One of the institutions that has suffered a decline in popularity in modern times is the Royal Family. We may enjoy reading about them- especially when scandal is involved- and indeed there are whole publications devoted to gossip about them, like Majesty Magazine, which my sister reads even more obsessively than Heat magazine- if that’s possible! But still we don’t tend to take the Royal Family very seriously as leaders or look to them to make pronouncements about the state of the nation in the way that we do our politicians.

For many people, perhaps especially younger people, the whole concept of monarchy can seem outdated. When we look back through history, kings and queens have usually been figures of great wealth and power, honoured or dishonoured because of their military and political accomplishments or failures. Most of them have lived in castles or palaces and have worn expensive robes and crowns decked with jewels. And in spite of our celebrity culture, this image of royalty isn’t something we can easily relate to (even if we’re the sort of person who enjoys dressing up in fine robes and processing around cathedrals!).

In our modern world, we value democracy and the ability to choose our leaders. The race between Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton to become the Democratic presidential candidate in the US featured very highly in our media, and more recently the lack of a fair contest in the second round of elections in Zimbabwe has rightly raised huge concerns across the world about the legitimacy of Mugabe’s regime. In our own country, a whole host of issues- not least the credit crunch and rising costs- have led many to question Gordon Brown’s leadership.

Compared with democracy, any other form of government can be seen as repressive or dictatorial, not giving people the right or opportunity to be part of the decision making process about who governs us. In this context, the divine right of kings isn’t popular. Leaders are elected; why should we think that God has anything to do with choosing them?

Perhaps all of this goes some way to explaining why the world of 1 and 2 Samuel, the books of the Old Testament we’ve been working our way through in Evensong over the last few weeks- can seem so alien. Kingship is a major theme of these long books which set out in detail the history of Israel over centuries, its collisions with neighbouring nations, rival factions within its own ranks and- above all- the founding of the monarchy. The people of Israel wanted a king to reign over them, so that they could become a great military power and extend their territory. In the reading we heard this afternoon, King Saul has just died and David, God’s chosen, is anointed king over Judah, later to become king over all Israel.

But David isn’t the kind of king the people were expecting. Artistic depictions of King David rarely portray him as a grand ruler wearing a crown and bedecked with jewels like our own royal family. When I was in Florence earlier this year, I saw Michelangelo’s David, one of the most famous Renaissance sculptures; this sculpture captures David’s youth and vulnerability, the quiet strength of a humble shepherd boy preparing to fight Goliath, a repressive power much greater than he. It’s no accident that in 15th century Florence Michelangelo’s statue came to symbolise the defence of civic liberties embodied in the Florentine Republic, liberties that were being threatened by more powerful rival states and the powerful Medici family; David’s courage and divine favour have inspired democratic- even revolutionary- sentiments.

And while we shouldn’t idealise him- he wasn’t perfect- the image of David given to us in the war-torn and often violent and bloody accounts of battles in the books of Samuel is one of a gentle leader, a humble ruler. Even though he’d tried to kill him, David defends Saul even as he himself ascends to the throne; he stays loyal to Saul’s memory, commending those who buried Saul’s body- even though Saul’s army is about to turn on him. Saul had disobeyed God, but David is presented as a model king, generous and of humble origins, a defender of the powerless.

And in the New Testament reading, Jesus the “Son of David” gives us an even more radical redefinition of what kingship is about. There’s something about this man, something compelling about his presence: in his behaviour, in his very self, Jesus embodies the values of the kingdom of God, which elsewhere Luke mysteriously tells us is “within us”. And this is a kingdom which has nothing to do with grandeur or lording it over people. On the road to Jerusalem, where he knows he will die a cruel and humiliating death at the hands of the Roman Imperial power, Jesus reveals by his actions that the kingdom of God has come.

First he shows compassion, by healing a blind beggar. This man is clearly one of “the poor”; forced to live off the charity of others, he would have belonged to the section of society known as “expendables”. Then secondly there’s Zacchaeus, an almost comical figure climbing the tree so he can see Jesus, is a person of low status. Zacchaeus is wealthy and part of the ruling class, but he’s also a toll collector and a sinner; yet Jesus sits and eats with him.

Jesus’ behaviour shows the topsy-turvy, upside down values of the kingdom of God, which accord privilege to the least, the last, and the left-out of society.

According to Luke, Jesus is the long-awaited Son of David, the King of all the world who reigns forever. And yet he humbles himself and accepts the degradation of the cross. Far from being about glory and rank, the kingship of Jesus- in the words of William Temple- is about “power in complete subordination to love”.

Whereas earthly kingdoms have to do with geographical location, the kingdom of God can be known not by its borders but by its fruits. The kingdom of God isn’t a place, somewhere to aim for; rather, it’s a set of attitudes and a way of living. It’s about the action of Christ in the world among the poor and excluded.

As disciples of Jesus, we’re called to carry on the work of the Kingdom, to pray the familiar words of the Lord’s Prayer, “Your Kingdom come”, and to know what we’re praying for. Because the kingdom of God isn’t far away in space or eternity; it has, and must have, its beginnings within each one of us.

When we perform an act of charity to a stranger, the kingdom comes. When we help someone who is homeless or vulnerable, the kingdom comes. When we speak out against and act to change injustice, the kingdom comes. Our work is to change and transform the small things and the big things in order to make a reality that upside-down kingdom of Christ in which the first shall be last and the last first, in which the blind shall see and the deaf hear, the dumb speak and the lame walk. We are to help in our own way to make that happen.

So in looking to Christ as our King, we look not to glittering crowns and servile obedience; we look instead for signs of the activity of God in the world. Our small acts are both prayers that the Kingdom may come and the speaking of God’s word that brings it closer. They are signs that speak our hope that we are open windows for God’s transforming grace in the world.