CHRIST THE KING: 2 Sm 5:1-3; Col 1:12-20; Lk 23:35-43.

 A month ago, under the rallying cry of No Kings, opposition groups demonstrated in cities across the United States. Their protest revealed a deep unease with authority, casting the president—whose election some refused to recognize— as a would-be monarch, an “unelected king.” Yet, these same voices often attach themselves to the latest cultural authorities: influencers, trends, ideologies. This paradox reminds us that, in truth, everyone serves something. The essential question is: Who—or what—sits on the throne of your heart?

There is an authority none of us can vote in or out: Christ the King. Unlike earthly rulers, Jesus’ kingship does not rest on force or popularity. His throne is the cross, his crown fashioned from thorns, his courtiers absconders and betrayers. Soldiers mocked rather than defended him, and his reign was publicly scorned. The Gospel scene we have just heard presents this radical contrast—the King who retains nothing, who gives everything, including his life. We proclaim him “King of Kings,” yet his power is displayed not in might, but in sacrificial love.

The Church’s recognition of this paradox is relatively recent. The Solemnity of Christ the King was instituted by Pope Pius XI in 1925, during a century threatened by political ideologies that sought to erase God and diminish the Church. In countries like Mexico, Christians went to their deaths crying Viva Cristo Rey—Long live Christ the King! Yet the confession of Christ’s kingship, as old as Christianity itself, echoes in the earliest creed: Jesus is Lord. This title proclaims Christ’s reign not as tyranny, but as a rescue—his power exercised through self-emptying, restoring humanity to the fullness of life in God.

Sunday’s Gospel puts us at the foot of the cross, the throne of this King. As Jesus was crucified, an inscription read, “This is the King of the Jews,” meant to justify his condemnation but, in God’s eyes, declaring his sovereignty. The bystanders mocked Jesus, challenging him to prove his royalty with spectacular signs. He answered instead with mercy, the penitent thief’s plea— “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom”—met with: “Amen, I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise.” Here, kingship is revealed not by command, but by forgiveness.

This raises a deeply personal challenge: Does Christ reign in us? The Solemnity’s prayers have shifted—from dreams of a world conquered for Christ, to longing for hearts set free from sin. The central question is not whether nations recognize Christ as King, but whether he is enthroned in our heart and life.

The encounter between Christ and the good thief offers profound hope. The thief recognized his own wrongdoing— “We are paying for what we did”—yet trusted in the mercy radiating from Christ’s broken body. Many of us, if honest, must admit we have failed and fallen short. But awareness of sin, seen in the light of Christ’s kingship, does not mean despair. We are invited, like the good thief, to turn to the Lord with trust: “Jesus, remember me...” Every time we make such a prayer from a place of our own weakness, we encounter the same promise—communion with Christ that begins now, not someday far off.

Saint Paul, in the letter to the Colossians, presents Jesus’ kingship in cosmic terms. He is the image of the invisible God, creator of all things, the head of the Church, the reconciler of all things on earth and in heaven. This reading concludes that Jesus reconciled humanity with God, bringing peace by the Blood of His cross.

The Romans placed a mocking sign above Jesus’ head, “King of the Jews,” but true proclamation came from a repentant criminal. In his response— “Today you will be with me in Paradise”—Jesus revealed the depths of his mercy and the inclusivity of his reign.

What is the nature of this kingdom? Today’s preface declares it a realm of truth and life, holiness and grace, justice, love, and peace. Our participation as citizens means surrendering control—placing the keys of our lives in the King’s hands. We are called to imitate Christ at his most regal, which is also his moment of greatest vulnerability: reigning from the cross, reconciling, forgiving. Genuine sacrifice, the pouring out of oneself for others, echoes Christ’s own self-giving. Jesus set no limit to his sacrifice, nor to his forgiveness—even for those who betrayed him.

As this Church year ends, the feast of Christ the King sums up the Christian mystery: Jesus lived, died, rose, and will come again. He invited us to resist materialism, to extend compassion, and to keep His presence alive by our witness and love. To be a Christian is to bear Christ’s name—and to have the courage to be faithful in a world full of competing kings and authorities.

Jesus announced that God’s kingdom was breaking into the world—a kingdom unlike any that preceded it. Worldly rulers exercised power by domination and prestige. Jesus clarified to his disciples that, “whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant,” and modeled this in his own ministry: serving, not being served, and giving his life for many. When his disciples sought places of honor, he re-directed them to a radical form of service—true greatness in his kingdom meant humility, service, and love.

Jesus’ kingdom, then, is marked by the power of self-giving love, not by the trappings of royalty. He was mocked, dismissed, even derided as he died. Yet, from that place of acute weakness, God’s power was most fully revealed—a power not to oppress, but to reconcile the world to Himself.

Our liturgy today holds up two images: Christ exalted in the Colossians reading, and Christ humiliated on the cross in the Gospel. We tend to associate kingship with glory, but on the cross, Christ’s lordship is exercised through ultimate service. The circumstance of his death, so far from “pomp and circumstance,” shows that Christ reigns by submission to the Father’s will and by his total gift of self.

As King, Christ is also our judge, a task given by the Father and first displayed at Calvary when he commended the good thief to paradise. As we celebrate this feast, let us rejoice in the hope and challenge that Christ’s kingship brings. May his reign grow ever stronger in our hearts, leading us to lives of justice, love, and peace—radiating from the cross into every corner of the world and every moment of our lives.