My friends, all of my ministry in many ways comes from Africa, because I had never ministered in a developed country until I came to Christ the King here in California.  So for my homilies, a lot of my inspiration comes from Africa, from Kenya and Uganda.

This morning I am going to share with you it’s tragic and it’s beautiful.  People ask me about Kenya and Africa – what is it, what is it like?  And I always sum it up in one sentence – a tragic beauty.  It has tremendous beauty and also tremendous tragedy.  And to hold both in balance is difficult for anyone who lives there, and especially for the people.

The road that evening was like a ribbon of moonlight because the moon shown through the trees and through the scattered storms.  The air was sharp and the sky was ever so clear with a burst of stars that lit up my path.  And indeed the moon also played a part to show me the direction to the inner village near the city of Kisumu, which is neatly situated near Lake Victoria.  And I was driving a 4-wheel pickup because that was ideal for the dusty and the uneven, rough terrain of the Kenyan roads.  There was something enchanting about that evening.  It echoed that it was a holy night.  And indeed, it was a holy night that evening.  There was a certain calm and hush, but this was suddenly broken by the shrieks and the sounds of the children, because in the village I was the only car.  They could hear me coming from a long distance off.  And, they always welcomed me with cheers of laughter and those huge big smiles that the African children are very well known for.

Their name for me was Buddha; that’s the name the children called me in Kenya – they called me Buddha, mainly because there was a lot of waiting in Kenya.  Time has a different definition.  Appointment is not in their diary.  People can be an hour late; they can be two hours late for an event.  So when I would show up for mass, usually I had to wait one or two hours for the people to arrive. So I would sit under the tree and they thought I was mediating, but I think many times I was resting or even falling asleep.  So I think that’s why they called me Buddha – it was term of affection.

On that midnight I was traveling with the children and we came to the village, we came to the church.  And the women had the church already decorated in their own simple way.  They would cut their old colorful clothes into little pieces.  They would run a string through the little pieces of cloth and hang them on the rafters of the church.  That was their Christmas decoration, very simple but very meaningful.  Because that evening was Christmas Eve and that’s why it was a holy night, and a special night.  And they were also singing.  I could hear the women singing in the distance a Swahili hymn that welcomes Christ into our world on Christmas Eve.

But soon and suddenly with a shock all this beauty was shattered.  It was disturbed beyond all telling.  Just six days after Christmas Eve, we had an election in Kenya and the president who was unable, unwilling to hand over power swore himself in again the second day for another five year term.  And this caused chaos and lawlessness in the country between the warring tribes.  Neighbor killed neighbor, friend killed friends.  And in a country where Christianity is there for 115 years it still didn’t work.  How deep Christianity went, I am not sure because friend killed friend.  1600 people perished and 55,000 were displaced and made homeless.  All because of a greed for power.  The president his greed and his grip on power that he would not leave go.

So my friends the feast of Christ and King prompted me to tell you this story.  What kind of leadership did this president exercise?  Is it the model that Jesus talks about today?  Is it the model of kinship that Jesus witnessed to?  And we all could say with a heartfelt seriousness “No!”  This was not what Jesus talked about or witnessed to.

The model was very different that Jesus talked of.  It was remote from the structures of society even during the era of Pilot.  During the era of Pilot control and fear were the order of the day, oppression and injustice, disregard for human life and human rights.  Cruelty and violence somehow were the norm.

Jesus came along with something very different.  He disarmed the people with his double-edged sword.  On the one hand, he embodied a mature vulnerability to love and to be compassionate, to respect, enter into dialogue and enter into invitation.  The flip side was more demanding.  The flip side was he demanded transparency, accountability and responsibility.  The love he promoted and the love he fostered was far from romantic and vague.  He spoke of the love that was already incarnated in each and every one of us.  He taught us that happiness is an inside job.  That’s where our happiness is.  And indeed, the people of Kenya had that in abundance.

He talked about the kingdom of goodness within each and every one of us.  And he talked about mutual self-giving, interdependence, and communion.  In fact, our love of God grows even stronger and our relationship with God even grows stronger when we begin to start loving each other, because we are put in this world for growth.

If we gaze at Jesus, he had no fancy car, no tanks or guns, no throne or crown, no palace and no army.  Indeed, he was homeless; he didn’t have a home.  We’ve seen itinerant preacher walk dusty roads with a band of men and a band of women.  And he somehow never really entered many buildings; he usually sat on the steps and sat with the people who are not invited in, the nobodies, and the rejected.  The outsiders were the people Jesus hung around with.

And if we are serious at putting Jesus number 1 in our life, and that’s what Christ the King is about – is Jesus number 1 in our life.  We must be courageous enough at revealing ourselves.  It would be sad if we end our life and nobody really knows us.

And last week we had a wonderful example where somebody revealed about his illness, Father Declan, which took courage, which took grace of character to reveal the serious illness that he has, the cancer.  That took a lot of courage.  We also are called to support someone who may be unpopular in our home, or in our community, or our church.  Getting off the bandwagon and walking in step with the drummer, even though it may be awkward and not politically correct.  Speaking our truth may call for outrageous hope, unusual selflessness and unbelievable courage.  We are called for all of those three.

If we look at Pilot, knowing that Jesus was innocent, Pilot in many ways was a good man.  He wanted to set Jesus free, but Pilot was intimated and threatened by the people that hung around him.  They pressured him to dilute his truth and to give in and have Jesus crucified.  So, it also begs the question:  “Do we allow other people to dilute our truth?”  “Do we allow other people to compromise our truth?”  Are we active and true participants in the human kingdom of Jesus and embody his values of being helpers and servants of the truth?  Because it’s very easy to slide into the opposite mode of self-serving and destructive power like the Kenyan president fell into in 2006. 

And that new year as I wondered around the town of Kisumu I smelt the brutal pain and the seeping wounds of the slain victims on the street.  The chaos and the agony were evident.  The fear and insecurity was tangible.  The burned out homes, and indeed, the burned out churches were there too.  Crying children and desperate mothers seeking food in the nearby garbage bins.  This, in one way I witnessed a modern day crucifixion.  And this was the New Year’s gift the president gave to his people.

Alas, the joyous expectation and simple beauty of that Christmas evening, when I felt it was beautiful and magical is now just but a distant memory.  A new year had begun with no happy voices; no happy songs filled the air.  I remember, even the children fell silent.

 

Amen.