Each year, the Last Sunday after Pentecost presents the imagery of Christ reigning in glory, at the right hand of the Father, King of Kings and Lord of Lords, as the Collect puts it. In many places this Sunday is actually called The Feast of Christ the King, a Sunday before the subdued and somber season of Advent to express appropriate appreciation of the might and the majesty and splendor of our Lord.

And the Episcopal Church appoints what at first seems to be the most unusual Gospel for the celebration of Christ as King. The Gospel takes very brief note that Christ will come again in glory, but it is much more taken up with Christ's own declaration of solidarity and identification with those least associated in our minds with royal prerogative and sovereign ascendancy - the hungry, the thirsty, the sick, the naked, the imprisoned, the despised, the rejected, outcast, the uncared for. The Least of All.

The Church intends for this awkward paradox to prepare us for the awkward paradox of Christian life and faith and love. The Church wants us deeply aware of the glory and the splendor and the majesty of God, but it does not want us to be surprised by unpleasantness, startled by the disheartening consequences of fidelity to God, discouraged by the implications and demands of our faith.

The Church wants us to be prepared for, eager about offering to those we find most unwelcome and most repellant, the same constant and effective attention and devotion that we offer to our Lord himself.

Devotion to this King of Kings and Lord of Lords, is by his own insistence, gratuitous, unless we also demonstrate devotion to caring for those around us who are least likely to engender our care, to make any profound claim on our interest, concern, devotion - the crazed, the addicted, the dirty, the smelly, the homeless, the begging.

It is almost as though the Church seems to think, with all of the beauty of our worship, the glory of our hymns, the vestments and the incense we might need a little that we are called by God not to lose sight of the poor, the hungry, the lonely, the unattractive, in short, those who would be regarded as least of all. We need to remember them, because in serving them we are serving Christ. Let us sing his praise as beautifully as we can, worship him in the beauty of holiness, offer mass with the best we can possibly assemble - but we are not to let it distract us from noticing those who have nothing, nothing going for them but the grace of God and the support of our Savior.

In even the most repressive regimes, those who are known to have a champion in high places, to have the interest and favor of someone very powerful are safe and secure. There is a not so subtle suggestion here: "Don't think for a moment these unfortunate souls are forgotten by me, simply because they are overlooked by you. It will all come out in the wash."

Our worship of God is appreciated by him for our devotion, but also to the extent that it makes us more aware of and responsive to the poor, the hungry the sick, the dying, the lonely, those in prison, the ragged, the oppressed, the wandering, and the hurt, and of course, the ones who have sunk so far we simply don't even notice them any more.

The Gospel closes as it reminds us that at the end of time when this King of Kings and Lord of Lords comes again in glory to judge both the living and the dead, our lives will be evaluated, testimony will be taken, evidence introduced, a verdict reached, all based on how we have behaved toward the least of our fellow humans. What we have done or not done will be will be evaluated just as though we had done or not done that to Jesus Christ himself.