Christ the King: A Kingdom That Looks Like Mercy




As the church year winds down and Advent peeks around the corner, we pause for one last, luminous proclamation: Christ is King. Not someday far off. Not only in heaven. But now.

And the readings for this feast don’t let us romanticize that kingship one bit. They show us a reign that looks nothing like the world’s power—and honestly, thank God for that.

Jeremiah opens with a hard truth: some leaders scatter instead of shepherd. They wound instead of heal. They look out for themselves rather than the people entrusted to them. And God notices.

But God also promises a new kind of king—one who gathers, protects, and sets things right. A king whose authority is rooted in justice, righteousness, and compassion.

This isn’t top-down, iron-fisted rule.
It’s a shepherd who knows every sheep by name.

Then Canticle 16 breaks in like a gentle sunrise:
“Blessed be the Lord… he has come to his people and set them free.”

This is the language of liberation, but notice the tone. God comes not like a battering ram but like morning light—soft, steady, unmistakable.

Christ’s rule looks like forgiveness washing into the cracks of our lives.
It looks like peace guiding our feet.
It looks like light you can trust even when the night feels long.

Colossians gives us the big picture—the cosmic picture. Christ is:

the image of the invisible God,

the One through whom all things were created,

the One in whom all things hold together.

Everything in the universe—every heartbeat, every breath, every moment—rests in Christ’s hands.

And this King doesn’t rule from a distance.
Paul tells us that reconciliation itself—putting the world back together—comes through the cross.

Power, in Christ’s kingdom, is always shaped like love.


Then comes Luke’s scene on Calvary. If we want to understand kingship in God’s terms, this is where we look.

Jesus reigns not from a golden throne but from a cross.
Not with adoring crowds, but surrounded by mockery.
Not with a crown of gold, but with a crown of thorns.

And yet—here of all places—the true King speaks the true final word:
“Today you will be with me in paradise.”

The world shouts, “Save yourself.”
But the King saves others instead.

Grace is His glory.

So What Does Christ the King Mean for Us?

If Christ is King, then:

We don’t have to pretend to have everything under control.

The darkness isn’t final; dawn is already breaking.

We can let go of the small kings we cling to—fear, ego, power, perfectionism.

We can live out mercy, because mercy is the language of our King.

We can trust that the One holding the galaxies also holds us together when life feels like it’s unraveling.

Christ the King isn’t about triumphalism—it’s about trust.
It’s about knowing that the One who reigns is the same One who forgives, gathers, heals, and remembers us.

A Kingdom Shaped Like Love

So as we step toward Advent and the season of longing, we pause here, with this quiet declaration:

Christ is King—
and His throne is a cross,
His crown is mercy,
and His kingdom is breaking in even now. Amen.

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