Christ the King
November 23, 2025
God
is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.
2 Therefore we will not fear, though
the earth should change,
though
the mountains shake in the heart of the sea,
3 though its waters roar and foam,
though
the mountains tremble with its tumult.
Selah
4 There is
a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
the
holy habitation of the Most High.
5 God is in the midst of the
city; it shall not be moved;
God
will help it when the morning dawns.
6 The nations are in an uproar; the
kingdoms totter; he utters his voice; the earth melts.
7 The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge. Selah
8 Come,
behold the works of the Lord; see what desolations he has brought on the earth.
9 He makes wars cease to the end of the
earth;
he
breaks the bow and shatters the spear; he burns the shields with fire.
10 “Be still, and know that I am
God! I am exalted among the nations; I am exalted in the earth.”
11 The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge. Selah
Over the years, the American Bible Society has provided a tip sheet for anybody who wants to make their way through the Bible. It’s such a thick book, at times complicated, and hard to find what we’re looking for. That’s why the tip sheet was created.
· Feeling blue? Read Psalm 42. “Why are you downcast, O my soul?”
·
Feeling
happy? Psalm 100, “Make a joyful noise to the Lord, all the earth.”
·
Feeling
alone? Psalm 23. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.”
·
Need
to rebuild some confidence? Psalm 121 “My help comes from the Lord, who made
heaven and earth.”
And then, there is Psalm 46, the psalm appointed for today. When do you think it would fit? According to the American Bible Society, it is a psalm when it feels like everything is shaken up. “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore, we will not fear, though the earth should change.”
Such a text gave comfort to Martin Luther, the great reformer, when the medieval church was going through turmoil. The earth was changing all around him. The old certainties weren’t working any more. The church to which he had given his life was corrupt. At one point, enemies were hunting him down. For ten months, Luther hid in the 500-year-old Wartburg Castle. It sits at the top of a 1300-foot cliff.
No doubt the experience prompted him to write, “A mighty fortress is our God, a bulwark never failing.” The hymn is based on Psalm 46. It is a psalm to hang onto when the world is disrupted.
What is remarkable about Psalm 46 is how noisy it is. The earth is quaking. The mountains are shaking. The water is roaring. That is what the poet hears. This is what everybody hears. And the noise is more than the sound of nature. Outside, the nations are hollering. The kingdoms are tottering. Anxiety is rampant. Everything is up for grabs. All ground is shaky ground.
In the middle of it, the Psalms sees God. Present but unmovable. In the thick of chaos but not tugged into it. Surrounded by storms of change, but unshakable. God is in the thick of the trouble. God might have said something to provoke the trouble. Yet God stands firm, concerned but not coerced, engaged but independent. God will help, says the psalmist, but not necessarily on demand. “Help comes in the morning,” he says. Help doesn’t come in the evening, but in the morning, on the next day. Imagine that. What we have here is a picture of how God rules the world.
All of us like to stand in the presence of Someone calm. These days, such people are hard to find. There is so much noise, so much agitation, so much shouting past one another. We don’t always notice the one who is quiet. Or the one who refuses to be baited into an argument. Or the one who remains calm while the storm rages on.
In my childhood, we had a pastor in our church, the Rev. Edgar Frank. He was the quietest man I’ve ever known. I was too young to remember any of his sermons. But his prayers – that was a different story. I’m sure he said some words when he prayed. All I remember were the silences. The stillness. He had no need to rush. He didn’t care if Grandma’s roast was burning in the oven. All was calm. All was bright. Everything about him was infused with peace.
And he endured for many seasons. Rev. Frank arrived during the Great Depression. He prayed for soldiers who volunteered to fight in a world war. He remained steady while nuclear bombs were created, the nation began to reckon with civil rights, and a president was assassinated. It’s as if he genuinely believed God rules over the world. Troubles come and go. God outlives them all. Ever notice that? There are stillness and stability in the midst of noise.
In our human anxiety, we usually opt for another way. We fight, we bicker, we argue. We push, we shove, we dominate. We manipulate, we scheme, we gerrymander, all in an effort to get ahead of everybody else. No wonder the Psalmist says, “the nations are in an uproar.” Who is creating that uproar? Good question. Sometimes, in their anxiety, otherwise good church people are part of the uproar.
On Thursday, I celebrated the opening of a new bookstore in Dickson City. Truth be told, a gift card from Barnes and Noble was burning a hole in my pocket. The first book I picked was recommended by a good friend. The title is Jesus and John Wayne. It’s a study by Dr. Kristin Kobes Du Mez, a history professor from Grand Rapids. She makes a good case for how the American church has been compromised by the macho movement. You know, “hit ‘em hard, knock them down, show them who’s boss, take charge, lock them up, hang them high.” That sounds like the rugged masculinity of the old cowboy John Wayne, she says, and not Jesus.
Have you encountered what she’s talking about? Some folks make a lot of noise about “battling for the soul” of the nation. Then they proceed to sell out their own souls. Others say, “Let’s fill the court with judges who agree with us,” which is more important than living by the law. And then, there’s all the noise, inside the churches, outside the churches. It’s old-fashioned locker room talk, boasting of superiority, dominance, and winning. All of that is code language for “I’m feeling out of control. I need to force my way on others.” The book is called, Jesus and John Wayne.
By contrast, what is today? We call it the Festival of Christ the King. It’s the culmination of the church year. It’s the End Point, the High Point, the Reality above all Realities. What is the Gospel text that the church selects for today? Jesus on the cross. What kind of king is that? Good question. It may be the only question.
Jesus never talked like a bully. There is not one place in scripture where he pushes people around. He heals people that the religious folks wouldn’t touch. He speaks truth to those who are obsessed with being right. And he pays for it. Even then, he turns the other cheek. He waits us out. He pauses long enough for us to come to our senses.
Here’s the point of it all. Christ the King never dominates others. He serves them. Serving others is his super-power. He loves the unlovable – which suggests there is hope for us all. How profound! How different from the mood of the day! Or the mood of any day.
The Christ of the cross reveals the God of Psalm 46. He doesn’t need to say too much, for it he really unleashed his holy tongue, the psalm says there would be a lot of melting and quaking. No, the Holy One says just enough for those with ears to hear. Then he waits for us to pay attention and align our lives with his life. There is silence in his sovereignty. In the midst of human noise and earthly chaos, God is the middle of it all, serenely in charge.
So, consider that crucifixion story we’ve heard so many times. When a rebellious world puts his son Jesus on a cross, God doesn’t raise the Voice. When his beloved Jerusalem handed over the Christ to the Romans, God does not shout, nor condemn, nor extract revenge. No, not at all. In the Voice of Jesus, God says, “Forgive them, they don’t know what they are doing.”
When the scene clears away, peace and mercy remain. The bow and arrow are broken. The shields of self-defense are burnt to a crisp because they are not necessary. On the cross, the Quiet God takes away the poison of the world. Then he sends Jesus back to keep working with the likes of us. Because God is the One above all others. Christ is the King above kings.
My father was a deer hunter. Sometimes he came home with venison. Later in life, the family joke was that he went hunting to get away from four noisy kids. The more probably truth is that he went hunting to step away from a very stressful job with the military-industrial complex. He helped his company make guidance systems for war planes. He was good at it.
When I came home from my Ivy-covered seminary, making a lot of noise about peace and justice and the prophet Isaiah, he would listen. Eventually he would point out the paradox of his professional life, that engineers like him paid the salaries of preachers like me. Then he would add, “We need both of us.”
That was my dad. An old farm boy from western Pennsylvania, there was nothing he enjoyed more than sitting up in a tree in late November, watching the forest wake up. It was so different from the cubicle at work. Once, he told me he missed an easy shot in the woods because he didn’t want to disrupt the peace and quiet.
One day my mother surprised him with a painting that her art teacher had painted. He was enchanted by it, couldn’t stop looking at it. I like it, too, and I am proud he bequeathed the painting to me. This is a painting of a wooded glen. Light streams down. Everything is breathing. At the center of enormous vitality, there is stillness. And the painter wrote a caption at the bottom to frame the picture. It reads, “In the silence you will know.”
When my father passed ten years ago, there was only one Bible verse worthy of his tombstone. Psalm 46:10, “Be still and know that I am God.”
In sovereignty, there is silence. In the stillness is the One who outlives us all and promises to raise us once again. God is exalted in the earth and over the earth. The One who is crucified and has risen rules over all.
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