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Today the Church gives us one of the most paradoxical feasts of the entire liturgical year – the celebration of a King who reigns from a cross, whose crown is made of thorns, and whose throne is an instrument of torture.
And yet, this King is the One
through whom all things were created, the One in whom “all the
fullness was pleased to dwell,” as St. Paul tells us in Colossians.
To understand this mystery, the
Scriptures today take us on a kind of journey—a journey from the expectations
of an earthly king, to the revelation of a cosmic king, to the shocking
unveiling of what God’s kingship really looks like.
First we hear of The People’s King. (2 Samuel 5:1–3)
In our first reading from 2nd
Samual, all the tribes of Israel come to David and say, “You are our bone
and our flesh.” They are acknowledging him as one of their own—someone who
understands their struggles, someone who shares their humanity, someone who has
walked the hills they walk and fought the battles they face.
And so they anoint David as king.
But David, for all his greatness, is a
fragile king—a man of mistakes, sin, and limitations. The kingship Israel
longed for, the kingship humanity longs for, cannot be satisfied by any earthly
ruler.
Their yearning reaches forward to
another King—One who is not only “bone and flesh” like His people, but the
Word made flesh. Not simply a shepherd of Israel, but the Shepherd of the
entire cosmos.
The second image we hear is of The
Cosmic King. (Colossians
1:12–20)
St. Paul gives us one of the most
soaring hymns in all his letters—a declaration of Christ’s kingship that goes
far beyond politics, armies, or nations.
He says:
·
Christ
is “the image of the invisible God.”
·
All
things “were created through Him and for Him.”
·
He
is “before all things, and in Him all things hold together.”
·
He
is the One whose blood brings peace.
In other words:
Christ’s kingship is not something that
began; it is something that is.
It existed before creation, sustains creation, and is the destiny of creation.
But then we reach the Gospel—and the
shock is that this King, the One who holds galaxies in place, hangs
crucified between two criminals.
What kind of King is this?
The King on the Cross. (Luke 23:35–43)
The Gospel confronts us with the most
unexpected royal scene imaginable. Instead of a golden throne, we see a wooden
cross. Instead of royal attendants, we see soldiers and a crowd mocking Him.
Instead of a crown adorned with jewels, we see sharp thorns pressed into His
bloodied skull.
And in this humiliating scene, someone
makes a request. Not a soldier. Not a disciple. Not a priest or prophet.
But a criminal.
“Jesus, remember me when you come
into your kingdom.”
He sees what nobody else sees:
Not
a defeated man.
Not a failed messiah.
Not a doomed rebel.
He sees a King.
A King whose kingdom is not defended by
violence but revealed through mercy.
A King whose victory is not won by
shedding others’ blood but by shedding His own.
A King who reigns not by domination but
by self-giving love.
And Jesus reveals the heart of His
kingship in one simple promise:
“Today you will be with me in Paradise.”
This is the King we celebrate:
A
King who remembers.
A King who forgives.
A King who lifts the guilty into paradise.
A King whose power is love—love stronger than sin, stronger than violence,
stronger even than death.
So, what Does This Mean for Us?
To
proclaim Christ as King is to ask:
Who—or what—really rules my life?
Is it:
·
fear?
·
resentment?
·
success?
·
comfort?
·
the
approval of others?
·
my
own plans and expectations?
Christ the King invites us to entrust
our lives to a different kind of rule:
A
kingship that heals instead of harms.
A kingship that remembers instead of condemns.
A kingship that leads not to power but to peace.
And like the good thief, all Christ seeks from us is the
opening
of the heart that says:
“Jesus, remember me.”
Because when we give Him that small
opening, the King does what only He can do:
He
turns lostness into belonging.
He turns sin into mercy.
He turns despair into hope.
He turns death into life.
My sisters and brothers, today, as we
end one liturgical year and prepare to begin another, the Church gives us this
feast as a reminder:
Christ is King— not in the way the world
understands kingship, but in the only way that truly saves.
He reigns from a cross so that He may
reign in our hearts. He is the King who remembers us, who forgives us, who
invites us into paradise.
Starting here, starting now,
starting today.
