Dear Sisters and Brothers in Christ,
We rejoice on this Feast of the King! Someone has said that we don't relate well to "kings". Perhaps we should title this feast "Christ the President," or "Christ the Prime Minister". However, presidents and prime ministers own their office to popularity polls and elections. Christ the King owes his position to neither elections nor popularity polls. Christ is true God and true Man. Christ is King, may he reign in the hearts of his people forever!
What makes your life in the final judgment a success or a failure? According to this Gospel, it is whether you responded to what Dr. King called the lost, the least, the last. What a surprising criteria! The sheep are being rewarded for actions that they did almost without thinking, simply because a person was in need. The Shepherd assures them that when they gave a drink of water, or visited the hospital; they cared for him.
A gentleman died, so the story goes, and his wife put a notice in the obituary column which read: "Los Angeles, today my husband, Mr. Smith, departed for heaven at 3:30 AM." The next day a notice appeared in the paper: "Heaven, 8:30 PM. Mr. Smith has not yet arrived. Whereabouts unknown."
Every so often my online password gets lost in cyberspace and I have to put up another one. My most recent password was that of a dear friend who died two years ago and I used her name as part of my password, so that every time I use the password I remember her. It's a memory trigger. Perhaps we have other memory triggers which bring to mind those that we loved and have gone one before us. While my brother is still alive we remind each other of birthdays of deceased relatives and share stories of family members who preceded us in death. When one of us dies...who knows....
Dear Brothers and Sisters in Christ,
I was happily surprised to see an article in the Macon Telegraph extolling the virtues of the family meal. The author said that research has shown that family meals curb delinquency and help create a sense of family unity. Someone told me that at his family table there was a rule: only one conversation at a time. Breaking bread means sharing our lives.