Anytime the phone rings at 4 a.m. it’s always unnerving. Very rarely is it good news. Two years ago Peggielene Bartels got just such a phone call.

The call she got was from her uncle back in her homeland of Ghana in West Africa. He informed her that her other uncle, who had ruled as king of the small fishing village of Otuam, had died. But the call Peggy ultimately answered wasn’t just some sad family news. It was life changing. The village elders had anointed her as the successor to her uncle. Peggy had been chosen to be the village’s new King.

Peggie Bartels had moved to the U.S. in the 1970’s, and had become a naturalized US citizen. She lived just outside Washington, D.C., where she worked as a secretary at Ghana’s embassy. This is hardly the usual training ground for royalty. But she was convinced by the conviction she heard in the voices who chose her to rule. During the selection process the village elders had been astonished when, after Peggy’s name was mentioned, the ritual libations being poured out began to smoke and vaporize. They did the ritual three times. Three times they got the same answer: The village’s new ruler was to be “King Peggy.”

Sovereignty didn’t come with a lot of perks. “King Peggy” wasn’t whisked away to some diamond-studded palace. Instead she had to save and scrimp and scrounge for enough funds to get herself back to Ghana and to pay for the expected grand send-off required for her deceased uncle, the former king. It took her two years before she could return to her village and provide the proper royal burial. She also was faced with renovating a very run-down royal palace.

King Peggy also confronted opposition because she was a woman, and because she was an outsider. This was not the way “things had always been done.” When defending the legitimacy of her election, King Peggy held up her communities own rules to her dissenters: “I’m in the State, I’m a woman, and in the rituals with the ancestors you chose me in the name of God, so shut up and sit down.”

“King Peggy” was not what most of the Otuam villagers expected as their new, duly-anointed, king.

She didn’t come from the established elite power circle.

She was a she.

She was an outsider—even though she came from their village.

Some of her first acts were unpopular — like dismantling a “good-old boys” inner circle that had mishandled the appropriations of fishing fees. She is now actively raising funds to construct the first high school in the village and is making sure that for the first time the school welcomes girls as well as boys who want to continue their education beyond the ninth grade.

There is no doubt that in our sophisticated twenty-first century culture, “King Peggy” is an odd duck, a rara avis (rare bird), an amusing anachronism. Here is an American woman chosen to be the “king” of an African village. Undeniably odd.

This is “Christ the King” Sunday in the Church calendar. It is the day when Christians celebrate and commemorate the once-and-for-all uniqueness of OUR “king,” Jesus the Christ, King of Kings, Lord of Lords, Son of God, Savior, Redeemer the one who was rejected, tried and convicted, crucified as a criminal, refusing to even save himself.

It seems strange to read Luke’s description of Jesus’ crucifixion on the last Sunday before Advent. After all, aren’t we to start anticipating the miraculous birth of our Savior into this world?

But it is the final moments of Jesus’ mission on earth that reveal the glory of the redemption story of God that began with Jesus’ birth. As we prepare to celebrate a baby who is called “Lord at thy birth;” as we prepare to pray “Let earth receive her King:” we need to remember what Jesus’ Lordship, what Christ’s Kingship, cost.

Both the religious and political power-brokers in Jesus’ world mocked and scoffed at him as he hung on the cross. To them just his presence on the hill known as “The Skull” proved beyond all doubt that he could not possibly be the Messiah. He could not be the King of the Jews, because, obviously, he couldn’t even save himself.

It is astonishing that both the religious leaders of the day - those used to thinking in spiritual and theological categories; and the political leaders, those used to projecting theoretical ideals and strategies for the advancement of the state — could not comprehend any “saving” activity that wasn’t strictly physical.

Unfortunately we are not much different from our ancestors in the first century. We still want to see the “proof” of any power, of any positive force, in purely physical form. The ideas and ideals we “crown” are those that “win” at the ballot box, or in our bank accounts, or that help us achieve the social or professional status we crave. It is far too frightening to give kingship and obedience over to a “king” whose reign began on a cross.

We don’t want to hear that Jesus’ kingship, the reign of Christ, began with sacrifice. Instead we would prefer to think of Jesus as a comfortable, campfire, “Kumbaya” King. A “come-by-here” presence that passes by, leaving us feeling warm and reassured, comfortable and undisturbed. A “Kumbaya” King doesn’t ask for much, just a few good feelings directed towards others, when it is convenient. Serving a “Kumbaya” king lets us do just what we want, tuning in to the “king’s” conscience only when it fits into our own agenda.

Strangely the other kind of “kingship” it is easier for us to accept is that of a harsh dictator, a “kangaroo king.” “Kangaroo” kings, like “kangaroo courts,” make up their own rules and do not allow for any dissension. As self-motivated, and self-centered as a kangaroo king might be, such a ruler makes it easy for his subjects to give up all of their own concerns and worries. The kangaroo king declares his opinion, and there is no discussion, no division in the ranks. Personal conscience and individual sacrifice are unimportant. Only the will of the “king” is will of that world.

Christ the King came into his kingdom as he hung on the cross. Christ the King offers us a completely different concept of kingship.

Love and sacrifice are the crown that Christ wears.

There is no easy “kumbaya” get-along acceptance.

There is no go-along-to-get-along kangaroo king compliance.

Following Christ the King takes a decision like that of the second crucified criminal who hung up beside Jesus on Golgotha.

It takes an admission of our own sinfulness and acceptance of the rightful judgment we deserve.

It takes the recognition of Jesus as the innocent one sacrificed for our sake and for our salvation.

It takes our whole-hearted prayer to the only one who can save, to “remember me,” despite all the sins, all the shortcomings, all the failures that our lives have generated.

That is why this Christ is King Sunday ushers in the new beginning of the world every year. The final act of saving grace is celebrated even as we head into the season of God’s most miraculous saving entrance into this world.