"More than Word Can Wield the Matter" | The Rev. Heidi Thorsen | November 23, 2025

Sermon Preached: Sunday, November 23, 2025 at Trinity on the Green

Year C, Proper 29 (Christ the King): Jeremiah 23:1-6 | Psalm 46 | Colossians 1:11-20 | Luke 23:33-43

May I speak in the name of God, who is to us Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Today we are honoring two significant anniversaries in the life of the church. The first is near and dear to Trinity: today, we celebrate the 50th anniversary of the Trinity Players. For 50 years the Trinity Players have been writing, adapting, and performing pieces that shine a light on the Gospel, through the medium of theater. There have been well over 50 people involved in this ministry over the past 50 years: actors, playwrights, directors, set designers, costume designers, and dramaturgs. Their performances have included sermon dramas, full plays, and staged readings– and they have brought to life source material ranging from medieval mystery plays, to Thorton Wilder, to plays written by Trinity’s own Neil Olsen. Today, we wish a very joyful 50th birthday to this creative, sacred ministry, and the leadership of Rev. Bob Sandine that has made it possible.

Today also marks another significant anniversary in the life of the church. This year makes 100 years that Christians have observed Christ the King, a feast day that always lands on the last Sunday of our liturgical year. Christ the King was first declared a Holy Day by Pope Pius XI in 1925. Pope Pius was inspired by Holy Scripture, which envisions the messiah as a triumphant king, especially the Hebrew Scriptures of the Old Testament. This imagery continues into the Gospels, but always with an ironic twist. Jesus’ “kingship” was a symbol of resistance against the powers of his day. While the Roman Emperors rode a horse into battle, Jesus entered Jerusalem on the back of a humble donkey. While the Roman Emperors crowned themselves with laurel wreaths and gilded metal, Jesus was crowned with a ring of thorns. 

Christ the King is not only a reflection on kingship in the Bible; it has also always been a response to the powers and principalities that stand in opposition to the kingdom of God. The feast of Christ the King was conceived in a time of rising fascism, the 1920s, when Christians were deeply concerned about the growing power of authoritarian leaders and the values they represented. In the face of these dictators, Christians proclaimed that there is no king but Jesus Christ. The would-be kings of Pope Pius’ day were Benito Mussolini in Italy, Adolf Hitler in Germany, and Joseph Stalin in Russia. Lord knows we have our own would-be kings in this day and age. Unfortunately, the Feast of Christ the King feels just as relevant as it ever was. It is a reminder that God’s kingdom isn’t created through our civil governments– there is no such thing as a Christian nation. Instead God’s kingdom is made through the breaking bread and the sharing of a cup, and the values that Jesus himself represents: care for the widow, the stranger, and those who are poor and oppressed; and healing and salvation for all people, from the criminal who was nailed beside Jesus on the cross, to the Roman centurions who participated in his crucifixion.

As I reflected this week on these two significant anniversaries– 50 years of the Trinity Players; 100 years of Christ the King– I imagined a venn diagram to find the common ground between these two things. The answer I arrived at was, of all things Shakespeare: King Lear. The Tragedy of King Lear is a play written by Shakespeare in the early years of 1600. It tells the story of Lear, a king of ancient Britain who decides to step down from the throne and divide his kingdom among his three daughters. But first, Lear gives them a test, asking each of his daughters which of them loves him the most. Lear’s older daughters Goneril and Regan, two of the villains in this tragedy, are quick to offer their father words of praise. “I love you more than word can wield the matter,” Goneril says, a line that suggests that she might stop there. But then Goneril goes on:

Sir, I love you more than word can wield the matter,

Dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty,

Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare,

No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honor;

As much as child e’er loved, or father found;

A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable.

Beyond all manner of so much I love you.

These words are beautiful, if ironic poetry– because Goneril seems to know that the function of words in this moment is primarily to flatter her father. She acknowledges that words are insufficient, and then she lays them on thick anyways, making her case for a generous inheritance of her father’s kingdom. The second sister, Regan, offers similar words of poetry and flattery.

Then, it is the youngest daughter Cordelia’s turn. Throughout her sister’s speeches, Cordelia thinks out loud in a series of “asides,” expressing her concerns about her father’s love-test. “What shall Cordelia speak? Love, and be silent,” she says to herself. Finally, when it is her turn to speak, Lear asks Cordelia what she has to say and her response is: “Nothing, my Lord.”

“Nothing?” Lear replies, in shock. He tries to convince her to say something– anything; but Cordelia insists that she cannot “cleave her heart into her mouth.” She cannot express her love for her father, as much as she does love him, as long as there are ulterior motives in the room. Lear’s confusion turns into rage, and by the end of the very first scene in the very first act, Lear banishes Cordelia to France. This is the action that sets the rest of the play in motion, as Lear’s older daughters fail to live up to their promises of love, and gradually turn on him. The rest of the play features plotting, backstabbing, literal stabbing, a thunderstorm for the ages, and a tragic end for many characters in the story.

What can we learn from Lear? On Christ the King Sunday, this story takes on additional meaning as we reflect on the kings of this world– real and fictional kings– and contrast those kings with the kind of king that Jesus is to us. Perhaps one of the most important things to remember about Jesus is that he never called himself a king. Jesus never sought the kind of prestige or power that comes with kingship. Instead it was other people who feared that Jesus was a threat to their power, and their authority. It was other people who placed a crown of thorns on Jesus’ head as a kind of mockery, and posted a sign over the cross saying “This is the King of the Jews.” 

Jesus was no King Lear. He didn’t require other people to make declarations of love, to earn their spot in his kingdom. He didn’t ask people to pledge allegiance to the cross. Jesus wasn’t interested in conquest or military might. He wasn’t interested in crowns or coins or ballrooms. But he was interested in a kingdom. Now this kingdom isn’t simply an inheritance that people can divide up amongst themselves. Instead, this kingdom is a vision of how the world could be. It is a vision that we still proclaim today, as Christians.

Just read through Jesus’ teachings in the Gospel. You will learn about a kingdom where there is more than enough food for everyone; where there is more than enough space for everyone. This kingdom is a banquet with an open invitation (Matthew 22:1-14). This kingdom is a pearl of great price, more valuable than any crown (Matt. 13:45-46). This kingdom is like yeast in a bowl of flour; divide it up, and it will grow back larger than before (Matt. 13:33, Luke 13:20-21).

While the kings of this world operate out of a sense of scarcity, the King of Heaven invites us to live with abundant hope.

While the kings of this world demand words of praise, the King of Heaven invites us to sit in silence before God, and let the Spirit intercede with sighs too deep for words.

While the kings of this world are preoccupied with their own kingship, the King of Heaven cares first for the kingdom; for each and every person and part of creation that is called into a realm of healing and wholeness.

Do not be led astray by the kings of this world. Instead, keep your eyes on the kingdom of heaven. 

There is a grain of truth in the love-test that King Lear gives to his daughters. While Lear was deeply wrong to ask them to compete for a share in his kingdom, he was right on some level in his hope that his kingdom was knit together by more than territories and treaties. On some level, Lear longed for a kingdom that was knit together by love. He was never going to find it in the kingdoms of this world. Be we do find such a kingdom in Jesus. 

As Cordelia says, “Love and be silent.” Love the Lord your God, with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength– and love God’s vision for the world. Sit in silence before God in prayer, asking that God’s kingdom would be made real in this world. And when you are done sitting in silence before God, then speak up. Proclaim the Gospel, in word and in deed– proclaim the Gospel through theater, or service to others, or everyday living. Proclaim the Gospel through whatever distinct callings and gifts God has given you. 

And may God’s kingdom come, on earth as it is in heaven. Amen.