This is my absolute favorite time of year – the transition from the apocalyptic readings at the end of the liturgical year into the hopeful expectancy of Advent, the “close sky” of steely grey November afternoons warmed by the first days of crackling fireplaces, the anticipation of Christmas music and decorations, and the pleasant exhaustion of spending long hours in the woods for deer hunting season.
As I left the celebration of an evening Mass for Christ the King here in Durham this week, wandering into town wearing an Eagles scarf under my raincoat and sipping warm brandy punch, I felt like a character in a Dickens novel. I stumbled upon the tree-lighting ceremony in the city center. As I stood in the marketplace, surrounded by carolers and excited children, I enjoyed the celebratory atmosphere, but I couldn’t help but think of the darker side of that public square, where I buy my fresh vegetables and fish and chips, and how it connected in some ways to the feast day.
Precisely because it is the nerve center of the city and always has been, where large crowds gather for important events, it was there that the powers that be in the 16th century determined Thomas Plumtree would be made an example of – he was hanged, drawn and quartered in front of cheering crowds. His crime? Saying Mass in England during the reign of Queen Elizabeth I and ministering to those involved in the Uprising of the North which sought to restore ties with the papacy after Henry VIII’s definitive break with Rome. He died, like Thomas More decades before, a servant to the monarch, but in his mind, to God first.
One of the parishes in town is called that of The Durham Martyrs because so many gave their lives for the faith in this area. Centuries later and a half a world away, Miguel Pro would be shot to death at point blank range in Mexico during the La Cristiada war, shouting as bullets ravaged his body “Viva Cristo Rey!” (“Long live Christ the King!”).
What do these men have in common? They emulated their Lord and Teacher, who was hung on a tree with a simple placard above him in all of the dominant languages of the day so that anyone passing by the thoroughfare would realize – this shameful, mocked, and despised figure is what becomes of those who rival Caesar. Here is your “King of the Jews.”
And what does it mean to be a citizen under this ruler, with his knotted and painful crown unlike that of any temporal overload?
If we take him at his word, it means that his subjects will, like him, “be handed over to local councils and be flogged in the synagogues.” (It could just as easily say marketplaces or even public opinion here).
Although elements of the ruling lordship and majesty of Christ have always been a part of our tradition, the official Solemnity of Christ the King of the Universe with its eschatological dimensions wasn’t formalized until the 1920s under Pope Pius XI, largely in response to growing nationalism and secularism and the unique historical context of what came to be called the Roman Question. (A slight alteration in title and date took place during the pontificate of Paul VI).
Pope Francis is now remodeling some of what it means to simultaneously be a Christian “ruler” and “disciple.” He said in his public reflections on the feast, “This image enables us to see that Jesus is the center of creation; and so the attitude demanded of us as true believers is that of recognizing and accepting in our lives the centrality of Jesus Christ, in our thoughts, in our words and in our works. When this center is lost, when it is replaced by something else, only harm can result for everything around us and for ourselves.”
Michael M. Canaris, Ph.D., of Collingswood, is a Research Associate at Durham University’s Center for Catholic Studies in Northeast England.
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