Whenever I see the opening scene of Lion King, when Simba is presented to all the animals of the plains, I get emotional. Not because his character is a cute, sneezy fuzzball, but because of the reaction of all of the other beasts.
As the music rises to climax, and Rafiki the wise mandrill presents the future king to his subjects, the animals do something that seems decidedly ‘non-Disney.’ Certainly it doesn’t appear ‘modern.’ All of the animals on the ground, looking up at the cub, begin to growl, roar, trumpet, jump, shriek, stomp the ground and, in the end, bow down silently in honor of the newborn king of the beasts. It gives me chills every single time. The kingdom is giving honor to the king.
I get the same feeling when I read about Aragorn in Tolkien’s Return of the King. He is the suffering servant, the mysterious wanderer of many names who travels the wilderness for years, growing stronger and wiser, protecting the innocent. He ultimately confronts evil and tyranny on fields of battle before he is crowned. No longer Aragorn, he is King Elessar, the latest in an ancient, nearly lost line of nobility, returned to rightful rule at last. It is an image of joy and hope, as the King ascends the throne and all’s well with the world; or at least Middle Earth. I want Elessar to be my king too.
Just as I always loved tales of Arthur, who may or may not have existed as we have been told, I enjoy stories of the not-at-all mythical Alfred, the only king of England ever to be called ‘The Great.’ He unified smaller kingdoms into one, promoted Christianity, order, justice and education. This despite many troubles, including invading armies and a chronic intestinal illness that left him wracked with pain.
There’s just something about kingship. I know, this is America and we don’t have kings. (Well, not exactly.) But deep in my heart, I want a king. I want a good king, a just king, a holy king. I want a king I can kneel before, serve, live for and if necessary, die for with joy in my heart.
This isn’t about misplaced patriotism, or some rejection of democracy. Monarchs are perilous things. But the king I want deserves to be king. Not only is it his birthright, he has earned the crown through fire and battle. He knows his people and has gained his kingship by love and sacrifice. The king IS the country. He loves the people and wants only the best for them. The king I long for, ache for, not only lives for the country but would die for it and his subjects.
Which brings us, round about, to Christmas. Hidden beneath the camouflage of fat Santas, elves, sentimentality and commerce, Christmas is the Christian celebration of the coming of the King. Not held high, but born low. Sought by poor shepherds and wise men, also searching for a king. Feared by another king, Herod the Great. Condemned by Pilate (not quite a king but close). Born among the people he lived a most ‘unkingly’ life on earth, living his few years as a common man, who was nevertheless most uncommon. He worked, healed, taught and rebuked the great. He told his followers that he came to serve not be served. That was the model for his reign. He announced his Kingdom with a thundering whisper, like no king mankind had seen.
The prophets knew this: ‘…of the increase of His government there will be no end…’ The apostles did too: ‘Then, opening their treasures they offered him gifts, gold, frankincense and myrrh.’ The carol writers understood it. ‘Come adore on bended knee, Christ the Lord the newborn King.’ That word, lord. We use it so flippantly as just another church code-word. But the lord is the one to whom we owe devotion, the one with authority. Our ancestors in less democratic times understood. ‘Thank you Lord. Help me Lord. Have mercy on me Lord. Send me Lord.’
Christianity is far more breathtaking than its detractors, or even many adherents, realize. For it celebrates the coming of the King and his Kingdom. Same king, past, present and future. The King that puts all other kings, counsels, parliaments, presidents and ministers to shame and flight. And gives the word King it’s proper meaning for all time.
If that’s not a reason for a celebration, nothing ever was.