This year, we’re calling Christ “King Of The Universe.” The idea is to be as all-encompassing as possible, but it doesn’t quite succeed.
The Christmas season celebrates what we often call God’s entrance into human history, which takes place in the physical context of the universe, or multiverse, as some of us are now wont to call it.
“King of the Universe” makes sense the way the winner of the World Cup can say they are the world champions. Authority over a certain physical space is what is in dispute, and what is claimed.
We can say “King of the Universe” and that includes all the stars and quasars and black holes and all those other things out there.
If Jesus suddenly found Himself in a black hole, for instance, He would not be subject to it the way anyone or anything else would be. It wouldn’t effect Him at all. Death has no more power over Him, and neither does a black hole or the immense pressure of the water at the bottom of the ocean. All of which seems pretty silly, because, who would expect those things to?
The idea of a virgin birth, however, strikes some people as so implausible that the whole issue isn’t worth any consideration, although, if a God is to exist, why wouldn’t that God choose to do something like that? God has the radical freedom of the artist to do whatever He wants with His own material.
Can God create a rock so heavy even He couldn’t lift it? No. He couldn’t.
God holds a press conference.
“Can You,” asks a reporter, “make a rock so heavy even You couldn’t lift it?” Excitedly, George W. Bush whispers into God’s Ear. “I’m not going to play ‘Gotcha!'” God says. In the stunned silence, God sneaks a puzzled sideways glance over at George W. who is grinning triumphantly at the reporters.
I guess we’ll never know. But my guess is “No.”
The “Jesus” book by Schillebeeckx thoroughly discusses the concept of “Messiah.” For Christians, in hindsight, it can seem self-explanatory that the Messiah is the Son Of God, and He rose from the dead, and faith in Him is the key to eternal life in Heaven, but before Christ came, and still today, of course, what people mean by “Messiah” (i.e., “Savior”) is extremely flexible.
The Jews thought of the Messiah in several ways: as a warrior, as a priest, as a king. Exactly how the Messiah would exert His authority wasn’t entirely certain.
We still live with the prophecy that Jesus will return and inaugurate His kingdom on Earth, but how exactly that is going to happen isn’t known. Jesus said, when He returns, people will go on with their daily lives, the way they did as Moses built the ark, the way they did in Jesus’ presence then. But He also said that His coming will be made known as clearly as lightning illumines the sky.
How will we know it’s really Him? What will He do to prove Himself? Valid questions. Burning questions.
As this segment of Ordinary Time ends with Advent arriving in a week, we are left with this feast of Christ The King.
Ezekiel and Psalm 23 present God and the Lord as shepherds in care of the flock. We fancy ourselves as powerful beings in the world, as we are, but our power is severely circumscribed. Faced with either the abyss or the guidance of an all-powerful shepherd, we are fortunate to have these shepherds, Who understand our limitations, and despise us not on account of our mortal, human foolishness.
We also have the image of Christ as King, the King Who will render final judgment upon our souls.
Do we want a King? Maybe not, at least not in terms of the vain kings of Earth and history, but we have a King. Not that He was made a King, not because He aspires to kingliness, not because He has competitors, but we have a King in the sense that we have an almighty Power above us and over us, Who has that power, and exercises that power, because love and justice are at work in these spiritual dimensions, and as things are a certain way, there is a certain way that things will eventually be, because they should be that way.
And how does the King refer to us– all of us, especially the lowliest among us? As His brothers.
Being human must have made a profound and lasting impression on Jesus. As our advocate with the Father, He remembers that experience, and identifies with us.
If we find it impossible to identify with our brothers and sisters in this life, we will not be able to identify ourselves with Jesus.
May the Holy Spirit open our eyes to the presence of the divine in all of us, lest we find ourselves without a shepherd when we need one most!

Decades ago, riding a bus across the floating bridge to work in Bellevue one rainy Sunday morning, I saw a lot of people running across the bridge. The bus driver told me that was the Seattle Marathon. We laughed over why a marathon would be held in Seattle in November, because November is a cold, rainy month.
It’s only become a colder, rainier month since, yet the Seattle Marathon is still held the Sunday after Thanksgiving, and that’s a big reason why the Seattle Marathon is harder than the Vancouver B.C marathon, in May, or the Portland, Oregon marathon or the Victoria B.C. marathon (both in October).
“How long is the marathon?” is the most common question I’ve gotten about them. Marathons are always 26.2 miles. Organizers and participants are exacting about that, so there’s a common standard for all the statistics.
Every marathon I’ve run has been outdoors, as well, and outdoors is where I’ve gone to train for marathons. There are hills out there, and weather, and one has to be ready for those factors in a marathon.
In Seattle, that means training outdoors in November. If you train before or after a day job, that means running in the darkness, sometimes without being able to see well at all. That means running through puddles of uncertain depth, puddles that could have sticks and rocks in them, puddles that will soak your shoes and weigh down your feet for the remainder of the run and keep the shoes wet all day and night so they’ll still be cold and wet when you put them on the next day for the next training run.
Running in November means the possibility of running in sub-freezing temperatures, needing to have some type of long pants to keep the legs warm, long-sleeved shirts and, for most, some type of jacket, and some type of hat. For the runner accustomed to short pants and a short-sleeve shirt, that’s an awful lot of clothing.
A few years ago, my last 28-mile training run took place in snowfall– eight laps around the outer path at Green Lake as the snow added up to a few inches and kids sledded down the little hills.
Up at 4 am, out the door by 4:30, two laps around Green Lake in a cold, windy rain, 15 minutes at home to shower and dress before the 15-minute walk to the bus stop to get downtown to start work at 7:30, in bed at 9 to try for seven hours of sleep before the next morning’s two laps in more wind, rain, and cold.
Then the last training run on Thanksgiving, with the day off from work, and the marathon on the first Sunday of Advent, remembering those hard training runs, with no training at all in December except for fun– that’s the Seattle Marathon!

Decades pass while one is only briefly away from something essential, part of one’s identity from such an early age that he instinctively says, “I do that,” although he hasn’t for decades, because he can step up any time and resume that role.
Two years ago when we moved into a new house nearby a golf course I thought, sure, I’ll be going there very soon, but with family responsibilities, opportune times for a selfish activity are few.
More days than not I pass that golf course, wondering when I’ll get there.
After decades, doubt nags– can I even golf any more?
As a youth, I could go out onto the course with no doubts that I belonged there, with brothers and friends there to join in the triumphs and disappointments. But going out onto the course alone, with the sore arms and weary legs of a much older man, I wondered if I could still have an experience that wouldn’t be an embarrassment.
When we sell our condo, I proclaimed, I’ll go golfing the very next weekend.
The day came, cold and rainy, awake at 6:00 to drink coffee and get to the course shortly after it opened at 7:00 for the cheap rates available for the back 9 on the first hour open Sunday.
At the driving range, I couldn’t even follow the shots from my driver yesterday. Would I even be able to find my golf ball off the tee? Is the rain going to start falling harder?
I don’t think I even have any tees, I thought, as I walked to the 10th hole. But people leave their tees in the ground, I saw, so that wasn’t a problem.
The fairway was wide, so even if I sliced my tee shot, I might still stay in the fairway, but my first shot scattered off to the left anyway. Exultant anyway, off I marched toward my second shot.
Later in the day, I noticed the scorecard has a map on the back. Had I seen that, I would have known I was on the 11th hole, not the 18th, as it seemed.
For every ball I lost– I lost two– I found two more balls, all four in fairways.
Better to play good golf with a few clubs than play bad golf with many clubs. But honor dictates that one use his driver, because one should have a complete game. Drive off the tee, use a putter only on the green.
Standing at the tee, staring down a long fairway, not able to see the green, a golfer only gets one chance to hit that tee shot on that hole during that round on that day. A lot can go wrong– the shot isn’t likely to be perfectly straight, or go as far as one would like, but one has to play the long game and one has to play the short game.
Sometimes one plays the shots he thinks he should play. Sometimes one plays the shots he wants to play.
Once you’re on the course, you are committed to the game, to playing the course to the best of your abilities, in sportsmanlike fashion.
To golf well is to have passed a few hours of one’s life living well.

All Saints, and All Souls. A uniquely provocative pairing at an odd time of the year– November.
October is the stormy transition from Summer to Autumn, and next month will be Winter, but for now we’re in the middle of unambiguously Autumnesque short, dark days and rainfall.
The backyard has become an unfamiliar place. Odd green growths are bursting out everywhere, including a lot of things that need to be kept under control immediately before weeding after the turn of the year will become a vast headache. But that stuff out there isn’t much seen because so much of the time the cold rain and wind are such that I’d rather stay inside until the weather’s a bit more hospitable, though that’s a long wait.
Decades ago I found a box and wrapped it in tin foil, and put some dead plants and rocks in it, put it in a corner where a window shone on it, and named it the “November Sky Garden.” It got dusty and was eventually discarded when I moved somewhere else, but I’ve remembered it. Its legacy is that I think of November skies as the most exotic of skies. Outside, I look up and admire how dramatic the November sky is, cloudy or clear.
The month with the most exotic skies is a month to really enjoy, especially when it’s not October, and it’s not the stressful month of December. All we have to worry about in November is Thanksgiving.
All Saints day is popularly taken as a day to celebrate the unofficial saints, living saints, whoever they may be. And why they might be saints. If we are not saints officially, or saintly all the time, we have our moments when we rise to difficult occasions and acquit ourselves well, in accord with our highest expectations and responsibilities.
A poem says, “I constantly need to be reminded of my own higher knowledge.” The inner voice speaks up. and, instead of screaming, we smile.
All Souls is an enigma of a feast day. Humans are created in the image of God, eternal beings, eternal souls, each with a spark of divinity.
“Why attempt to purify that which has never been defiled?” said Huang Po (“The Zen Teaching Of Huang Po”).
Yet, as we especially remember in November, Purgatory is a place many of us will go.