Fifty
years ago last Friday, Nellie Connelly, riding in a motorcade sitting next to
her husband, Governor John Connelly, took in the joyous crowds that lined the
streets, turned in her seat, and addressed John F. Kennedy: “You certainly
can’t say the people of Dallas haven’t given you a nice welcome, Mr.
President.” “No, you certainly can’t,”
he replied. Those were the last four
words spoken by a man whose speeches moved nations and molded generations.
Famous
last words. The last thing Conrad Hilton
said was this: “Leave the shower curtain on the inside of the tub.” Bob Hope’s sister asked him where he wanted
to be buried. The comedian’s response
became his last words, “Surprise me.” The
last thing a long-time writer for a television soap opera named Charles Gussman
said was, “And now for a final word from
our sponsor.” James French, sitting in
the electric chair, turned to gathered reporters and said, “Hey boy, I’ve got
tomorrow’s headline for you: ‘French Fries!’”
Famous
last words. See if you can guess who
said this:
·
“I found Rome brick, I leave it marble.” – Emperor
Augustus.
·
“I only regret that I have but one life to lose for
my country.” – Nathan Hale.
·
“Strike the tent.” – Robert E. Lee
·
“Don’t give up the ship.” – James Lawrence
· “Roger, go at
throttle-up.” – Dick Scobee, pilot of the space shuttle Challenger
·
“Oh wow. Oh
wow. Oh wow.” – Steve Jobs
On this
final Sunday in the Church Year – a day when we acknowledge and celebrate the Kingship
of Christ – we hear two of our Lord’s final ‘seven words’:
·
Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they
are doing.
·
Truly, I tell you, today you will be with me in
Paradise.
Off all
the things we have heard Jesus say, of all his teachings and parables recorded
in Luke’s Gospel that we have read over the span of this liturgical year, these
are the last two things we hear Jesus say.
Remembering dying words hardly seems like a fitting way to celebrate
kingship, does it. But these words, so
intentionally spoken, reveal something significant about the Kingdom over which
our Lord reigns. First and foremost, it
is not a kingdom marked by geographical boundaries nor is it controlled by money
or by might. It is a Kingdom of
relationships. “You will be with
me,” Jesus tells the thief. “We will be
in relationship with one another this day and forever.” Wherever and whenever a person is in
relationship with God there is the Kingdom.
Whenever and wherever two or more people who are in relationship with
God are in relationship with one another, there is the Kingdom of God we call
the Church.
“Father,
forgive them” – for any relationship to survive and thrive there has to be
forgiveness because at some point or another, and then over and over again, we
hurt one another. By forgiving those who
put him to death, Jesus highlights that Kingdom relationships are to be resilient
and should always rise above anything any of us does to harm or destroy
them. The hardest work we are called to
do as followers of Jesus is the work of reconciliation – the work of restoring
and repairing broken relationships.
When a
person is ordained to the priesthood in the Episcopal Church, he or she
promises to preach the Word of God and to administer the Sacraments in such as
way that the reconciling love of Christ is made know. This vow – which goes far beyond preaching
and liturgical practice – is perhaps the most difficult to keep. We in the priesthood are not called to be
perfect. We make mistakes. We hurt people. People hurt us. We are just like everyone else in this
regard. What sets us apart is the vow we
take to seek reconciliation; to make healed and whole and healthy Kingdom
relationships our utmost priority. It is
a vow not rooted in good behavior, you know the “I’ll be a bigger person and be
the one to bury the hatchet first.” It
is rooted in the essence and life of our King.
What do
you know about the life of Elizabeth Barrett, the famous Victorian era
poet? Her first books were published
when she was just twelve years old. At
age fifteen, she injured her spine and, as a result of complications during her
recovery, was considered to be an invalid. After a family tragedy, her father refused to
allow any of his children to marry and as a result Elizabeth became a recluse. And still she continued to write. At the age of 39, one of her publications
caught the attention of another writer, Robert Browning. He visited Elizabeth and wrote to her
frequently. He encouraged her to get out
of bed and to resume a normal life, but his efforts were met with strong
resistance from her parents. They
refused to let Browning see their daughter, but love would not be denied. Eventually Robert helped Elizabeth break free
from her domineering family. The two
were married and moved to Italy where the sunny, warm climate helped Elizabeth
to make a complete recovery from her long-time maladies.
None of
this mattered to her parents. They
disowned her and cut off all ties.
Elizabeth persevered, writing a letter to her parents every week for
over ten years. She told them over and
over how much she loved them and longed to be reconciled. One day she received a huge box in the mail
from them. It contained every letter she
wrote to home and not a single one had been opened and read. These “love letters” now comprise a precious
part of English literature that have touched the lives of countless many, but
it is sobering to think that the people for whom they were intended closed
their hearts to their author, their daughter.
I’ll say
it again: Kingdom relationships are to
be resilient and should always rise above anything any of us does to harm or
destroy them.
Let me tell you another
story, this one with a different ending.
Two brothers lived on adjoining farms.
One day they had a deep quarrel and ended all contact with each
other. The feud became so bitter that
one brother dammed up the creek that provided water for both farms, cutting off
a vital resource for his brother’s livelihood.
Well, that brother became so disgusted at the sight of the growing pond
on his brother’s farm that he hired a carpenter to build a fence so the he
would not have to look at his brother’s property. The carpenter worked tirelessly all day, but
rather than build a fence along the water, he built a bridge over it. When the other brother saw it he was so moved
by what he supposed to be a gesture of goodwill that he walked halfway across
the bridge. The brother who hired the
carpenter, on seeing his brother on the bridge, walked out to meet him. The two embraced and made tearful, heartfelt
amends. After a while they noticed that
the carpenter was packing up his tools and getting ready to leave. The brothers implored him to stay, but the
carpenter refused, saying, “I still have other bridges to build.”
One of
the most impressive structures ever created is the Golden Gate Bridge. It is a 1.7 mile expanse of that spans the bay
between San Francisco and Marin County.
Construction lasted over four years.
The bridge is built of 83,000 tons of steel, 80,000 miles of wire
bundled together, and at least 600,000 rivets in each of the two main
towers. At its opening, the bridge’s
chief engineer said the Golden Gate Bridge is built to last forever. Imagine the work and materials that went
into spanning a gap of less than two miles.
Now imagine this: the gap of brokenness between us and God, and the gap
of brokenness between individuals and groups within the human family, was
spanned by Jesus Christ with just two pieces of wood and three nails. It is a bridge we can walk to be reconciled
with God and one another, or it is a bridge we can avoid. The choice is ours.
Think about the flow of
today’s liturgy. We move from hearing
God’s word to making a confession as we become aware of the ways we have fallen
short. Confession gives way to contrition,
forgiveness, the restoration of broken relationships, and ultimately to
communion together at our Lord’s Table.
This is the deep desire of Christ the King. It is the culmination of his life and
work. His reign is found whenever and
wherever Kingdom relationships are found.
