A Reconciler, Not a Ruler

Today is Christ the King Sunday, and it invites us to begin with a simple but important question: What exactly is a king?

Throughout human history, there has always been someone willing to seize power. Someone ready to climb to the top—through charisma, bloodline, luck, or brute force—and declare themselves ruler. Some kings have been ruthless, ruling with iron fists and marching their people into endless wars. Others have tried to be wise and benevolent, leading with compassion and a sense of service.

But it’s interesting—when we turn to Scripture, we discover that kings weren’t originally part of Israel’s story at all. For generations, Israel lived without a human monarch. God was understood to be their true ruler, and the people were guided by wise, spirit-filled leaders known as judges whom God raised up in times of crisis.

That changed in 1 Samuel 8 when the people came to the prophet Samuel and demanded a king. Why? Scripture gives us three reasons. First, they wanted stability—a clear line of succession rather than the unpredictable rise of judges. Second, they wanted to be like the nations around them. Those other nations had kings with big armies, impressive palaces, and centralized power. Israel wanted that same prestige. And third, they wanted a military leader—someone who, as they put it, would “go out before us and fight our battles.”

In other words, they wanted the safety that comes from visible strength. They wanted to trade trust in God’s guidance for the security of human power.

Samuel was heartbroken, and when he prayed, God said something striking: “They have not rejected you, but they have rejected me from being king over them.” God told Samuel to warn the people about what human kings inevitably do: conscript sons into armies, take land and property, tax the people heavily, and ultimately turn them into servants of the crown.

But the people insisted. And so God let them have what they asked for. And as we know, their first king, Saul, embodied exactly the concerns Samuel voiced—deep insecurity, misuse of power, and increasing distance from God’s vision for leadership.

Fast forward to today, and we call Christ our King. But what kind of king is Jesus? Is he the kind who sits on a throne and rules through fear and force? The kind who demands obedience, collects taxes, builds armies, and accumulates power? No. Christ’s kingship is nothing like the kingship Israel longed for, nor like the kings we see strutting across our world’s stages today.

Our reading from Colossians gives us a glimpse into a radically different kind of kingship. Scholars believe this passage may have been an early Christian hymn—imagine the first communities singing these words together:

“He is the image of the invisible God…
in him all things in heaven and on earth were created…
He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together…
through him God was pleased to reconcile all things…
making peace through the blood of his cross.”

This isn’t the language of domination—this is the language of creation, compassion, and cosmic reconciliation. Paul is saying what John’s Gospel will later echo: that Christ’s significance is not just historical; it’s cosmic. Through Christ, God creates. Through Christ, God sustains. Through Christ, God heals and reunites what has been fractured.

Christ is a king who holds all things together—not a divider but a reconciler. A king through whom God’s fullness flows. A king who makes peace, not war. A king who heals and transforms, even beyond death.

And then Luke gives us the most astonishing picture of Christ’s kingship of all. Not on a throne. Not with a crown of gold. Not surrounded by adoring subjects or elite guards. But lifted up on a cross, with a crown of thorns pressing into his brow.

There, in the very moment of human cruelty, Christ reveals the deepest truth of God’s kingship. He forgives those who harm him: “Father, forgive them; they know not what they do.” And he turns to a criminal, a man with nothing to offer, no good deeds to present, no reputation to defend, and promises, “Today you will be with me in Paradise.”

At the moment when any earthly ruler would seek revenge or cling to power, Jesus offers mercy. At the moment when any earthly king would lash out in fear, Jesus reaches out in love. On the cross, Christ shows us that divine power is not the power to dominate—it is the power to reconcile. As Fr. Richard Rohr says, “The people who know God well—mystics, hermits, prayerful people, those who risk everything to find God—always meet a lover, not a dictator.”

When we look around our world, it’s easy to spot the false kings: leaders who worship their own greatness, who demand loyalty and punish dissent, who mistake authority for divinity. They may imagine themselves powerful, but in the light of Christ, their crowns look awfully small.

Christ stands in stark contrast. He creates rather than destroys. He holds all things together rather than tearing them apart. He leads through love. He heals and forgives. He gives his life rather than taking life. He reconciles all things—on earth and in heaven.

If we feel we must have a king, then let us choose wisely. Let us follow not the kings who grasp for power but the King who gives himself away. Not the kings who divide but the King who reconciles. Not the kings who stir up fear but the King who brings peace.

Christ the King is not a ruler who demands allegiance—he is a Savior who invites relationship. He is not a conqueror on a warhorse—he is a healer on a cross. Not a monarch who takes from his people—but a King who offers everything for the sake of love.

May we follow this true King—this different kind of King, as we’ll soon sing—the One who reconciles all things, holds all things together, and transforms the world not through force, but through the infinite, healing power of God’s love.