"Disciples Give Their Ultimate Allegiance to Christ" (November 23, 2025 Sermon)
/Text: Colossians 1:11-20
“If I ever lose my faith in you, there’d be nothing left for me to do.”
Such sings the chorus of Sting’s 1993 single, “If I Ever Lose My Faith In You.” In between the choruses, Sting uses the verses to list off things around him that inevitably disappoint:
You could say I lost my faith in science and progress
You could say I lost my belief in the holy Church
You could say I lost my sense of direction
You could say all of this and worse, but
If I ever lose my faith in you
There'd be nothing left for me to do
Some would say I was a lost man in a lost world
You could say I lost my faith in the people on TV
You could say I'd lost my belief in our politicians
They all seemed like game show hosts to me
If I ever lose my faith in you
There'd be nothing left for me to do
Today is Christ the King Sunday, which always falls on the final Sunday of the liturgical year, the Sunday before Advent. In a way, Christ the King Sunday (or “Reign of Christ” Sunday as it is also called) is the Church telling the Cosmic Christ, “if we ever lose our faith in you, there’d be nothing left for us to do.”
I suppose if we were to rewrite Sting’s song for ourselves, we could list things we’re tempted to give our allegiance to that ultimately disappoint. With the approval ratings of our elected representatives at an all-time low (on both sides of the aisle), there’s certainly no shortage of cynicism in our body politic these days. History is replete with examples of powerful men with messianic promises and over-inflated egos. Kings who chose misogyny over dignity, chaos over progress, and power over the basic tenets of human decency. Yes, history is full of kings and wannabe kings who are remarkably consistent in their ability to disappoint.
Or maybe, like me, you’ve encountered things outside the realm of politics that inevitably disappoint. I’ve trusted my own sense of self-righteousness, only to be reminded that I certainly don’t have all the answers. I’ve trusted my doctrinal beliefs, only to be reminded that my understanding of God is hopelessly susceptible to fallibility. I’ve relied on my own ability to do things for myself, only to be reminded that discipleship is a group project. You could say I’ve lost faith in all of these things, but if I ever lose faith in the Risen Christ, there’d be nothing left for me to do.
Whether our idol of choice is political, personal, or some combination thereof, I have good news: the Risen Christ comes before all of them. Full stop. Hear again these words from Paul letter to the Colossians:
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.
Do you hear the totality of that statement? In just two sentences, Paul uses the word “all” four times. It’s as if he’s lighting an obnoxiously colored neon sign with the following statement: “Christ is king and there are no exceptions. Not a one.” But the Church has sometimes forgotten that pillar of our faithfulness.
In the 1930s, many Christians in Germany considered Hitler to be such an exception. Nazi flags appeared in German churches. German nationalism claimed to align with Christianity, though its fruits were hardly recognizable from those produced by the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Gradually, in small steps at first almost imperceptible but increasingly startling, the Nazis infiltrated the German churches to justify their fascist inclinations.
But a German pastor named Martin Niemoller grew disillusioned with Hitler’s regime and the many Christians who pledged their allegiance to him. He had, at one point, supported Hitler, but his faith in Christ ultimately led him to denounce him and lead other German Christians in faithful resistance. “There is but one head of the church,” Niemoller said, “and his name isn’t Hitler.”
Unfortunately, not all German Christians shared the same view. That’s why one of the declarations in our denomination’s Book of Confessions, the Theological Declaration of Barmen, was written specifically to affirm the church's opposition to any and all forms of authoritarianism. One piece of evidence that such an anti-fascist statement was needed was a 1941 German hymnal called “Großer Gott, wir loben dich,” which you might know by its English translation: “Holy God, We Praise Thy Name.” The hymnal took its name from the hymn by the same title that we still sing today (it’s in our purple hymnal). It was written in 1774 by a German Catholic priest and is, in its original form, a beautiful song of praise and thanksgiving to God. However, the so-called German Christians published it as the flagship hymn in their 1941 hymnal, which included a verse praising Hitler, including the words “Lord God, guide our füehrer!”
Sadly, that hymn was far from the only one changed to support nationalist ideology. The rest of the hymnal removed any references to Jesus Christ being Jewish. All mentions of the Old Testament were omitted. Non-German phrases such as “Alleluia” or “Kyrie Eleison” were eliminated. It downplayed Trinitarian theology and highlighted nationalistic themes of military strength and victory. Awkward, warmongering lyrics were added to well-known hymns, like the shocking line: “We praise the fight, and the shriek of death.” As for the Psalms, those were ripped out because any good citizen of the Aryan nation couldn’t possibly sing songs written by that Jewish king, David.
Yes, friends, hymns can be holy. But in the context of German Christians embracing Nazi ideology through corporate worship, this hymnal, “Großer Gott, wir loben dich,” made singing a decidedly unholy act. I bring this up to make a broader point: throughout history, the Church has sometimes veered into idolatry when it forgets that Christ alone is King, that Christ alone is the head of the church, and that Christ alone is the lord of our conscience.
But long before German Christians sang those unholy hymns, there was another hymn the Church sang, one that, by contrast, was crystal clear in its affirmation of Christ as the head of the church. And, we’ve already heard it today! It is the Colossians passage that comes to us today from the Revised Common Lectionary. Appropriately, it is often called the “Christ Hymn” of the New Testament because scholars believe Paul adapted it from a popular hymn in the early Church.
Again, these are the words of the hymn in the prose of Paul: [Christ] 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, by making peace through the blood of his cross.
Friends, the hymns we sing matter. This preacher will openly admit that, for most of us, hymns have a greater impact on our embedded theology than any single sermon can. I could preach a dozen sermons on Christ the King, but none, no matter how much I try, will have the same impact as singing “All Hail the Power of Jesus’ Name,” which we will sing together at the end of this service. In these days, when we see powers and principality compete for our allegiance - vying for our loyalty, our attention, and our obedience - it is more important now than ever that we sing songs to our “Sure Redeemer,” “our only trust,” “Savior of our heart,” “the King of mercy and grace,” “the life by which alone we live,” and “our true and perfect gentleness.” Those acclamations are all affirmations of Christ that we will sing in the hymn right after this sermon, “I Greet Thee, Who My Sure Redeemer Art.”
We sing these affirmations because we reserve them for Christ and Christ alone. On this Christ the King Sunday, we worship a King who does not rely on political power, which was often imposed on him by his followers. On this Christ the King Sunday, we worship a King who rejects any attempts to use his name to dominate, intimidate, or manipulate. On this Christ the King Sunday, we worship a King who never demeaned women by calling them “piggies,” nor encouraged violence of any kind, nor sought to divide neighbor from neighbor. No, friends, we worship a different kind of King: one who is the firstborn of all creation, the image of the invisible God, through whom all things in heaven and on earth were created. We worship Christ who is alone the head of the body, the church. The beginning, the end, and everything in between. We worship a Christ in whom the fullness of God was pleased to dwell. We worship a King of reconciliation, not division. We worship a King of peace, not vitriol. We worship a King who is worthy of our praise, and not any earthly throne, dominion, ruler, or power that claims to be the ultimate authority in our lives.
Friends, this is the King we worship. For if we ever lost faith in him, there’d be nothing left for us to do.
In the name of God the Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer, may all of us, God’s children, say: Amen.