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This Sunday we celebrate the feast of Jesus Christ the King—a feast that turns one hundred years old this year. It was established in 1925 by Pope Pius XI, right after the devastation of World War I. Governments were shaking, economies were unstable, the world was full of fear and very little peace. And in the middle of all that, the Church reminded the world of something deeply steady: Christ’s kingdom does not fall, does not crumble, does not get voted out, does not get overthrown.
In a few
moments, we’ll profess it together in the Creed:
“His kingdom will have no end.”
Jesus is not
just one more leader in a long line of leaders.
He is the King who can satisfy the longing and the thirst of every human heart,
in every age—including our own anxious, confused, and weary world.
And today’s
Gospel shows us His kingship in the most surprising and paradoxical place:
on a cross, between two criminals.
I. Law and Order on Calvary
St. Luke
describes the scene almost like a courtroom drama. Three men are tried,
convicted, and sentenced to death. One is Jesus. Two are criminals. And one of
them will say the words we repeat so often: “Jesus,
remember me.”
And if this
were an episode of Law &
Order, you can almost hear the voiceover:
“In the criminal justice system, the people
are represented by two separate and equally important groups:
the police who investigate crime
and the district attorneys who prosecute the
offenders.
These are their stories.”
Earlier that
day, in the courtroom, the governor, Pontius Pilate, had a different prisoner
before him:
Barabbas—a murderer and an
insurrectionist.
He was the real perpetrator, the one the crowds should have feared. But
Barabbas is the one who gets released. He walks away free.
Now imagine
you are one of the two thieves. You watched Barabbas walk out of prison. Maybe
for a moment you thought, “If Barabbas got off, maybe we will too. Maybe Pilate
will release us next.”
But that doesn’t happen.
Barabbas walks away.
The thieves go to their crosses.
And the
crowd looks up at all three men—Jesus included—and says, “They’re getting what
they deserve. Case closed.”
No sympathy. No mercy.
Let’s go to commercials.
Or…is the
case closed?
II. Zacchaeus and the
Pattern of Mercy
In Luke’s
Gospel, this isn’t the first time Jesus enters the life of someone with a
reputation.
Think of Zacchaeus, the tax collector—someone everyone knew had cheated and
stolen. When Jesus called him, Zacchaeus admitted the truth, made things right,
and changed. Jesus showed mercy long before any “sentence” was handed down.
And now, on
Calvary, that same mercy is about to reach someone who has no time left to fix
anything.
III. 2 Thieves: Justice &
Mercy Meet
One thief
joins the crowd’s mockery:
“Are you not the Christ? Save yourself—and us!”
He wants a king like Barabbas: a king who can escape the cross, escape
consequences, escape responsibility.
But the
other thief—tradition calls him Dismas—sees things
differently.
He says something that almost no one else that day is willing to say out loud:
“We have been condemned justly.”
In other words:
“We did this. We’re guilty.”
He doesn’t
pretend.
He doesn’t make excuses.
He doesn’t try to negotiate.
He simply turns toward Jesus with nothing left but a plea:
“Jesus, remember me when you come into your
kingdom.”
He asks not
for escape, but for mercy.
And Jesus, the King on the cross, responds not with a lecture, not with a
delay, but with royal authority:
“Amen, I say to you, today you will be with me
in Paradise.”
This is the
justice of Christ the King:
justice that is absolutely truthful, and mercy that is absolutely overflowing.
IV. Mercy Is Not
Permissiveness
Jesus’ mercy
is never the same as pretending nothing happened.
It is not “toxic indifference.”
Let me give
a simple example.
Many years
ago, in one of my first jobs after college, I went out to lunch with coworkers
to celebrate finishing a big project. We went somewhere pretty expensive.
Trying to look important, I insisted on paying the whole bill—several hundred
dollars—and then I submitted it as a business expense.
When the
report reached my boss, my boss quietly denied reimbursement
My boss did not set out to embarrass me.
He didn’t call me a thief but simply said, “This is not a legitimate business
expense.”
My boss could
have looked the other way. In a big corporation it might never have been
noticed. And honestly, I probably would been happier in the short term. But had
this “gotten by” it slide, that wouldn’t have helped me grow in honesty.
That little sting of justice became a lesson in integrity.
God’s mercy
works the same way.
God doesn’t pretend our sins don’t matter.
He doesn’t say, “It’s fine.”
He loves us too much for that.
Instead,
like Dismas, He invites us to be honest, to thirst for something better, and to
cling to Him.
V. Confession: Our “Jesus,
Remember Me” Moment
So what does
this all mean for us?
Where do we meet
this King—this King who tells the truth and shows mercy?
We meet Him
in the Sacrament of Penance.
We meet Him when we say those first humble, honest words:
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been ___ days, months, or years
since my last confession.”
At that
moment, you and I are doing what the good thief did:
• we acknowledge that justice is real,
• we stop making excuses,
• and we say, “Jesus, remember me.”
Confession
is not about shame—it’s about freedom.
Do not
settle for Barabbas’s kind of freedom—the freedom that escapes consequences and
doesn’t get “charged” but also doesn’t get “changed”. Change is good!
Choose Dismas’s freedom—the freedom that comes from meeting the King on the
cross, admitting the truth, and hearing the words of mercy.
VI. Conclusion: The Kingdom
That Has No End
So in a
world that still feels unstable—wars, confusion, moral deserts—this feast of
Christ the King tells us something steady, solid, and true:
·
You are not
stuck with Barabbas’s false freedom.
·
You are
invited into Dismas’s freedom—the freedom of conversion.
·
You are
called to bring your story, your sins, and your thirst to the King who reigns
from the cross.
No matter
what others remember about you—your failures, your mistakes, your past—
Jesus knows you.
Jesus loves you.
Jesus died for you.
He is your King.
And His kingdom of mercy and truth will have no end.
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