Have you noticed that the feast we call “Christ the King” does not show us Jesus seated on a throne with a golden crown? Instead, today’s Gospel gives us a King who hangs on a cross. A King with a crown made of thorns. A King whose throne is not ivory or marble, but two pieces of wood, one horizontal and the other vertical. How do you explain that? What kind of King looks like a criminal? What kind of coronation takes place between two thieves? Maybe this apparent contradiction is precisely the point. Perhaps the Church wants us to see that Christ is not the kind of king the world expects, but he is precisely the King the world needs.
This Solemnity of Christ the King is relatively new. It was established 100 years ago, in 1925, by Pope Pius XI in the encyclical Quas Primas, and it was first celebrated a year later in 1926. The establishment of this celebration was necessary because the world was fast forgetting God. After World War I, nations were rebuilding with wounded pride and broken hearts. Secularism was spreading, and people began to live as if God did not exist. Totalitarian leaders were rising in Europe, demanding absolute allegiance, that is, a system of government in which a single ruler or ruling group has total control over all aspects of life, political, social, economic, cultural, and even the private lives of citizens. Some governments removed crucifixes from schools and courtrooms. In some countries, Catholics were being silenced.
The Holy Father, Pope Pius XI, observed a dangerous pattern: When Christ is dethroned from the heart of humanity, someone or something else always tries to take his place. So, the Church instituted this feast to proclaim boldly to the world: Christ alone is King, of nations, of history, of our souls.
Now, a century later, the names and the faces have changed, but the struggle remains the same. Today, Christ may not be removed from classrooms with hammers and soldiers, but he is often removed from conversations, from government decisions, from families, and from personal choices. We no longer build golden statues, but we worship new idols: political leaders, power, pleasure, money, popularity, technology, and self. We say “My truth, my body, my political party, my race, my gender, my tribe, my country, my choice, my success…” as though we are little kings on our own thrones. Unfortunately, the same secular spirit that led Pope Pius XI to act in 1925 is still here, sometimes more subtle, but just as dangerous, if not even more dangerous. Yes, if you think otherwise, it means you have become so immersed in that ungodly culture that you no longer notice it. It is just like it makes no sense to ask the fish for the definition of water; the fish will fail, for that is all the fish experiences, so it cannot define water as an entity in itself.
And how does Jesus respond? Not with force. Not with armies. Not with political campaigns. He responds with and from the Cross. The rulers mocked him. The soldiers made fun of him. One thief cursed him. But the other thief, the one we call “good,” saw what others could not see. He saw a King, even in the midst of blood, shame, and agony. And he whispered a simple prayer: “Jesus, remember me when you come into Your Kingdom.” And the King, from his throne of the Cross, answered, “Today, you will be with me in Paradise.” That is real kingship. Not domination, but redemption. Not fear, but mercy.
If Christ is King, then he is not just King of heaven; he must be King of my heart, my family, my decisions, and my ambitions. If Christ is King, then my pride must kneel. If Christ is King, my grudges must surrender. If Christ is King, my phone, my wallet, my plans cannot rule me more than he does. If Christ is King, then I cannot live as though Sunday belongs to God, and the rest of the week belongs to me. The question is no longer, “Is Jesus King?” The question is, “Is he my King?”
Imagine families where Christ is King, and forgiveness would be quicker than anger. Imagine governments where Christ is King, and service would be more important than power. Imagine youths who live like Christ is King; their self-worth would not depend on likes, brands, or applause. Imagine a Church where every member lives like Christ is truly King, then even our sufferings become thrones where grace reigns. We are not there yet, but each celebration of this feast should find us examining ourselves, dethroning the false kings in our lives and re-enthroning the true King. This feast invites us to live in advance, to celebrate in advance, what that Kingdom will look like when we finally arrive.
The first thief mocked and died in bitterness. The second thief believed and died in hope. Both saw the same Jesus, but only one recognized a King. Let us pray that when our own lives come to their final chapter, may we be found on the side of the good thief, close to the Cross, whispering, “Jesus, remember me.” And may the King respond to us as he did to him: “Today… you will be with me in Paradise.” Amen.
Homily for the Solemnity of Christ the King Year C 2025
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