Today, we celebrate Christ the King Sunday, the last Sunday of the Church year. It’s a day that should lift our eyes from the chaos of the world to the cosmic reign of Christ. Next week we celebrate our new Church year. We’ll begin Advent, the season of waiting and longing. But before we begin again, the Church pauses to think about what it should mean to have Christ as King.
When we got to our Gospel reading earlier, we didn’t see a throne or a crown of gold. We saw a cross. We didn’t hear a royal decree – only the echo of mockery: “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!” And perhaps that gives us a clue – this is the King that we did not expect.
Word of hope
But we’ll start with our reading from Jeremiah 23 which opens in a time of political collapse and spiritual failure. The shepherds of Israel – its kings and leaders – have scattered the flock. They’ve led the people astray, seeking their own comfort and power.
Into this corruption and despair, Jeremiah speaks God’s word of hope: “I myself will gather the remnant of my flock… and I will raise up for David a righteous Branch… and he shall reign as king and deal wisely.” Jeremiah 23:3–5
Here, God promises a new kind of ruler – one who will not exploit, but restore; not scatter, but gather; not destroy, but heal. A shepherd-king whose rule will be marked by justice, righteousness, and peace. Jeremiah points beyond the failed kings of his age to the coming Messiah, the one in whom God’s own shepherding heart will be made visible. And in this promise, we hear the whisper of Bethlehem – and the shadow of the cross.
Confidence
If Jeremiah gives us the promise, then Psalm 46 gives us the confidence to wait for it. It begins with that well-known thunder of assurance: “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore, we will not fear, though the earth be moved.”
This is not the confidence of people untouched by suffering – it’s the faith of people enduring a storm. The psalmist speaks of mountains shaking, nations raging, and kingdoms tottering – yet in the midst of all that noise, there is a river whose streams make glad the city of God.
God’s presence becomes the calm in the chaos. Not because the storms stop, but because the Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our stronghold.
On Christ the King Sunday, Psalm 46 invites us to trust not in the stability of our world, but in the sovereignty of our God. The kingdoms of this world rise and fall – but “the Lord of hosts is with us.” And His throne is the cross.
Compassion
If Jeremiah and the psalmist paint in promise and poetry, Luke 23 paints in realism and irony. Here is Jesus, nailed to the wood, flanked by criminals. Over His head hangs a sign: ‘This is the King of the Jews.’ The sign is meant to mock. But the irony, of course, is that it’s true… just not in the way the world imagines kingship.
When the religious leaders, the soldiers, and even one of the criminals taunt Jesus – “Save yourself!” – they reveal their expectations of power. A king, they think, proves himself by domination, by escape, by victory over suffering. But Jesus reigns from the cross by refusing to save Himself. His kingship is revealed not in self-preservation, but in self-giving love. Not in control, but in compassion.
And there, in the final moments, a dying criminal becomes the first to recognize what no one else can see: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” And Jesus replies: “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”
At the very moment when Jesus seems most powerless, His reign begins to break through – not in a palace, but in a place of death. This is our King: A King who reigns from a cross, whose throne is mercy, whose crown is made of thorns, and whose power is perfected in love.
Centre and coherence
Paul’s hymn in Colossians 1 lifts our eyes from Golgotha to the cosmos: “He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation… All things have been created through Him and for Him… and in Him all things hold together.”
This is the breathtaking scope of Christ’s kingship: From the beginning of creation to the end of time, Christ is the centre and coherence of all things. The same Jesus who hangs on the cross is the One through whom the galaxies spin. The crucified King is also the cosmic Lord. Or, as Graham Kendrick puts it: Hands that flung stars into space, to cruel nails surrendered.
But notice how Paul ties majesty to mercy: “Through Him God was pleased to reconcile to Himself all things… by making peace through the blood of His cross.” (Colossians 1:20)
In the economy of God, peace does not come through conquest but through sacrifice. Reconciliation comes not through domination but through suffering love. Christ’s kingship gathers up the whole of creation and restores it through the very act the world calls defeat.
This is the paradox at the heart of our faith: The cross is not the end of Christ’s reign – it’s the means of it. The crucified One is the risen Lord.
Expectations
Christ the King Sunday asks us to confront our own expectations of leadership and power. We live in a world that still measures greatness by control, by wealth, by visibility. Even in the Church, we can be tempted to look for the spectacular – success, influence, achievement.
But the gospel asks: What if true leadership looks like humility? What if real power looks like forgiveness? What if the throne of God looks like a cross? Because Jesus doesn’t rule by coercion but by compassion. He doesn’t command allegiance through fear but wins hearts through mercy.
Henri Nouwen, when talking about Christian leadership, said this: ‘It is a servant leadership in which the leader is a vulnerable servant who needs the people as much as they need him or her.’
Challenge and comfort
This challenges every worldly instinct we have. It also comforts every weary soul: If Christ reigns from the cross, then His kingdom has room for the broken, the suffering, the forgotten. The last word belongs not to violence or empire, but to love.
But if we believe that Christ is King, what difference should that make?
- It means we should live with hope – because no power, no darkness, no despair has the final word. “God is our refuge and strength,” says the psalmist. “Be still and know that I am God.”
- It means we should live with humility – because our King wears a crown of thorns. We follow not a ruler who lords it over others, but one who kneels to wash feet.
- It means we should live with courage – because the kingdoms of this world will falter, but His kingdom will never fail. The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our stronghold.
And it means we should live with mercy – because our King remembers the thief, and He remembers us. At the centre of our faith is not a monument to power, but a cross of love. Christ reigns not in splendour apart from suffering, but in glory through it.
Remembers the forgotten
So, when the world feels chaotic – when nations rage, when justice seems lost, when life feels fragile – Christ the King Sunday reminds us that the world is not without a centre. Because: “In Him all things hold together.”
The same Jesus who bore the world’s pain now holds it in redeeming hands. His rule is not distant or abstract; it is intimate, patient, and eternal.
So, let’s lift our eyes — not to the thrones of this world, but to the King who reigns from the cross. The Shepherd who gathers the scattered. The Saviour who remembers the forgotten. The Lord in whom all things hold together.
Because, as we say each week: “For the kingdom, the power, and the glory are yours, now and for ever. Amen.”
I’m going to finish by returning to Jeremiah. This is a poem called…
The Scattered and the Gathered
Woe to the shepherds,
the smooth ones,
the well-fed,
the ones with silver tongues
and empty hands.They have counted the sheep
but not the tears.
They have weighed the wool
but not the wounds.
They have built fences
where pastures should have been.And now –
the flock wanders,
thin, hungry,
each one naming a different sorrow.
No one calls them home.
No one remembers
the green of the grass.But the Holy One remembers.
The Holy One grieves.
And the grief of God
is not still or silent.
It stirs the soil.
It breaks the old staves.
It plants again.A branch will rise,
small and stubborn,
from the stump of our failures.
It will bear fruit
for those who never tasted justice,
shade for those who never rested safe.He shall reign –
not with power that wounds
but with righteousness that mends.
Not with fear
but with faithfulness.
Not as a king behind walls,
but as a shepherd who knows
every name
that the world forgot.And in his days –
not ours, not yet –
the scattered will come home.
They will remember the sound
of their own hearts.
They will feed in fields
where no one is lost.And the name of that day
will be The Lord is our Righteousness.
A name strong enough to carry us,
gentle enough to heal us,
true enough
to make all things whole.For yours is the kingdom,
and the pasture,
and the glory forever and ever. Amen
‘The King We Did Not Expect’ was delivered by Ian Banks at Christ Church Walmersley on 23rd November 2025. It was based on Jeremiah 23:1-6, Psalm 46, Colossians 1:11-20 and Luke 23:33-43
Reference:
Nouwen, H. (1989). In the Name of Jesus: Reflections on Christian Leadership. DLT.