Christ the King: Rethinking Power

We arrive at the end of the liturgical year asking a question that cuts through our anxieties about politics, status, and control: What kind of king is Jesus? The Scriptures today do not show us a throne wrapped in velvet but a cross raised on a hill. They ask us to rethink power, home, and belonging in light of a King who rules by reconciling and restores by suffering with us.

A Shepherd Before a Throne

In 2 Samuel, Israel comes to David saying, “We are your bone and your flesh.” They do not come to a stranger or a distant administrator but to one who has led, bled, and belonged with them. God’s word for David is not first “command” but “shepherd.” Before the crown, there is care; before the scepter, there is service.

In a world that often confuses leadership with branding and power with control, David’s anointing reminds us that authority, in God’s design, is fundamentally relational. It binds shepherd and flock as one people. Christ, Son of David, takes this to its fullness: He is not ashamed to call us brothers and sisters, bone of His bone in the Church, His Body. Where authority becomes aloof, Christ’s kingship draws near; where rule becomes coercion, Christ’s rule becomes care.

The City Our Hearts Remember

Psalm 122 sings of going up to Jerusalem with joy; a united people, a sturdy city, judgment seats set for justice. Many today feel like exiles from such a city. We scroll through outrage, inhabit workplaces thick with pressure, and move through neighborhoods where loneliness quietly thickens. Our inner lives feel like scattered suburbs.

The feast answers that ache: the Church is the beginning of that city; not its completion, but a real foretaste. We step toward Jerusalem each time we enter into Eucharistic worship, when we forgive those who wrong us, when we practice the difficult patience that protects communion. The measure of our praise is not noise but unity; the music that pleases the King most is the sound of His people reconciled.

The Center That Holds

Colossians proclaims Christ as the image of the invisible God, the One in whom all things hold together. This is not pious poetry alone; it is a diagnosis and a cure. Modern life can feel like a thousand tabs open; so many commitments, identities, and concerns that we live in fragments. The Lord’s kingship is the re-centering of reality: through Him and for Him all things exist, and in Him nothing need be wasted.

Notice the scandalous line: He makes peace by the blood of His cross. The world tries peace by avoidance or domination. Christ makes peace by pouring Himself out. The cosmos is not stitched together by stronger thread but by deeper love. If our hearts are frayed, the way back is not tougher grit but truer surrender to the One who holds us and our histories without discarding a single thread.

The Throne of Mercy

Luke gives us the most startling coronation: a taunt hung above a dying man; “This is the King of the Jews.” Soldiers mock, rulers sneer, one criminal curses. It is here; amid failure, pain, and public shame; that Jesus reigns. The other criminal, with nothing to trade and no time to pretend, simply asks, “Remember me when you come into your kingdom.” He receives a royal decree: “Today you will be with me in Paradise.”

Christ’s kingship is revealed where our illusions die. Many carry a secret fear that God’s patience has run out or that our most regretted choices now define us. The Good Thief exposes that fear as a lie. Jesus does not enthrone the qualified; He qualifies the surrendered. The word today matters. Conversion is not delayed until we are tidy. The King reigns now, and His mercy moves faster than our shame.

The Feast and Its Urgency

This solemnity was established in 1925 by Pope Pius XI in a world anxious about rising nationalisms and ideologies. The Church proposed a different allegiance: not escapist, but liberating; a loyalty that frees us from being owned by any party, platform, or passion. Christ the King does not cancel earthly responsibilities; He purifies them. He is not the mascot of our causes; He is the measure of them.

In a polarized age, this feast warns us: do not outsource your conscience to your tribe; do not enthrone resentment as your daily bread; do not treat neighbors as enemies to be defeated or props to be used. The Kingdom is among us where truth and mercy kiss, where the poor are honored, where enemies are prayed for, and where forgiveness outpaces retaliation.

Practicing Allegiance in Ordinary Time

• Let Christ order your loves. Ask each morning: Who or what is sitting on the throne of my heart today; fear, productivity, image, or Christ? Name it. Renounce it. Invite Him to reign.
• Bring your fragments to the Center. Choose one area of life that feels scattered; family conflict, online habits, finances; and submit it to Jesus with a concrete act: a boundary, a budget, a conversation, a confession.
• Make mercy your politics. Speak of others as you would before the Eucharist. Refuse contempt. If you must disagree, do it with a humility that remembers you are a forgiven sinner speaking to a fellow beggar.
• Go up to the house of the Lord. Return to Sunday Mass with intention. Arrive a few minutes early. Pray Psalm 122. Let the altar re-teach your heart what home feels like.
• Share in the shepherding. Seek one person this week who is isolated or struggling. Call, visit, bring a meal, or advocate. Kingship in Christ’s Body looks like care.

A Closing Prayer

King Jesus, image of the invisible Father and friend of the guilty, take Your place at the center of our lives. Gather our scattered pieces. Rule our desires. Teach us the power of mercy and the courage of truth. Remember us today, as we remember You, and make our lives a small door through which others glimpse Your Kingdom. Amen.