Dig Deeper into Sunday’s Gospel: Read: Luke 23:35-43
Here we are, my friend, at the end of another liturgical year. On the precipice of a new year, our Church presents us with a profound paradox this Sunday. So, put down the wreaths and candles and resist the temptation to bring all of those bins filled with decorations down from the attic. It’s not time for them just yet.
As we celebrate the Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe, we aren’t given the image of a golden throne or a heavenly vision to reflect upon. Instead, we are brought to the hill of Golgotha, the place of the skull, on which our Lord is crucified, taking His last breaths, dying on the cross.
Our gospel invites us to gaze upon the battered and bleeding Jesus, and to recognize Him as King, one who reigns not through might or the sword, but through mercy.
It is a strange coronation scene. Soldiers mock Him. Religious leaders sneer. The crowd looks on, bewildered and aghast, some even joining in His humiliation. Jesus wears a crown of thorns and a makeshift sign above His head, announcing His kingship. And, in the midst of this chaos, one solitary voice breaks through, the voice of a thief, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom” (Luke 23:42).
It is here, between two criminals, that the true nature of Christ’s kingship is revealed.
Unlike earthly rulers, Jesus’ authority is not marked by conquest, wealth, or acclaim. He does not demand allegiance through fear or by force. Rather, His reign is marked by a self-sacrificial love, a humble love that stoops low to wash dirty feet, a merciful love that forgives those who seek His ruin, and an unconditional love that promises paradise to a dying sinner.
Pope Pius XI, who instituted this solemnity in 1925, warned us in his encyclical, Quas Primas, that as a society, when we forget the sovereignty of Christ, discord and division will inevitably result.[1]
A century later, his words and stark warning, unfortunately, still ring true. Voices from every which way, too loud, too constant, holding too much power and too much of our attention, love to persuade us to create our own kingdoms and be our own rulers—as if true freedom means answering only to ourselves. By living this way, our hearts grow ever weary. Instead of peace and freedom, we find ourselves yoked to and striving to maintain thrones of our own making.
Pope Pius XI wrote, “Oh, what happiness would be Ours if all men, individuals, families, and nations, would but let themselves be governed by Christ!”[2]
Could we but surrender these thrones we have created for ourselves, be it perfectionism, appearance, our motherhood, careers, materialism, or status? Could we, instead, allow Jesus to take His rightful place at the center of our hearts?
This Sunday’s feast is a firm but refreshing reminder: Christ is King, and we are not. His reign in our hearts is not a threat to our freedom; it is the source of it.
Under His rule, we do not lose ourselves; we finally discover who we were created to be.
Under His rule, we learn to vulnerably lay bare our deepest longings to the Lord. Like the good thief’s plea, “Jesus, remember me,” is one of the most honest prayers we can utter to our Lord. It is raw and full of the desire to be seen, known, and loved. Traditionally known as Saint Dismas, the good thief does not bargain or justify his actions. He simply trusts in who Jesus is. In Jesus’ eyes, he is no longer a thief, but a beloved son.
Under His rule, we can relinquish the thrones we’ve worked so hard to maintain and allow the deepest cries of our hearts to rise to our Lord, just as Dismas let his.
Lord, remember me:
When my efforts go unseen.
When I feel so small.
When I’m drowning under the weight of expectations.
When my children drift away from You.
When my body feels weary and my hope is dimmed.
When I cannot love myself.
My friend, we are never forgotten by our King. Even from the cross—especially from the cross—Jesus remembers. Our Lord, moved by the good thief’s faith and humility, spoke to him: “Today, you will be with me in Paradise” (Luke 23:43).
Let us not overlook the significance of Jesus’ intentional use of the word “today.” Our Lord’s mercy is not delayed. It is not reserved for a holier, stronger, or more put-together version of ourselves. It is for today; for this moment, this struggle, this imperfect heart, this sinner. Christ the King reigns today, and He is rich in mercy.
In Sunday’s gospel, we are meant to recognize our Lord as a King who reigns humbly from the cross. He is a King who allows Himself to be vulnerable for the sake of love—misunderstood, mocked, and rejected—yet He never ceases to love those who choose to wound Him. When Jesus looks at the good thief, He does not see a criminal; He sees a soul longing for restoration. And, when Christ the King, in all His authority, gazes upon us, His eyes are not full of judgment. They do not dwell on our past or count our sins. Instead, He gazes upon us with tender compassion and mercy, seeing our future in paradise with Him.
As we celebrate this solemnity tomorrow, let’s commit to renewing our confidence in the One who governs all things with love. The final word over our lives will not be failure, fear, or loss; it will be mercy. May we never forget our King, who always remembers us.
Viva Christo Rey! Long live Christ the King!
In His mercy,
Jeannine
Food for thought or journaling …
Where in my life am I still trying to “rule my own kingdom”—control outcomes, maintain appearances, or define my worth—instead of allowing Christ to reign with His mercy and peace?
Lord Jesus, You are my King and my Savior. I come before You today with a heart that longs to be Yours. Jesus, remember me when I forget who I am in Your eyes. Remember me when I cling too tightly to my own plans or grow weary of trying to hold everything together. May Your peace and mercy reign in me. Amen.
[1] Pope Pius XI. Quas Primas (On the Feast of Christ the King). The Holy See. December 11, 1925. #11. https://www.vatican.va/content/pius-xi/en/encyclicals/documents/hf_p-xi_enc_11121925_quas-primas.html.
[2] Ibid, #20.
