Fr Columba McCann OSB
A few weeks ago I was with the school choir in London, and as we walked up to the gates of Buckingham palace, the flag was flying. This indicated, I think, that King Charles was in residence. But there was no chance we were going to get near him. The gates were locked and he was well protected from the likes of us. The king we celebrate today is quite different. He died and rose again so that he would be with us always In today’s gospel Jesus describes what it will be like when he sits on his throne of glory, and twice he speaks of himself as King. Yet this king seems to operate more like a shepherd, separating sheep and goats.
This would not have been a huge surprise to Jesus own listeners; in those days kings were often seen as shepherds of their people. The great king David was a young shepherd when he was chosen and set apart to shepherd God’s people. When Jesus himself was born in
Bethlehem the place of David’s origins, it was to shepherds that his birth was first revealed. He is a shepherd king. He knows each of his flock by name and calls them individually. He goes to great lengths to
rescue any of the flock that have gone astray, even one by one. In the end, he gives his life for his flock.
This shepherd king identifies completely with each one of his flock. Mother Teresa of Calcutta, now a canonised saint, was well known for the extraordinary way in which she reached out to the most deprived and the most wounded in here society. She was happy to immerse herself in tragic situations from which most people would run a mile. One day she was asked, ‘What is it that motivates you to go to such extraordinary lengths in your work?’ Her answer was simple. She said that you could it put it down to a few words that you can count on the fingers of one hand: you did it to me.
Christ the shepherd king identifies totally with his flock. And this is not just some clever play of rhetoric in order to get us moving. We see the same visceral connection in a totally different context: We know the story of the conversion of Saul, later St Paul, on the road to Damascus. He had been persecuting Christians. He meets Christ on the road. Christ doesn’t say, ‘Why are you persecuting my brothers and sisters?’ He says, ‘Why are you persecuting me?’
In his monastic rule, St Benedict says that when a monk welcomes a guest, it is Christ whom he welcomes. When a monk looks after a sick brother, it is Christ whom he serves. It is very sobering also not notice that those who are separated from the flock off to the left, like goats, are not murderers, rioters, those who attack children, or perpetrators of fraud. The crime for which they are eternally set aside is simple neglect: neglect of the hungry, the thirsty, the stranger, the naked, the sick, the prisoner. None of us need took too far to see this kind of neediness in our own family, our community, our neighbourhood, our country. The tragic needs of some many people around the world are so great that it can be overwhelming to think of it, and we can end up deciding that it’s all too big for us to handle. But perhaps a first step is to ask for eyes to see what is close at hand. Eyes to see what it is that I can do for the needs of people as they present themselves to me. In what way can I
serve Christ the King as he presents himself in the people around me?