THE PARADOX OF THE KING

Reflections on the Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe: 2 Samuel 5:1-3, Colossians 1:12-20, Luke 23:35-43

The inscription above Jesus read, “This is the King of the Jews”. Ironically, though, at Jesus’ time, Palestine was not without kings. In fact, it had two: Herod Antipas (4 BC–39 AD) and Philip (4 BC–34 AD). Only Judea, including Jerusalem, was under the direct control of the Roman procurator. The inscription was not a political title. It stemmed from the spontaneous recognition among the common people, who saw in him the long-awaited Messiah. In the volatile context of Roman-occupied Palestine, where nationalistic hopes for a liberator ran high, Jesus’ followers envisioned a royal figure who would lead a revolt against imperial rule. They hoped he would seize the reins of the nation’s political fate and cast off the oppressor’s yoke to restore to his people the independence of old.

Jesus, however, was cautious about this projection. He was indeed the son of David, the Messiah, the One sent by God (first reading). But he refused to equate his identity with political will: “My kingdom is not of this world” (Jn 18:36). He consistently redirected this enthusiasm, emphasising a kingdom of inner transformation rather than political revolution. He avoided crowds seeking to crown him forcibly, as after the feeding miracle, and taught parables that subverted worldly notions of power—servanthood over lordship, the last being first. His kingship, then, was a clash between political aspirations and Jesus’ revelation of a heavenly reign. It set the stage for his ultimate rejection, as his non-violent, spiritual authority threatened both Jewish religious leaders and Roman stability.

            The paradox of Jesus’ kingship is best demonstrated on the cross: mocked in death, yet triumphant in purpose. The crucifixion scene vividly measures the depth of hope Jesus ignited and the profound dismay of the crowd before a crucified Messiah. Luke depicts four groups surrounding the cross: the people who came to watch, the sneering Jewish leaders, and the mocking Roman soldiers. Jesus on the cross is truly, as Paul would say, “a stumbling block to Jews and folly to Gentiles” (1 Cor 1:23). As for the fourth group, it consists of the two criminals crucified alongside him: one rebels, echoing the mockers’ chorus; the other hopes, distancing himself from the hatred.

Four times, the verb “to save” recurs, tied to the titles of Messiah (Christ) or king:

1. “He saved others; let him save himself, if he is the Christ, the Chosen One!”;

2. “If you are the king of the Jews, save yourself!”;

3. “Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and us as well!”

Interestingly, these sarcastic challenges point us to the core mystery of Jesus’ suffering and death. Jesus does not want to save himself from the cross because he wants to save us by his cross, through the love he gives to the Father on the cross. This inversion redefines kingship. The inscription above the cross, meant as derision, ironically proclaims truth: Jesus is King, but his throne is the cross, his crown thorns, his sceptre a reed. The Jewish leaders’ sneers challenge his messianic claims, expecting a conqueror who would descend miraculously, proving divine favour through self-preservation. The soldiers’ mockery reflects pagan disdain for weakness, clashing with Roman ideals of imperial might. Even the criminals represent humanity’s divide: rejection versus faith. Amidst all this, Jesus’ silence and prayers for his murderers reveal a king who reigns through mercy, not force.

Jesus’ kingship, proclaimed in agony, subverts expectations: not evasion of pain, but embrace of it for others’ sake. The cross, instrument of Roman terror, becomes the emblem of eternal victory, where apparent defeat unveils divine salvation. This is the meaning of the Solemnity of Christ the King: a sovereign whose power is perfected in vulnerability, inviting us to see glory in humility (second reading). Here, before the suffering Jesus, we hold a light that illuminates our own destiny and the destiny of all those we love. Jesus does not save us from the cross, from our cross, but he saves us by his cross. He offers us to make of our cross, in turn, a proof of love. Jesus says to us again: “Whoever wants to be my follower must take up his cross”.

Contemplating Jesus' cross, we gain a light that illuminates our destiny and that of our loved ones. He does not save us from our crosses but through his own cross. And he invites us to transform our crosses into acts of love. Where is our cross? It is the reality of our existence, the daily routine of our lives, just as much as the great trials; it is what we have to bear to remain faithful to Jesus Christ and to serve him in our brothers and sisters. Our "crosses" might be relational strains, ethical dilemmas at work, or societal injustices calling for witness. By carrying them lovingly, we participate in his redemptive work, extending his kingdom through compassion, forgiveness, and mission. In a world of fleeting powers (political, economic, digital), we pledge allegiance to a King who models servant-leadership. Let Christ reign in our choices, transforming ordinary lives into royal service. In doing so, we find true freedom and joy, echoing his eternal rule.