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 In the cultural milieu of this past year, the title of this feast, “the Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe,” may well ring differently.

The word “king,” always pejorative in the context of our American story, has drawn to it today more mistrust than ever. It can imply for us and for our fellow citizens tyranny, oppression, usurpation of the right of the people, overbearing pride, and gross, indulgent luxury. Even our most powerful leaders, who wield authority over the lives of citizens that would have astounded medieval monarchs, always take pains to distance themselves from the notion, at least, of kingship. To be American is inseparable from the rejection of kings, it would seem. So, what then are we to do as Catholics, called to celebrate Christ under that title?

The truth is that while human societies might take different forms, and while our American rejection of monarchy can, when working well, be a beautiful thing that ennobles every citizen with a share in their own government, nevertheless, reality itself is a monarchy. All things come from God and belong to him alone and finally. All things living or inanimate, visible and invisible, each one of us included, was made through Christ and for Christ. God alone has perfect authority over all things and all things find their fulfilment only in him. Christ, who is God, alone has the authority to tell us who and what we are, and in the end, everything and everyone will obey him and so finally come to perfect peace.

Of course, to understand this kingship of Christ, we have to purify away our human notion of kingship, which is wounded by the sins and flaws of earthly rulers. The Gospel today shows us Christ’s kingship. Today we look at Christ as he hangs on the cross, carrying all our sufferings and sins as his own, in his flesh. He offers himself in perfect love, enduring for you and for me the misunderstanding of those whom he loves, the insults of the people he himself created and the false accusations of those whom he is actively redeeming. On the cross, Christ embraces all of us, whether we are his friends, and especially if we are not, and does not convert us by force or coercion, but loves us, bears us, and suffers us. Here there is no luxury or domination; here there is no arrogance or scorn; here there is a heart burst open in compassion and charity, even for its enemies.

And yes, this “Greatheart,” does carry out the work of a king there on the cross. He hears petitions and grants gracious favors: to the good thief who acknowledges his sins, Christ offers paradise, a place in his own royal dwelling. In John’s Gospel, he gives a precious task to one of his closest friends and ministers: he entrusts his mother Mary to John with the words, “Son, behold your mother.”

The words of Pilate’s title plate, still preserved in Rome at the Church of the Holy Cross, are truer than he intended. Christ shows the nature of his kingship as he suffers there in love, far from all comfort. This is a real king. It is right for him to rule perfectly over each of our hearts, not only because he is God above all, but because he alone knows and loves our hearts perfectly. It is right for him to govern and guide our steps, not only because he made them and all possible paths they might take, but because he has walked in them and borne all the pain and guilt that might entail. It is right for us to bow before him in loyal homage, not only because he is almighty and glorious, but because he consented to be humanly powerless and covered in shame together with us. If we trust him and let him take up his throne in us and in our world, then we too will share in the good things he promises and enter paradise to share with him his royal dignity and joy forever.