A King! We Want a King!

There is a curious irony in the fact that it is often the most allegedly democratic of peoples that countenance the most absolutist forms of government. No names, no pack-drills, as they say, but I can think of two much in the news of late. It reminds me of the old Israelite cry, ‘Give us a king! We want to be like other nations!’ (cf 1 Samuel 8). God did give Israel a king, but it was not an unmitigated success. What are we to make, then, of today’s ‘O’ antiphon?

O Rex Gentium, et desideratus earum, lapisque angularis, qui facis utraque unum: veni, et salva hominem, quem de limo formasti. O King of the Nations for whom they long, the corner-stone who makes of both one, come and save mankind whom you made from clay.

The translation is awkward, but I wanted to preserve the obvious scriptural references and, rather than smooth over the difficulties of qui facis utraque unum or even hominem, leave them in plain sight. Sometimes we need to be challenged by the theology of a prayer rather than whittling it down to something we can digest and endorse. However, it was not those phrases that caught my attention this morning so much as the opening invocation of God as Rex Gentium, King of the Nations, King of the Gentiles. It is an ambiguous phrase. On the one hand it proclaims God’s lordship over all; on the other, it claims God for the gentiles, those of us outside the Covenant, the slightly dodgy folk of least account who do not keep the Law. We know that we have been made sharers in the Covenant — Christ is indeed the corner-stone that unites both Jews and Gentiles in the family of God — but it is by way of privilege, a privilege we are apt at times to forget.

It can be hard not to think that the world as we know it is disintegrating. The Church is in disarray over the sex abuse scandals that have destroyed the trust of so many; our politicians seem incapable of putting the interests of others before their own pet plans and projects; the people we have always relied upon seem less dependable than they were. Into this mess comes a tiny, vulnerable baby, born in an obscure corner of the world yet bearing the greatest of titles, who will redeem the world; and we, smudged with sin and endlessly misunderstanding as we are, are privileged to share in the salvation He offers. Our prayer today is not for ourselves alone but for the whole world. The King of the Nations is Lord of all that is.

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O Rex Gentium and Our Need of Unity 2016

Unity is something to which we pay lip-service but often shy away from in practice, at least as regards its more demanding aspects. A nice, cosy feeling of togetherness on some issue or other, that’s fine; a vague agreement on some basic principles that doesn’t demand any radical reassessment of how we go about things, no problem; but unity of the kind today’s antiphon urges? Perhaps not. Let’s remind ourselves what we pray for today:

Rex Gentium, et desideratus earum, lapisque angularis, qui facis utraque unum: veni, et salva hominem, quem de limo formasti. 

O King of the Nations for whom they long, the corner-stone who makes of both one, come and deliver man whom you made from clay.

This is a prayer for us gentile Christians, who have been grafted on to the Jewish rootstock through the gracious action of God. We have come late to the Covenant but have been welcomed into it through the blood of Christ. We are frail vessels of clay, but in Jesus Christ, we find the strength of the corner-stone who makes us one. Our prayer is accordingly short and stark: come and deliver us!

Why should our prayer be so simple? I think it is because in this antiphon, as in no other, we are confronted with our own need. The prayer is wrenched out of us, as it were. We may have difficulty with the idea of God as King; we may be hazy about what that meant in Old Testament times; we may stumble over the idea of desiring God, longing for him — it seems so unBritish to allow any emotion to enter our religion, doesn’t it?— even if we concede that unity, wholeness, especially at the personal level, makes sense and is desirable. But this prayer is for something more, it is for a unity that goes beyond the merely functional to the essential. Ultimately, what we are asking is not merely unity in Christ but union with Christ — and that is scary. It means entrusting ourselves to God wholly and for ever, and most of us are frightened of that.

Today we look around the world and see everywhere the signs and consequences of disunity. The rise of nationalism and the disintegration of many of the old political entities has implications for us all, wherever we live. Even in the Church there is bitterness and feuding. In the West, the possibilities opened up by the internet and Social Media have not always been used positively. It is easy to lament what we have lost and indulge in a kind of après nous le déluge nostalgia. The idea of consensus, of working towards a common goal, of sharing ideals and aspirations, may not be as strong as it once was. That does not mean, however, that we are condemned to live in isolation or in little bubbles of like-mindedness. Today’s O antiphon reminds us that we are made of clay. Think of the possibilities that implies. Clay moulded and fired makes excellent brick, and brick laid carefully makes a strong building. When God created Adam from clay, he knew what he was doing; and in Jesus Christ, the new Adam, he has given us a glimpse of what we can become, indeed already are, united with and to him:

I am all at once what Christ is, ‘ since he was what I am, and
This Jack, joke, poor potsherd, ‘ patch, matchwood, immortal diamond,
Is immortal diamond. (G. M. Hopkins)

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Kingship: O Rex Gentium 2015

With today’s O antiphon, we tread difficult ground. Kingship is no longer part of the everyday vocabulary of many people, while the references to the desired of the nations, corner-stones, being made one and man formed from clay are more or less obscure to those who don’t have the scriptures at their finger-tips. The text reads well enough in Latin but is awkward in English:

O Rex Gentium, et desideratus earum, lapisque angularis, qui facis utraque unum: veni, et salva hominem, quem de limo formasti.
O King of the Nations for whom they long, the corner-stone who makes of both one, come and deliver man whom you made from clay.

The more awkward the text, however, the more rewarding study of it generally proves. Some of the primary biblical references (e.g. Isaiah 9.7; Isaiah 2.4; Isaiah 28.16; Haggai 2.8; Ephesians 2.14; Genesis 2.7) act as a commentary on the words, filling out the literary short-hand of the composition. What they don’t do is apply the text itself to the life we lead here and now, or not without a few mental gymnastics on our part. It is easy to forget that this antiphon is prayer. Situated at one of the high-points of the Vesper liturgy, it acts as a lens for the Magnificat, concentrating its power and energy. In the antiphon we acknowledge our brokenness, our fragility, our apparently insoluble divisions, and bring our poor, wretched, suffering humanity to him who alone can restore and make it whole. In calling on God as King of the nations, King of the gentiles, we are claiming our birthright as his beloved children, brought into the Covenant through the blood of the cross and made a new creation in Christ. In short, what we ask in prayer is as breathtaking as the gift we are promised; and it is fitting, that having entrusted our needs to him, we sing Mary’s joyful expression of confidence in the Holy One of Israel.

Today, if you can, try to spend a little while thinking about these things. You will find the text and music (Flash needed) here: http://bit.ly/1roZnkA.Facebooktwitterredditpinterestlinkedintumblrmail

The Cornerstone: O Rex Gentium

Today’s O antiphon is

O Rex Gentium, et desideratus earum, lapisque angularis, qui facis utraque unum: veni, et salva hominem, quem de limo formasti.
O King of the Nations, and him for whom they long, the corner-stone who makes of both one, come and deliver man whom you made from clay.

It is a little too bald for some people’s liking. We are not often reminded that we are of the earth, earthy. We know we are divided, not just one against another but very often within our own self, but to think of ourselves as clay! As something that can be moulded, refashioned, fired, broken into dust again, that takes some getting used to. Yet the knowledge of our origin can remind us of something else, equally important. We are clay that has been stamped with the image and likeness of God. Our dust has been shared by the Son of God himself. It follows that the whole earth is sacred, every step we take is on holy ground.

I was thinking this morning of the tragedy unfolding  in South Sudan — the unimaginable violence; the destruction of human beings by human malice; the profanation of Christ in the person of those who suffer. It seems such a weak hope to pray for an end to the conflict, but pray we must; and I think today’s O antiphon gives us the words we need. We invoke the King of the Nations, the ruler of the gentiles, the one for whom we long, as the Cornerstone who alone can hold together the warring factions. In his humanity he too is clay, but unlike us poor potsherds, he has been fired to a strength and beauty that surpasses anything we could dream or desire. He comes as Saviour and Redeemer; today we pray that he will have mercy on the people of South Sudan, whom he created in his love and redeemed by the blood of his cross.

If you would like some scripture references to ponder in relation to today’s antiphon, try these: Isaiah 9:7; Isaiah 2:4; Isaiah 28:16; Haggai 2:8; Ephesians 2:14; Genesis 2:7Facebooktwitterredditpinterestlinkedintumblrmail

Our Need of Wholeness

Last year, when I wrote about today’s antiphon, O Rex Gentium, at some length (see here), I concentrated on the idea of God’s authority, which is so different from our usual experience. Today, however, I’d like to focus on what the antiphon says about wholeness.

Most of us would probably admit that we are broken in some way, discordant, at odds with both ourself and others to a greater or lesser extent. Most of the time we bumble along quite happily and only really register that something is amiss when we see the fruits of that inner discordance: a row with someone perhaps, or a sudden feeling of flatness and weariness in the midst of what ‘ought’ to be unalloyed happiness. It can be distressing. Of course we have to live with imperfection, in ourselves as much as in others, but we do not like it. I think the antiphon’s insistence on our fragility — mere vessels of clay that we are — and on God’s strength — the corner-stone of our lives — is a powerful reminder that the wholeness we seek comes to us as a gift. There is no such thing as D.I.Y. salvation.

Today, as we pray for the coming of the King of the nations, the corner-stone who has made both Jew and gentile one, let us pray that whatever in us is broken or out of tune may be restored to wholeness through his mercy. And may the mercy shown to us teach us to be merciful to others.Facebooktwitterredditpinterestlinkedintumblrmail

O Rex Gentium: a new kind of authority

O Rex Gentium, et desideratus earum, lapisque angularis, qui facis utraque unum: veni, et salva hominem, quem de limo formasti.
O King of the Nations for whom they long, the corner-stone who makes of both one, come and deliver man whom you made from clay.

Here are a few scripture texts to ponder before listening to the antiphon: Isaiah 9.7; Isaiah 2.4; Isaiah 28.16; Haggai 2.8; Ephesians 2.14; Genesis 2.7

 

We live in a world where ‘authority’ is conferred by the search engines or the ratings agencies and many individuals chase after Twitter ‘followers’ or Facebook ‘friends’ as a form of personal validation. The idea of inherent authority is quite alien to lots of people, so the imagery of today’s antiphon needs working at.

Christ is presented to us as King: one who, in the Ancient World, had absolute power, an unassailable authority, but who, as a consequence, had an obligation equally serious toward his subjects, best expressed by the idea of covenant. We are not talking about someone unconcerned with our fate but someone involved in it.

It is, however, the next phrase of this antiphon that I find most striking. The translation doesn’t quite capture the force of desideratus. To invoke Christ as the Desired of All Nations is to make a strong claim for his universality. This title for the Messiah rests on the second chapter of Haggai, and the promise that the temple will be rebuilt: ‘I will shake the earth and the Desired of All Nations shall come and will fill this house with splendour’ (following the Septuagint rather than the Hebrew text). As though to say, there is in all of us, whether overtly religious or not, an impulse towards what is good and beautiful and true which will be gloriously fulfilled.

The reminder that we are divided among ourselves, needing a Saviour to redeem and reunite us, is hardly news, but so often we think salvation is some kind of self-help process we can achieve through myriad self-improvement projects. At a national/international level we rely on agreements and legislation which often fail at times of crisis. The truth is, with God everything is possible; without him, nothing is.

The antiphon ends with a reference to our creation from the dust of earth. It is full of hope. Who can forget that, according to the Christian understanding of things, our very humanity has been transformed:

I am all at once what Christ is, since he was what I am, and
This Jack, joke, poor potsherd, patch, matchwood, immortal diamond,
Is immortal diamond.

Jew and gentile have been made one through the sacrifice of Christ on the Cross. He has become the corner-stone because he alone can save, can breathe new life into those he has formed from the dust of earth. This Christmas we celebrate not just the birth of Christ but our own birth in Christ, our own glorious recreation.Facebooktwitterredditpinterestlinkedintumblrmail