I’m an American citizen. Every four years I have the privilege and right to vote for the next President of my country. Democracy pulses through my veins. It’s all I’ve known.
But a king? I’m not certain that I can even appropriately embrace this reality.
Culturally we anoint kings. We enthrone athletes and actors and politicians and business icons. We endorse status. We follow power. We retweet wisdom. But a king… a real king.
The real King irritates cultural kings. The real King frustrates the power hungry and the pleasure seeking royalty.
Two thousand years ago, men from the east came looking for the king of the Jews. The radiance of a star had beckoned them. They were not looking for a rock star, but for the Rock… for the King.
As a child… the King.
Pilate also wrote an inscription and put it on the cross. It read, “Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews.”
As an innocent criminal… the King.
Not by popular vote. Not through the Electoral College. Not starting out in Iowa.
But by birth. Even at birth. Even in death.
King.
In the year that King Uzziah died I saw the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up; and the train of his robe filled the temple.
And he who was seated on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.”
Obedient incarnation.
Humble at birth.
Sinless in life.
Maligned in trial.
Tortured in injustice.
Mocked while suffering.
Restrained in response.
Murdered in hatred.
Risen in victory.
Reigning in power.
Enthroned in glory.
Worthy of praise.
Ruler.
King.
Ever and always King.
For to us a child is born, to us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder, and his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Only as King can our Savior redeem. Only as King can our Sovereign reign. Only as King will hope endure.
The angels got it right.
Glory to the newborn King.
{ 0 comments… add one now }