The Sánchez Archives CHRIST THE KING Year C

By
Patricia Datchuck Sánchez

Famous Last Words

2 SAMUEL 5:1-3
COLOSSIANS 1:12-20
LUKE 22:35-43

Having made an impression, either for better or for worse, upon the great saga of human history, the last words of certain notables among us have been recorded and preserved. More frequently than not, the manner in which these individuals faced and expressed themselves in death was reflective of the attitude and posture that had characterized them in life. For example, when she lay dying, Queen Elizabeth I of England (1533-1603) was said to have wished, “All my possessions for a moment of time.” Charles IX, who in 1572 had ordered the St. Bartholomew’s Day massacre of the Hugenots throughout France met death with despair, “What blood! What murders! I am lost forever. I know it.” Philip III of Spain (1578-1621) who proved himself to be an unfit king and indifferent to the plight of his people breathed his last wishing, “Would to God that I had never reigned. What does all my glory profit but that I have so much the more torment in my death?” French statesman and successor to Richelieu, Cardinal Mazarin (d. 1661) had acquired such an extensive art collection that he dreaded being eternally separated from it. Just prior to his death, he dragged himself from room to room of his opulent palace, taking a last lingering look at his treasures. “All these must be left behind,” he moaned, “What trouble I have had to obtain these things and I shall never see them again! Where am I going?” When Emperor Napoleon III (1808-1873) lay dying, his only thoughts were of a lost battle. “Etiez-vous à Sedan?” Were you at Sedan?, he inquired. It was the battle of Sedan that had cost him his crown and left him filled with regret at his death.

Similarly regretful, Talleyrand (1754-1838), the French cleric and statesman who helped to depose Napoleon, greeted death with these words, “Behold eighty-three years passed away. . . and all without other results except fatigue of mind and body and a profound sentiment of discouragement as to the future and disgust as to the past.” Nearer to our times, the death of Josef Stalin (1879-1953) was described by his daughter as difficult and terrible. Silenced by a stroke shortly before he died, Stalin’s “last words” were more visual than audible. Newsweek magazine quoted Svetlana Stalin who said, “At what seemed the very last moment, he cast a glance over everyone in the room. It was a terrible glance, insane, angry and full of fear of death. With one final menacing gesture, he lifted his left hand as if he were bringing down a curse on us all.”

In stark and welcome contrast to the dying words of these political and/or royal rulers, today’s Lucan gospel invites the gathered assembly to consider the last words of Jesus, the Christ and our true king. Whereas the above mentioned worldly sovereigns dreaded death and cursed both the people and the circumstances surrounding their demise, Jesus died as he had lived. With a trust in God that overcame his fear, he accepted death and offered the ignominy of the mockery, the torture and the abandonment for the sins of us all. Foregoing anger and revenge, he asked that his persecutors be forgiven. With a freedom that could only be borne of authentic love, he willingly commended his spirit to God.

He had lived his life true to his ancestral heritage; a Shepherd-King like his forefather, David (first reading, 2 Samuel), Jesus exercised his sovereignty in service. He sought out the lost, healed the sick, and lovingly tended all who were entrusted to his care. Through his death, he rescued a sinful world from the darkness of sin; victoriously enthroned on the cross, he manifested his power and authority by promising paradise to a repentant criminal.

Jesus’ regal accomplishments are celebrated in the hymn from Colossians that comprises today’s second reading. Through his famous last words of forgiveness, love, healing and promise he has made peace, reconciling everything and everyone to God.

2 SAMUEL 5:1-3

After working for years on an exceptionally large piece of marble, Renaissance sculptor Agostino d’Antonio gave up the task, “I can do nothing with it,” he sighed. The stone was discarded and lay on a rubbish heap for forty years.

One day, as he was strolling the streets of Florence, Michelangelo came upon the stone and immediately saw its latent possibilities. He arranged for it to be brought to his studio and began to work on it. Within three years his artistic insight and talent were met with success. From that seemingly worthless piece of stone he carved one of the world’s masterpieces of sculpture--David.

So it was with another David, son of Jesse, who lived about 25 centuries before Michelangelo. Few would have thought him to be destined for greatness; fewer would have thought him to be “kingly material.” When Samuel was sent by God to the home of Jesse, even David’s father did not think him a likely candidate for leadership. While he presented each of his other sons to Samuel, he left David in the fields tending the flocks. Yet God, who sees the latent possibilities in even the most unlikely people, designated David, the shepherd and youngest son of his father as king.

Prior to the events narrated in today’s first reading, Saul had died and David was anointed king of Judah. As Bernhard W. Anderson (Understanding the Old Testament, Prentice Hall, Englewood Cliffs: 1966) explained, David had earned the allegiance of the Judeans during his “outlaw” period both in the wilderness of Judah and in the service of Philistia by protecting landowners from robbers and by dividing the spoil taken during raids on their enemies (1 Samuel 23:1-5, 25:2ff; 27:8-12; 30:26-31). At that time, the northern tribes were still loyal to Saul’s weak son, Ishbaal, called Ishbosheth in the scriptures; scribal editors substituted bosheth (Hebrew for shame) for Baal, the name of the Canaanite deity. Hence, Ishbaal, “man of Baal,” became Ishbosheth, “man of shame.” However, Ishbaal was a puppet king, manipulated by Abner, the commander of Israel’s army. When Ishbaal denounced Abner for marrying a woman from Saul’s harem, the general offered his allegiance to David. In the ensuing power struggle, both Abner and Ishbaal were killed and the tribes of Israel went to David, in Hebron, claimed him as their king and anointed him. David’s double anointing by both the Judean and Israelite tribes meant that he had become king by mutual agreement. As Lawrence Boadt (Reading the Old Testament, Paulist Press, New York: 1984) has pointed out, this fact proved to be very important in the centuries ahead since he took the throne not by right nor by conquest but by the free consent of the tribes.

In his capacity as shepherd-king and unifier of his people, David became the type or prefigurement of Jesus Christ, king and Savior. When the New Testament authors tried to substantiate Jesus’ position as Messiah, they emphasized his Davidic lineage and affirmed that the promise of an everlasting dynasty which God made to David (2 Samuel 7:14) had been fulfilled in him.

As regards the last words of the dying David, the Chronicler tells his readers that the king led the people in prayer, saying, “Blessed are you, God. . . everything is from you and we only give you what we have received from you. For we stand before you like aliens; we are only your guests, like all our ancestors” (see 1 Chronicles 29:10-22). By God’s grace and despite his sins and weakness, David cast a long shadow as one of Israel’s greatest leaders.

COLOSSIANS 1:12-20

When David was anointed as king of Israel and Judah, his accession to the throne was cause for great celebration. Someone may even have been moved to compose a song to mark the occasion. There is evidence in the Psalter that certain of the songs composed for the coronation of Israel’s subsequent king were preserved and became part of the liturgical heritage of Judaism, e.g. Psalms 2, 72 and 110. Comparable to these so-called royal psalms is the hymn which comprises today’s second reading. One of the most profound christological pronouncements in the New Testament, this song celebrates the indisputable sovereignty of Christ as ruler of the cosmos.

Introduced by a call to thanksgiving (vv. 12-14), this hymn consists of two strophes and may have been part of an ancient baptismal liturgy. In its first section (vv. 15-18) the author affirmed the unique role of Christ as regards creation and the church. As the eikon or image of God, Christ made it possible for believers to encounter the invisible God. The term eikon was reminiscent of the Jewish concept of hokmah, or wisdom, as God’s handmaid in creation and as the pure emanation from the Almighty (Wisdom 7:25-26). Eikon also recalled the Greek concept of the logos, the ordering principle by which God created the universe. William Barclay (“Colossians”, The Daily Study Bible, The Saint Andrew Press, Edinburgh: 1975) cited two other, less technical and perhaps more appealing definitions of eikon. In its diminutive form, ‘eikonion, the term referred to an artistically rendered portrait or likeness. It is the nearest equivalent in ancient Greek to our word photograph. Eikon also meant a brief description of those personal characteristics by which someone could be recognized. Jesus, as the eikon, is the portrait of God in whom the personal characteristics and distinguishing marks of God are revealed and recognized.

In that capacity, Jesus has authority over all creatures, including the thrones, dominations, principalities and powers which, according to Hellenistic (gnostic) thought, were the angelic intermediaries between God and humankind. As head of the church and first-born of the dead, his primacy is unquestionable.

In the second strophe of this hymn (vv. 19-20), the author outlined the saving work of Jesus. Sent by God to reconcile all things in himself, Jesus accomplished his purpose through the blood of his cross. Whereas lesser sovereigns may spill the blood of others in a conquest to solidify their authority, Jesus shed his own blood to conquer sin; he exercised his authority in suffering service for the salvation of all people. Jesus is the eikon in whom we are privileged to know the love of God incarnate; he is indeed, God’s first and last word to us.

LUKE 22:35-43

Mikolaj Kopernik, the Polish astronomer better known as Nicolaus Copernicus (1473-1543) spent much of his life attempting to correct the Ptolemaic, geocentric or earth-centered theory of the universe. Copernicus’ model of the solar system centered on the sun with the earth and other planets revolving in orbits around it. Because his ideas seemed to contradict the authority of the Bible by those who interpreted it literally and historically, Copernicus’ discoveries were not officially accepted by the church until the mid-eighteenth century. Despite his lack of acceptance, he remained a faithful believer and, at the moment of his death, he found great comfort in the dying Jesus’ promise to the criminal as recorded in today’s gospel. The scientist’s last wish was that the following epitaph be carved on his tombstone: “I do not seek a kindness equal to that given to Paul. Nor do I ask the grace granted to Peter. But that forgiveness which you did grant to the robber, that, earnestly I crave.” No doubt, Jesus’ promise of paradise has given hope to many through the centuries; his dying words spoke a final affirmation of his salvific purpose, viz., to bring forgiven sinners home to paradise and to God.

Notice how Luke has contrasted the faith of the repentant criminal with the blasphemy and jeers of the others present on Calvary. By means of the threefold mockery - (1) that of the leaders, “He saved others, let him save himself if he is the messiah of God” (v. 35); (2) that of the soldiers, “If you are the king of the Jews, save yourself” (v. 36); and (3) that of the criminal, “Aren’t you the Messiah? Then save yourself and us,” Luke underscored the salvific power of Jesus’ death. Each taunt contained a form of the Greek verb sozein, to save. By an ingenious twist of literary irony, Luke portrayed the detractors of Jesus as the theological interpreters of the cross. The very people who rejected Jesus and the salvation he had come to bring called him “messiah of God” and “the chosen one.” Messiah, which means “anointed one,” traditionally combined the roles of king and savior of Israel. The designation of Jesus as “the chosen one” was evocative of his transfiguration in glory (9:35) as well as his role as the suffering servant foretold by Deutero-Isaiah (42:1).

There is further irony in the inscription which hung over Jesus’ head on the cross. Customarily, the crime of the condemned was so posted. Luke Timothy Johnson (The Gospel of Luke, The Liturgical Press, Collegeville: 1991) has suggested that Pilate, who had found no guilt in Jesus, probably had three reasons for insisting on the inscription: (1) to protect himself from being charged with bowing to the pressure of the mob; (2) to mock Jesus and thereby to appease the Jewish leaders; (3) to forewarn other would-be revolutionaries that their rebellion against the empire would be similarly extinguished. Pilate’s rationale notwithstanding the “crime” of which Jesus was accused, was in fact a fit and apt description of his person and mission. He is indeed king of the Jews and of all humankind.

Jesus’ authentic kingship and power to save are also attested in the request of the penitent man condemned to die with him. Remarkably, but not without purpose, Luke tells his readers that the criminal called Jesus by his personal name; Jeshuah, or Jesus, means “the Lord saves!” The loving forgiveness and innocence of the dying Jesus had the power to effect the criminal’s conversion; he was true to his name. Victorious over sin in death, Jesus also had the power to promise a share in his everlasting reign. With the converted criminal, with Copernicus and all who have gone in faith before us, we too ask Jesus, king and Savior to remember us!

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