This is my King. He doesn’t wear a suit of shining armour. He doesn’t wear a fine business suit. He doesn’t have nice hair, or a secretary. He doesn’t have a PhD, or a career in politics. He is the Son of God, but that doesn’t stop him from coming to find people who are lost. He is the Commander of all the armies of Heaven, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to talk to people who hate him.
This is my King. He wore everyday clothes, he made friends with rough people — fishermen, crooks, prostitutes, ex-terrorists — he liked to teach them and give them new life. He talked to strange, foreign people, and showed them that God will heal them too. He reached out to sick people when nobody else would. He called out the religious people for their blindness and pride because nobody else would. And they hated him for it.
This is my King. All kings need protection. But my King only had a dozen tired friends to guard him when his life was in danger. When bad men came to arrest him, he didn’t fight back. He told his friends to put away their swords. He took his hands, his hands that created the stars, the trees, the oceans, all the animals, and even the men who now stood before him, he took his hands and gave them to be tied up.
This is my King. When kings are captured, they do everything they can to break free. But my King didn’t — this was the hour of darkness, but it was also the hour of his glory. My King won his victory because he went to his death. My King wasn’t fighting to save his own life, he was fighting to defeat sin and death, to give real and forever life to everybody, even people like you and me. All kings lose everything when they die. But my King got his victory that way.
This is my King. Most kings give their people a little bit of stuff to buy their loyalty. They can’t give too much, otherwise they’ll run out. My King gave me everything he had — he gave me his life, he gave me his perfect record, and he took all of my guilt and shame and said it was his, and he died because of it. But God raised him from death after punishing him instead of me, and how he is alive. And now he tells me to follow him.
This is my King. Most kings are simple — do as I say because I’m your king, do as I say or I’ll hurt you. But some things about my King don’t seem to make sense — he is gentle and humble, but he hates evil; God raised him from the dead, and because of that I am new and alive too, but sometimes I don’t feel new and alive; my King took away forever my guilt and shame, but it seems to burn a hole in my heart everyday; my King says that because he is perfect, I am perfect, but I sure don’t look perfect; my King gave me everything and told me to follow him, but following him seems to demand everything from me too.
But this is my King. He’s not like other kings. I don’t deserve him, and he deserves better than me, but he will never leave me. And I will see him someday, and it’ll be the best thing ever.
And may he be your King too.