A Royal Homecoming by Fran Salone-Pelletier

Readings: Daniel 7:113-14; Revelation 1: 5-8; John 18: 33-37

The village square was buzzing with excitement. Everyone was hustling and bustling about. Consumed with the anticipation of the special event that was to occur that day, the shopkeepers paid scarce attention to their business. Farmers from the countryside came into town, bringing their wives and children with them. Townspeople flocked to the central meeting place. Street merchants halfheartedly plied their wares. Children escaped their elders to run, skip, and jump. They raced from one spot to another, absorbing the energy of the atmosphere. The king was coming to their town.

No one was sure of his arrival time. Even the date was not certain, though the rumor was widespread that this was the day. Everyone was overflowing with eagerness. Just to catch a quick glimpse of His Majesty would be a treat. Their king was no ordinary royal. Their kingdom was like no other. Actually, the story began a long time ago. The town crier began to chant it as he walked among the waiting crowd . . .

Many, many years ago our grandfathers and grandmothers, and their grandfathers and grandmothers before them, were ruled by a king called Chaos. The land was wracked with wars and turbulence. Anger, hatred, and brutality were seen and felt everywhere. Neighbor fought neighbor; friend cheated friend. Even family members would betray each other. The law of the land was violence and abusive power.

Only the strong, the able, the cunning, the clever survived. Only the powerful commanded esteem. Oppression became a way of life. Tyranny was a virtue. Honesty gave way to savage lies. No one seemed immune to it. No one was ever happy. Our country was steeped in this tragedy, and no one seemed to care. All were powerless, or so it seemed.

Year after year passed in bloodshed and battle, terror and turmoil, frenzy and fear. There were only two kinds of people in our kingdom: the oppressor whose rule was dread, and the oppressed who were robbed of their dignity. Parents wept when their children were born into this tyrannical terror of Chaos. Yet they bore their young. Somewhere deep in their hearts was a tiny but unquenchable spark of hope. Hope that someday things would be different. Someday, someone would come to confront the reign of Chaos and change his rule.

In each household, hope grew steadily stronger. Slowly and stealthily, children were taught to cling to trust, to live with dignity, to believe in the richness of their abilities. Despite all they lacked in material goods, position in life, and social status, families spoke of the wealth invested in dreams and hopes and visions of a better life. In each newborn child, they saw promise and possibility. Perhaps one of them would be king. Despite all that might hamper them, the people of the kingdom of Chaos dared to dream.

One day, the hopes and dreams of our grandfathers and grandmothers, and their grandfathers and grandmothers before them, came true. A babe was born to a humble carpenter and his wife. He was taught, as all the others, of his people’s hopes and dreams. The child listened with all his heart. He pondered the words he heard. He grew stronger and taller. More than any child before him and any who would follow, he was committed to the cause of freedom, justice, and truth. He walked the way of his countrymen. He experienced the pain of their oppression. He felt the pangs of their hunger and thirst for justice. He sought to break the power of evil and strove to make all things and all people new. He spoke of love where hatred had always been the word. He preached of patience rather than power, forgiveness in place of fearfulness, openness as the onslaught to oppression, virtue as replacement for violence, serving instead of savagery. His was a life where truth towered over tyranny.

The poor and oppressed heard his words. They believed in him but they thought he meant to lead them into war against their powerful ruler. Cheering him on, they wished to crown him king and thus challenge Chaos to duel, if not to full-fledged battle. The young man ran from the title. His way was not the way of violence but of peace. They had not understood.

The crowds were disappointed. Even his closest friends did not understand him. All hopes of conquest had been dashed to the ground. Were they to be bound forever by the ruthlessness of the powerful? Was poverty always to be their lot in life? Would oppression continue to be the food that poisoned them? No one seemed able to answer these questions.

There were some people who heard this man of peace. They also feared him. They paid attention when he was called king and were fearful that he might claim the title and dethrone Chaos forever. They were so fearful that they killed him.

The town crier stopped his story at this point. The villagers gasped. How could this story be true? Here they were, all of them, standing in the village square awaiting the arrival of their king. Had they misunderstood? Was there no king after all?

A terse, tense silence fell. Suddenly, sounds of joyous laughter and song filled the air. Heads turned. People craned their necks and stood on tiptoe to see.

But no one was there.

Slowly, one by one, they realized that the joyful sounds were rising from the depth of their hearts. They were the rulers of peace and justice. The reign had come from inside out!

This king of theirs was not dead at all.  He was alive and living among them. He always will. “His dominion is an everlasting dominion that shall not pass away, and his kingship is one that shall never be destroyed” (Dan 7:14). The king reigns in their laughter and love. He rules in their freedom and service. His voice is heard in the way they live.

The village square bustled with excitement once again as the villagers danced with joy.  Husbands and wives joined hands with their children. Children linked arms with the elders. Friends and neighbors hugged. Harmony reigned in their hearts. Their voices mingled as they sang, “The Lord is King; he is robed in majesty. He has established the world; it shall never be moved; your throne is established from of old; you are from everlasting” (Ps 93:1-2).

The king had come home to live in their hearts. The celebration began. ♦

Fran Salone-Pelletier holds a master’s degree in theology. She is the author of a trilogy of scriptural meditations, Awakening to God: The Sunday Readings in Our Lives, in which this reflection originally appeared She is also a religious educator, retreat leader, lecturer, and grandmother of four. Reach her at hope5@atmc.net. A version of this article originally appeared in the Brunswick Beacon.

Image: Icon of Christ, King of Glory (1858) in the St Barnabas Monastery and Icon Museum in Salamis, Cyprus. Ad Meskens / Wikimedia Commons / CC BY-SA 4.0