The Royal Official and Us
AM Psalm 41, 52 • PM Psalm 44
Gen. 14:(1-7)8-24 • Heb. 8:1-13 • John 4:43-54
The readings for today are bookended with brief, but powerful, encounters. Abram, after returning from battle, encounters the obscure figure of Melchizedek. Despite a thorny and challenging textual tradition, Melchizedek has captured the interpretive movements of theologians for centuries as being a precursor to the incarnate Christ, offering bread and wine as a symbol of the eucharistic feast that would be celebrated centuries later by the incarnate Son. The reading from Hebrews is joined well with this passage, but the gospel has a similarly brief, yet powerful, moment between the royal official and Christ.
The story of the royal official feels especially poignant, as he comes to Christ bearing his desperation and anxiety at his son’s being at the brink of death. As we journey through the weariness of the pandemic, witness staggering ecological crises, and continued injustice, we often cry out like the royal official in our grief for Christ to come down and save us. But the narrative of saving the royal official’s son creates a more complex story of grief and healing. The truth is that we bear grief and healing in our midst constantly. The theologian C. S. Song writes that “[o]ne does not wait until the end for a miracle to happen… life itself is a miracle, even a life wracked with pain, suffering, and anxiety. Life consists of many miracles, miracles of waiting in faith and hope, of believing and experiencing God’s grace. Faith does not do away with pain and suffering, but it does enable us to wait actively in hope, to walk in hope and and even run in hope.”
As Abram gives of himself to Melchizedek, Melchizedek gives of himself to Abram. As the royal official gives of himself to Christ, Christ gives of himself to the royal official. Our encounters with God, whether in thankfulness or in grief, bear the signs of salvation in our lives through our faith and hope. Christ is the mediator of a covenant secured in hope, because he gives of himself to us when we need him the most, even in those brief, yet desperate encounters.
Written by Rev. Dr. Nathan John Haydon
Nathan earned his PhD in English studying medieval literature and languages from the University of Arkansas. He’s an Episcopal priest, Benedictine oblate, lover of cats and coffee, and a transplant from Fayetteville, Arkansas to St. Louis with his super smart scientist wife, Kathryn.