I can’t believe four entire days have gone by and I haven’t written a single word about it.
“It” in this case being the coronation of King Charles of England.
I know, I know. I suspect most of you reading this post are rabid republicans (lower case “r”) who could not give a fiddly fig about our Prior Oppressors and their fancy dress costume parties. You likely didn’t give Thought #1, 2, or 3 about the Momentous Moment which took place on May 6 across the pond as the doddering old guy with the made-up surname bowed and had a big, bejeweled hat placed on his head.
And mostly I didn’t care either.
Even though it has been nearly 70 years since the last coronation of a British monarch, count me among those who passionately can’t comprehend all that royal hubbub over there.
I suppose some think of it as cute. And some think of it as steeped in tradition. Others likely put it in the same category as their worship of the latest K-Pop sensation, or their devotion to the outcome of the annual Westminster Kennel Club dog show.
But is there anyone who can look at me with a straight face and call it RELEVANT?
Before you dismiss me as a maliciously meddling malcontent you should know this; I am currently in the middle of season 5 of The Crown. I am honestly trying to get it. I tune in with an open mind each time, waiting for the Bulb of Illumination to click on above my head, signaling the moment when I finally realize why this convoluted system of governance continues to exist.
But so far, nothing.
Zero.
Zip.
Bupkis.
Classically, a king (or queen) is the supreme authority of a people or a place. The final adjudicator of disputes large and small. The figure before which every knee shall bend in servile deference.
And in that sense, I have no hesitation at all about conferring that title on Jesus Christ. For me, he is King of Kings… Lord of Lords… Author of Life and Ruler of my Soul. I will not hesitate for a moment to call Him the Supreme Authority before whom my knee will always bend. In any moment of confusion or indecision, His Word is the final word.
So, I guess it is probably a combination of my Christian faith and my American heritage. But the fact remains; I find it impossible to afford that same kind of standing to another (mere) flesh and blood human being.
Besides my theological objections, I also see a very dark and dangerous side to whole notion of human kings and queens. By definition, “royals” are a special class of people. It is a familial title which can only be passed on by blood relationships. And as such, it perpetuates the idea that there is a certain class of people who are born to rule while the rest of us are born to BE ruled.
It is this exact mindset that ignited and perpetuated England’s (and others) Empire-building escapades of the 14th, 15th, and 16th centuries. It is the conviction that says, “We, the enlightened, ennobled ones, have a divine right and DUTY to bring our advanced ways to your dark, backward continent and thus, free you from YOURSELVES!”
As it spread, this mentality gave birth to genocide, slavery, war, global epidemics, and death.
And far too often, sadly, the promulgation of the Christian faith was used as the “tip of the spear” to initiate the subjugation of new lands.
So, no. I am no fan of kings, queens, or any other human kind of monarch. At best, I consider them a trite anachronism. At worst, a perpetuation of an implicit human caste system.
It is entirely possible, however, that I am missing something. So, I would invite any Brit – or monarchist of any nationality, for that matter – to weigh in and set me straight.
Abundant blessings;
Russellings of the Spirit 