Understanding Christ’s Kingship: Mercy Over Power

If there’s one Gospel that redefines what “kingship” looks like, it’s today’s reading.

For the Solemnity of Christ the King, the Church gives us Luke 23:35–43. Not a scene of glory, but of a bruised and silent Jesus hanging on the Cross. And yet, sa mismong eksenang ‘yon, a particular detail stood out in a way that felt both personal and theologically rich.

Holy silence

What strikes me first is His silence.

Throughout His Passion, Jesus refused to defend Himself. He remains quiet before the accusations of the elders, the mockery of the crowd, and the violence of the soldiers. And in a world where power usually means loudness, dominance, and proving yourself right, Christ reveals a different kind of kingship: one grounded in humility, obedience, and surrender to the Father’s will. His silence is not a void; may bigat at may saysay ito.

But what interrupts this silence is even more revealing.

The one who broke the silence

There is only one person Jesus chose to speak to: not a ruler, not a disciple, not a Pharisee, but a condemned criminal hanging beside Him.

The Good Thief, si St. Dismas, doesn’t even do anything grand. He does not justify himself. He does not bargain. He does not demand a miracle. He simply turns to Jesus and says:

“Remember me when You come into Your kingdom” (Lk 23:42).

And what does Jesus do?

For the first and only time in the Passion narrative, He breaks His silence to address an individual sinner. Not with an explanation, not with condemnation, but with a direct, audible act of mercy:

“Today you will be with Me in Paradise” (Lk 23:43).

Here’s where something deepens: Jesus didn’t have to respond verbally.

He could have acknowledged the thief with a glance, a nod, even interior compassion. But He didn’t. He chose to speak.

And it reveals something about how divine mercy works.

How Divine mercy works

Then something clicked in my mind, and I immediately thought of the Sacrament of Confession.

Forgiveness in Christianity is not meant to remain internal or ambiguous. It is meant to be heard. It is relational. It is spoken into the open. Christ’s response to the Good Thief becomes, in a way, a model for sacramental confession.

Because what happens in confession?

A sinner speaks honestly, out loud.

And Christ, through His priest, responds, out loud.

The Church teaches that when the priest says the words of absolution, it is Christ Himself who speaks.

The same Christ who spoke to the thief.

The same Christ who breaks His silence for the one heart that turns back to Him.

There’s something profoundly human and profoundly divine in this.

Hindi lang tayo basta “feeling forgiven.”
We hear it.
We receive it.
We are assured of it objectively, audibly, sacramentally.

Christ’s kingship

Today, on the Feast of Christ the King, the Gospel invites us to see that Christ’s kingship is not shown in domination but in mercy; not in asserting power, but in the willingness to speak salvation to a sinner at the edge of death.

And perhaps this is the heart of today’s celebration: that the King we worship is a King who reigns from a Cross, who speaks forgiveness in the middle of suffering, and who chooses to break His silence for those who dare to turn toward Him kahit gaano sila ka-wasak o ka-late dumating sa piling Niya.

If the Good Thief teaches us anything, it’s this: it is never too late to call out to Christ, and it is always in His nature to answer.

Mercifully.
Personally.
And aloud.

Ang daldal, no? Skl naman kasi.
Sige, scroll up ka na. Hehe.
Happy Feast of Christ the King, everyone! 👑