Homily, November 23, 2025, Rev. Holly Cardone

A Different Kind of King

November 23, 2025

Before we dive in this morning, I want to remind us about the rhythm of the church. Today marks the ending of Year C in our church calendar. The Revised Common Lectionary is the schedule of scripture readings for many Christian denominations and it moves in a three year cycle: Year A, B and C. Today is the last Sunday of Year C and next Sunday, the first Sunday of Advent marks the beginning of Year A. 

Since June 9th of this year until today, we have been in what the church calls Ordinary time. You know we are in ordinary time because everything is green. Green vestments and altar cloths, parables, healings, teachings, slow spiritual growth and the very ordinary, yet sacred work, of being more like Christ. Today, on the final Sunday of the church year, we land on a feast day that is anything but ordinary: the Feast of Christ the King.

Now, Christ the King Sunday might feel ancient, like something the church has celebrated for centuries. But actually, it’s fairly new. Pope Pius XI established this feast day in 1925. He did so because he was watching Fascism rise in Italy. The National Fascist Party, founded just a few years earlier, declared that it would serve as a “revolutionary militia,” all in the name of order, discipline, and hierarchy. That was their language—order, discipline, hierarchy. And the Catholic Church—an institution known for its own order, discipline, and hierarchy—wanted to draw a clear line in the sand: nationalism and political power are not ultimate. Secular rulers are not ultimate. There is only one king who claims our allegiance, and that king is Jesus Christ.

There’s some irony here. A deeply hierarchical church trying to resist a deeply hierarchical political movement but the intention was clear. Christians needed a reminder that no earthly power, no nation, no ideology gets the final word. Christ does.

Originally, this feast day was called The Feast of Our Lord Jesus Christ the King. But in 1969, Pope Paul the VI expanded it, renaming it The Feast of Our Lord Jesus Christ the King of the Universe. Pope Paul the VI wants to make absolutely sure no one misses the point. The reign of Christ is cosmic. It is beyond borders, beyond presidents, beyond armies, beyond every attempt humans make to seize or maintain control. 

But today’s gospel gives us a king who is nothing like the kings we imagine. Luke tells us that as Jesus hangs on the cross, a sign is nailed above his head: The is the King of the Jews. Meant as an act of public shaming, Rome is declaring to the world: this is what happens to people who challenge us. This is what happens to people who want to be king.

Jesus has been unjustly tried. Even the criminal beside him recognizes his innocence. His friends have abandoned him. He has been tortured, humiliated, stripped, mocked, ridiculed. The crowds watch while the leaders scoff. The soldiers mock him. Rome posts its official insult above his head. Even one of the criminals crucified beside him sneers: “A king? Really?”

This is what Rome did to defeated kings. They put on public performances of humiliation, torture, and death. Crucifixion was reserved for traitors, deserters, foreigners, enslaved people, violent offenders, and those guilty of high treason. It was intimidation-as-spectacle. Our King looks nothing like a king should. He is tortured and crucified, spat upon and ridiculed. Our King is disbelieved, abandoned, and mocked, by Rome, the crowds, even by the man suffering next to him. This is not a king who seizes power. This is a king who surrenders to love.

Throughout history religious and political kings and rulers have used power to justify oppression, slavery, racism, war, and violence. And not just “back then.” Today, across the world, people with power still use faith as a justification for domination and control.

Our King has written a different script. One that says power is not the answer. Love is the answer. Our King says the people who have the least wealth, least control, least status, are often the ones most capable of hearing the good news, living the good news, and spreading the good news.

Richard Rohr reminds us that Jesus spent his ministry telling parable after parable about the kingdom—the Reign of God. Not a kingdom of domination, but a kingdom of growth and surprise. Seeds sprouting in hidden soil. Yeast quietly rising in dough. Weeds and wheat growing together. Something small becoming something expansive. Something ordinary becoming something sacred. Something unexpected becoming something world-changing.

The Reign of God, Rohr says, is always about finding, discovering, being surprised. It’s about reversals of expectation, changes in roles and status. Nothing static. Everything alive.

This is our King.

A king whose reign is defined by humility, love, growth, forgiveness, and holy surprise. A king who uses his last breath not to curse but to bless. A king who cannot be toppled because he refuses to rule the way the world expects. A king whose crown is suffering love, whose throne is a cross, whose power is self-giving, whose victory is resurrection.

And now—here we are. On the edge of Advent. On the cusp of waiting for the biggest surprise of all: God choosing to arrive not in a palace but in a manger. Not as a warrior but as a child. Not with domination but with vulnerability. Not with force but with love.

So today, as we close the book on Year C, and prepare to open the book on a new liturgical year, we are given one last reminder: This is our King. Not the king the world expects. Not the king the world rewards. But the king who heals, who forgives, who surprises, who loves, and who invites us to do the same.

Amen