Queen Bey and Christ the King

I subscribe to the music streaming service Spotify, and beyond access to all the music I could imagine on my phone and computer, one of the benefits of Spotify is that it collects my listening patterns to make recommendations and provide me with statistics about my habits. This is how I know that for at least five years running, Beyoncé has been in my top five most listened-to artists. Clearly I’m not alone in my love for Beyoncé, as she a powerhouse of music, film, fashion, and philanthropy. She is one of the highest paid recording artists in history, and recently became the most nominated woman in Grammy history. She is known affectionately by those close to her as “Bey.” Thus, her fan base call themselves the “Bey-hive,” and no surprises, she is the Queen Bey.

Over the last few years, as her celebrity has grown, so has the trend of referring to Beyoncé as the queen: the Queen of Pop, the Queen of Music, or simply, Our Queen. But the regal admiration doesn’t simply stop with how we talk about her. People around the world look to Beyoncé as a true leader, from wearing clothes she advertises to voting for political candidates she endorses. Talented, beautiful, smart, and iconic, Beyoncé fits the bill for what we think royalty should be, and in researching for this sermon, I found countless accolades for her, including a tweet by an Episcopal priest which says “Beyoncé is the queen we need, not the queen we deserve.”


We are quick to pour accolades on people we admire and idolize, people we consider royalty, and though social media certainly increases our exposure to it, this is not a new phenomenon. Just look at Paul’s letter to the Colossians, from which we heard a portion just a few moments ago:

“He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation; for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers-- all things have been created through him and for him. He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together. He is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, so that he might come to have first place in everything. For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven.”

Paul’s speech is high praise, a eulogy fit for a king, full of kind words and accolades. But mere lines down the page in our bulletins is a very different image of Christ, one that catches our breath every time we hear it. Today, on Christ the King Sunday, Luke is telling us something crucial about kingship if we’re willing to listen.

Without any warning, we find Jesus on the cross in the last moments of his life, and he is certainly not receiving kind words, much less any accolades. In just a few short verses, “the people stood by watching Jesus,” “the leaders scoffed at him,” ‘the soldiers mocked him,” “and one of the criminals who were hanged there kept deriding him.” It is a sad and pitiful scene, and we do not think of a king, a person charged with leading and protecting us, as someone willingly hanging from a cross. If the Queen Bey, Beyoncé were caught in some less than dignified situation, the press and the internet would likely jump at the chance to crucify her, so to speak.

But what Luke wants us to know about kingship hinges on that very last sentence. “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.” No other king in the history of the world has been able to promise that, and Christ keeps that promise still. What Christ offers, forgiveness of sin, a new life of discipleship, the joy of God’s grace, that is true kingship. Paul’s kingly tribute is well-deserved. But we can’t have any of it without indignity of the Cross.

It would, of course, be lovely if faith and civic leaders throughout the world had more in common with Christ than with some of the more infamous kings and queens throughout history. Although truth be told, I like to think Beyoncé does have some of these characteristics: she’s kind, dedicated, and a good role model. But on Christ the King Sunday, the final Sunday of our church year, as the last word about who God is, we hear a proclamation about a King of Kings who is most deserving of our accolades, who protects and guides us, who is worthy of our worship, and it is Christ. More specifically, it is Christ on the Cross, in all the indignity of the scene, scoffs and derision and all.

I think it’s just fine for us to let our modern kings and queens keep their titles. Elvis can still be the King of Rock and Roll, Steve McQueen can still be the King of Cool, and Beyoncé can still be our Queen Bey. But if Lectionary Year C has left us with anything, perhaps it is this: as the Kingdom of God breaks in here on earth, nothing will be left unchanged, including our understanding kingship. No longer will wealth or skill or earthly power be the most worthy of our praises. We have a new model. A new kind of king. A King of Kings who deserves every accolade we can give. He’s rough around the edges, and he takes a lot of flack from the crowds, but he can promise that truly, we will be with him in paradise. Amen.