The Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe

A King Who Reigns From the Cross

There’s something almost surprising about the way the Church ends the liturgical year. We don’t end with a gentle reflection or a soft prayer. We end with a bold claim—Christ is King. And not just in the future, not just in heaven, not just when everything is neat and tidy. Christ is King right now… even when the world looks nothing like His kingdom.

When the tribes came to David and said, “We are your bone and your flesh,” they were saying, “We belong to you… and you belong to us.” It wasn’t a political slogan. It was a relationship. And that moment quietly points us toward the King we celebrate today—the One who doesn’t simply rule over us, but shares our very flesh, steps into our wounds, and even into our death.

And then we turn to the Gospel and find our King not on a throne, but on a cross. There’s no royal robe, just the rough wood. No cheering crowds, just the sound of mocking voices. If you wanted a picture of defeat, you’d look at Calvary. And yet, right there—in the middle of all that darkness—something happens that changes everything. A man who has nothing left, nothing to offer, turns to Jesus and says, “Remember me.” And Jesus, wearing a crown of thorns, looks at him and answers like only a true King could: “Today you will be with me in paradise.”

It’s amazing, isn’t it? The very moment when Jesus looks least like a king is the moment when He acts most like one. St. John Chrysostom once said, “He opened paradise not by lifting a sword, but by stretching out His hands.” That’s the kind of King we belong to—one whose power is mercy, whose strength is forgiveness, whose victory is love.

And that brings us to today—our world, our culture, our daily lives. We live in a time when there are a lot of competing “kings.” Fear wants to be king. Anger wants to be king. Comfort wants to be king. Politics wants to be king. Our own tiredness and cynicism want to be king. There are plenty of rulers shouting for our loyalty. But this feast asks us to look at our lives and say honestly: Which King am I really serving?

Because it’s one thing to say Christ is King in church. It’s another thing to live like it at home, at work, in our relationships, and in our moments of weakness. If Christ is truly our King, then His way—His patience, His mercy, His courage, His truth—should shape the way we live.

And that’s not always easy. Every one of us has our doubts. Every one of us has moments when we feel more like the thief on the cross than like a confident disciple. But that’s the beauty of today’s Gospel: the thief didn’t have everything figured out. He didn’t have perfect faith. He just turned toward Jesus with a fragile, humble prayer… and that was enough. Christ’s kingship reaches us even there.

Today is also the last day of our liturgical year. Tomorrow, everything starts new again. And I think the Church gives us this solemnity right here, at the end, so we can take stock of our lives. Have we let Christ rule our decisions? Have we let Him rule our priorities? Have we let Him rule our wounds… our grudges… our fears?

This feast isn’t simply about admiring Christ’s kingship; it’s about choosing it. It’s about asking: Where in my life do I still resist Him? What part of my heart is still holding onto another king?

The good news is that Jesus is incredibly patient. He doesn’t rule by force. He rules by invitation. And as we prepare to begin a new liturgical year—with Advent just around the corner—we get another chance. A fresh start. A new beginning. The year ahead can look different from the one behind us. But only if we decide, right now, whose voice we’re going to follow… whose kingdom we want our life to reflect.

So maybe the best prayer we can make today is the same one the thief made. Not a polished prayer. Not a perfect one. Just a simple, honest, human one: “Jesus, remember me. Be my King.”

And if we mean it—even a little—He will do for us what He did for that man on Calvary. He will meet us in our weakness, lead us into His kingdom, and make our lives reflect the One who reigns from a cross.

Christ is King. May He reign not just in the world, not just in the Church, but in us—right here, right now, and in the new year of grace we are about to begin.