A searchable, downloadable PDF of the original article appears below. Donald Rossiter has completed his M.Div. at Wycliffe College, Toronto and is awaiting a call to ordination to holy orders and placement in ministry in The Anglican Church. This story was first published in the TST Times of the Toronto School of Theology in December, 1987.
Excitement was running high as everybody prepared for the king. Somehow word got back to the people that he was returning and everybody began to get ready for the great celebration.
The strange thing was, however, that nobody had actually met the king in the flesh, although everybody knew about him and obeyed his edicts which were proclaimed to the people by the king’s ministers. The ministers told the people what the king was like, how great and mighty he was in battle, how fierce he was in judgement — a king to make one proud!
Some people had lived with the king when he was in the land but he was younger then, and since he left, all the others had died, leaving children and grandchildren who had only heard the great stories told by the king’s ministers. But now it was time for the king himself to come back.
All the rich people took their furs and silk dresses to be dry-cleaned, and were all dressed up in their finest clothes. Some wore tuxedoes, while others sported hand-woven tweed. Some were in satin, some in velvet. Some even had sparkles in their hair. But everyone had gold and silver jewelry.
Even the priests and ministers were dressed up. The bishop had a new mitre adorned with spun gold and rubies. (He ordered his priests to be sure they wore their gold crosses, but some had only silver, so they wore those instead.) The charismatics were even better dressed than the priests, what with their new $700 English-wool three- piece suits, white patent-leather shoes, brown Givenchy shirts and white silk ties. The women were dressed in Christian Dior ensembles and Bill Blass originals, almost as pretty as the men. It would send a tailor into ecstasy.
Because they didn’t know what time the king was coming, they all parked their Cadillacs early in the morning (but some could only afford Lincolns or Oldsmobiles) and stood (or sat on rented chairs) on the main street. They assumed the king would be coming this way because it was the showpiece of the kingdom. Besides, he could then greet all of the proper people, the governors and police chiefs, the bishops and holy people, the mayors and dignitaries, and all the people who could prove they were V.I.P.s.
In the great hall of the castle, there were hundreds of workers running around putting up ribbons and flowers and streamers, setting up tables, and vacuuming the carpets. In the kitchen, the cooks were preparing the feast of a lifetime made from all the delicacies of the kingdom: veal poached in Burgundy wine, roast suckling pig, pheasant and quail, candied carrots, potato coquilles, sweet gooey pastries and all kinds of delights that would ruin any diet.
One worker was assigned to polish the brass on the throne at the head table, another to set the silverware in order with the fine china. They even had an artist sketch personalized place settings so nobody would take a seat higher than his or her station in life would allow.
The final preparations were being made as everyone hurried to get ready. It would be terrible to disappoint the king. Finally it was done. The banquet room was decorated, the floor cleaned, the garbage put out, the food cooked and the lamps lit. Now it was time to wait.
And wait.
And wait.
About four in the afternoon, the bishop snapped his fingers and his chauffeur zipped into action. As the bishop stepped into his limousine, he was heard to mutter, “If the king wants to see me, he can make an appointment through my secretary.” By five, all the priests had gone home too.
The supper hour came went, and as the sun began to set on a hot day, most of the religious leaders had left, and so had the rulers. By the time the evening star began to twinkle, the only one left was an old aiderman who began to remember something his grandfather told him once, “It was different back then. We had no bishop and mayor. The king did those jobs. In fact, he was also the police chief and the governor. He did everything. He worked hard for the people and the people loved him. He loved the people.”
Greatly disturbed, he began to walk back to the palace to see if the servants were still there.
Back in the great hall of the palace, the Cordon Bleu chef stalked out in disgust when the king failed to show up for the finest meal of his life. The artist snatched up the place settings and left.
Only the servants remained. Grubby and dirty from cleaning and preparing, they stood in sharp contrast to the shining china and pure white Irish linen table cloths. What were they to do? After a while, they all got together and decided that they might as well eat the food since it would only go to waste, so they all sat down and one fellow began to serve out the food. He’d spent all day emptying the garbage and washing dirty pots, but nobody minded since they were all pretty dirty.
The alderman made it to the hall just as the last worker was being served and he looked over the whole scene. He began to grin when he realized the irony of the servants eating off expensive china, but it wasn’t his china, so he didn’t mind.
The aroma of the food caught his attention and, remembering that all he’d eaten all day was a bowl of corn flakes for breakfast, he figured he might as well join the meal.
After serving dinner to everyone else, the worker showed no surprise when the alderman held out his plate for food. Instead, he took the plate and carefully selected a choice piece of meat and some sweet-potato casserole with extra crust and handed the heaping plate back. Then he picked up a prime-vintage bottle of wine and followed the alderman to his table and began pouring drinks for everyone.
While everyone was eating and joking, the alderman stopped and looked at the servant who smelled of garbage. Almost on instinct, and unnoticed by everyone else, he got up and went over to the servant. Then he tapped him on the shoulder and, without hesitating, took his hand and led him to the head table.
The feast needed a king, so why not? He motioned to the servant who then sat down between the great golden lions of the throne.
Slowly a hush settled over the room as, one by one, the servants noticed the alderman kneeling before the throne. He was weeping and the tears rolled down his cheeks to the comers of his broadly smiling mouth. Then a change occurred in the air … somehow, somewhere, something changed. The servants had all approached the throne in wonderment and, one after another, fell to their knees to honour the servant of servants.
The king was on his throne.