The King Who Remembers Us to the Very End
Today is Christ the King Sunday, the final Sunday of the Church year. When this day passes, we enter
Advent and begin a new year in the life of the Church. Even in the calendar of the world, we stand near
the end of another year.
At this time of year, we naturally look back. We remember moments of joy, but we also carry memories
that still cause pain. Some things went well, just as we had hoped. But other concerns remained
unresolved, and some burdens stayed with us until the very end.
On this Sunday we are invited to remember what it means to confess Jesus Christ as our King, and to
ask ourselves: Whom did we follow throughout this past year? And whom will we follow as a new year
unfolds before us?
When we hear the word king, we usually think of power, dignity, and authority. But the Gospels show us
a very different kind of king. On the cross Jesus appears weak and powerless, surrounded by mockery
and insult.
Yet when we read today’s Scriptures carefully, we see that the kingship of Jesus is not simply a symbol
or a paradox. It is the fulfillment of the true king whom the Scriptures have long awaited. The problem is
not Jesus’ appearance on the cross, but the old images of kingship that we have carried in our minds.
In the time of Jeremiah, the leaders of the people failed to care for those who were weak. They were
shepherds who scattered the flock rather than protecting it. But God promised a new king—one who
would gather the lost, restore life, and lead the people with justice and compassion.
In Scripture, a king is indeed one who reigns, yet the heart of that reign is gathering the scattered and
restoring the wounded.
When we look at the crucifixion through this lens, we see more clearly who the promised king truly is.
On the cross Jesus suffers the most unjust violence and humiliation, yet he prays,
“Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing” (Luke 23:34).
This prayer is not simply an expression of kindness. It is an action that reveals the justice of God. We
often think of justice as punishment, repayment, or getting what one deserves. But in the Bible, justice is
connected to restoring broken relationships, leaving open a path for someone to return, and making
room for a new beginning.
On the cross Jesus breaks the cycle of violence. He refuses to answer hatred with hatred. He opens a
way of forgiveness and begins a new order grounded in peace.
There is another scene. One of the criminals crucified beside Jesus turns to him in his final moment and
says,
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“Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”
(Luke 23:42)
Scripture does not tell us what his life had been like. But it is clear that people no longer saw any hope in
him, and he himself had very little reason left to hope.
Yet Jesus answers him,
“Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.” (Luke 23:43)
This is more than a comforting promise to one dying man. It is the moment when the true king foretold
by Jeremiah is revealed on the cross. A man whom everyone had given up on—someone judged as
useless and beyond recovery—is held in the memory and mercy of Jesus until the very end.
The name that Jeremiah proclaimed,
“The Lord is our righteousness” (Jeremiah 23:6),
becomes a living reality in the words that come from the lips of Jesus as he hangs upon the cross.
The Letter to the Colossians describes Christ as “the image of the invisible God” (Colossians 1:15). It
is in the place that looks weakest—the cross—that the peace of forgiveness and reconciliation begins to
shine.
Now we turn the question toward ourselves:
What does it mean for us to confess Jesus as our King?
It means learning to loosen our hold on the measures of strength that the world teaches us, and slowly
learning the measures of Jesus instead.
Throughout the year, many different “kings” may have taken root in our hearts: the desire to be
recognized, anxiety, and stubborn pride. There were moments when we neglected relationships, and
even the quiet voice of resignation that says, “It is too late now.” These, too, can become kings we follow
without realizing it.
The story of the criminal in Luke’s Gospel speaks directly to these places.
Even when there is nothing to boast about, even when nothing seems to have changed, Jesus still
says,
“You will be with me.”
Even if the past year holds more regret than accomplishment, God’s gaze upon us is different from the
gaze of the world.
The kingship of Jesus is not a rule that welcomes only the successful.
It is the reign of love that refuses to let go, even until the very end.
Standing before this King at the close of the Church year does not mean writing a list of failures or
offering a report of our shortcomings. It means laying down the burdens we have carried—our feelings of
inadequacy, our self-blame, the anger or hurt still in our hearts—and entrusting ourselves once again to
the One who restores our lives.
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And this does not require heroic decisions.
Often it begins with something very small—remembering someone in prayer, choosing tenderness over
irritation, allowing one moment to be more generous than expected.
Through such small graces, the life shaped by the King of the cross begins to grow.
As Advent begins, we enter again the season of waiting for the One who comes. A new year will open
before us, and none of us knows what it will bring. But one thing is certain: we already know who the
King of that year will be.
The One who gave himself for us on the cross.
The One who remembers the forgotten and the rejected.
The One who opens peace not through violence, but through forgiveness and reconciliation.
He is the King who walks with us into the year ahead.
Standing at the threshold of a new Church year, we may take up the simple prayer that rose from the
cross:
“Lord, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”
Within this prayer is both the weight of the year that has passed and the hope of the year to come.
May the true King revealed on the cross hold our past with mercy, walk with us through the days ahead,
and help us welcome the new year with a quiet and steadfast heart under his gentle reign.
Amen.