Ordinary Time Homilies

Friends, today we come to the final Sunday of our liturgical year, the great feast of Christ the King. What the Gospel gives us is not what most of us imagine when we hear the word “king.” We are not brought to a throne room or a dazzling vision of glory. Instead, the Church takes us to Calvary. Our King is enthroned on a cross.

And there, in that place, something extraordinary happens.

Two criminals hang beside Jesus. Both are guilty. Both are suffering. Both are facing the reality of death. One joins in the mockery that surrounds Jesus. But the other turns toward him with an honesty that is both painful and beautiful. He admits his sin. He recognizes that his life has brought him to this moment. And then he does something remarkable. He simply asks Jesus to remember him. In that request, he reveals more faith than most of the crowds who had followed Jesus for years.

That simple plea is the heart of today’s solemnity. “Remember me.” It is the prayer of every person who dares to hope in the mercy of God. It is the cry of a heart that knows it cannot save itself. It is the prayer of the poor in spirit and all who long for redemption.

Jesus does not turn away from him. Jesus does not offer judgment or distance. What he gives is a promise. “Today you will be with me.” The criminal had asked only to be remembered, but the King gives him paradise. The King gives him more than he knew he could ask for.

This man becomes the first person in Scripture to receive a promise of heaven directly from the lips of Jesus. And it happens not because he lived a perfect life, but because in his final hours he allowed grace to break through the hardness of sin. He speaks the truth about himself. He recognizes the innocence of Christ. He entrusts himself to the King who is dying beside him.

This is the moment when the kingship of Christ is revealed in all its depth. He is not a king who rules by force. He is not a king who builds walls or armies. He is not a king who dominates. He is the Servant King, the Shepherd King, the One Paul describes in the second reading as the image of the invisible God, the One through whom all things were created. This cosmic King allows himself to be lifted up on the cross so that he may draw all things to himself. His throne is a cross, and his royal power is mercy.

The repentant criminal shows us what it means to enter the kingdom of this King. It is not by strength or success. It is not by status or perfection. It is by repentance and by trust. It is by turning toward Jesus even when everything in our life has gone wrong. It is by letting him remember us.

And in that sense, this man stands for all of us. Each one of us has parts of our life that we would rather forget, places where we have fallen, moments when we have wandered or pushed God away. Yet Christ does not look at us with the cold judgment of the world. He looks at us with the eyes that gazed upon that repentant criminal. He sees our sin clearly, but he sees our dignity even more clearly. He sees the image of the Father in us, even when it is wounded or dim. And he speaks the same promise to any heart that turns toward him. You will be with me.

This solemnity is the Church’s yearly reminder that we already belong to a kingdom that is unlike any earthly kingdom. Saint Paul tells us that God has taken us out of darkness and transferred us into the kingdom of his beloved Son. In other words, what Jesus did for that repentant criminal is already happening in us through the sacraments, through the mercy that flows from the cross, through our Eucharistic communion with our King. The transfer has begun. We have been moved from one place to another. We are no longer citizens of darkness. We are children of the kingdom.

Every time we come to this altar, we are standing with that criminal at the side of Christ. Every time we stretch out our hands to receive the Eucharist, we echo his prayer, even if we do not say it aloud. We are asking the Lord to remember us. And every time we receive him, he makes the same promise, that he is with us, here and now, and that we belong to him forever.

As we end this liturgical year, this Gospel invites us to examine our hearts. Is there any part of our life that still clings to the false kingdoms of the world, the kingdoms built on pride, resentment, or self protection. Are there places where we still need to say the words of that repentant criminal, not with fear but with trust. Remember me. Restore me. Bring me into your kingdom.

My friends, this is not a feast of intimidation. It is a feast of hope. Christ is King, yes, but he is a King who climbs down into the darkest places of humanity to lift us up. He is a King who saves even in his final breath. He is a King who remembers us even when we forget him. And he is a King who desires to say to every one of us: “You will be with me.”

May we have the courage to speak the simple prayer of the repentant heart. May we allow Christ to draw us fully into his kingdom. And may this Eucharist strengthen us to trust the promise he gives, a promise made from the cross, a promise sealed in blood, a promise that leads to paradise. Amen.