus is the image of the invisible God, so the liturgy, the lectionary, and the liturgical calendar are the Church’s images of the life of Christ. They bring enlightenment to a great mystery, and profound truths to the story of who we are. In the rhythm of the church year, we affirm our faith and our identity. The sights, the sounds, the songs, the colors, the Word, the meal – all of these are tangible manifestations of our heritage and our hope. The mind-blowing incomprehensible beauty of our story is that it only gets sweeter each year as we plumb the depths of its riches and God opens the eyes of our hearts to new truths, new realities, new hopes.
We began the season of Pentecost all those weeks ago with Holy Trinity Sunday – God revealing himself to us as relationship: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Now we end this season and the year on Christ the King Sunday with a King who is hanging on a cross seemingly powerless to thwart the earthly rulers determined to put an end to his life and his ministry. All hope for a King, a Messiah, a Savior, has been nailed to that chunk of wood, pounded into despair, headed to the grave. The leaders and soldiers are taunting Jesus – if he’s who he says he is why doesn’t he save himself? One of the two criminals by his side agrees – why doesn’t he save himself and, while he’s at it, save them, too?
Somebody in this story saw beyond the immediate reality. He accepted his guilt and condemnation as proper punishment for what he had done and, in that harsh reality, he saw a glimmer of hope. Beside him was the true source of salvation. Here was God at work making peace through the blood of the cross, through the sacrifice of this Innocent Man. And what does this thief ask? In his humility, he asks simply to be remembered.
Remember me. Not save me. Not justify me. Not free me. Not rescue me. Just a plain and simple – remember me. This reminded me of a story a friend told me a few years ago. One of our college classmates who had also grown up in our neck of the woods had enjoyed a considerable degree of political success since graduation. One day, at the local grocery, my friend had run into this fellow who greeted him warmly, shook his hand, commented nicely on his son who was with him – and added grandly: “If you’re ever in D.C., let me know. I’ll get the lad a tour.” A few months later, my friend and his son were headed to Washington and attempted to make contact in advance to arrange a visit to the politician’s office. No reply ever arrived, not even an acknowledgement that the messages had been received. So it often is with earthly leaders.
But Jesus is no earthly leader. He isn’t out to save himself. He is out to give himself up completely and totally in order to save us. He is the King who bends down to lift us up to new life. He will not and cannot forget the works of his hands, his creatures made fellow heirs and children of God through his sacrificial atonement. He remembers us. And, in that remembering, he creates for us a place in his kingdom.
So now the last Sunday of the church year is past, but we have one final observance. Thanksgiving is upon us. Let us take this time to slow down, breathe deeply, close our eyes, join hands with friends and family, and give thanks to God.
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