Reflection for November 23, 2025

The Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe (C)

2 Samuel 5:1-3 | Psalm 122:1-2, 3-4, 4-5 | Colossians 1:12-20 | Luke 23:35-43

​The concept of king and kingdom is at the very heart of Jesus’ message to us. In today’s Scripture readings we are given the true image of a leadership.

A man dies—heart stopped, sins packed like buy-one-take-one luggage—and arrives at the pearly gates looking like someone who failed every subject from Ethics to Honesty. St. Peter appears, keys jingling like heavenly car keys, and says, “Welcome! Let’s tour the Hall of Corruption.” They enter a majestic golden chamber filled with clocks whirling like washing machines on turbo mode. The man, sweating like someone being audited by angels, asks, “What in holy humidity is this?” St. Peter grins. “These are corruption clocks from every country. The cleaner the country, the slower the clock. But the more corrupt… well, the clocks start doing zumba.” He looks around—Switzerland barely twitching, Finland almost asleep. But—no Philippine clock. He gulps. “Where is ours?” St. Peter sighs, crosses himself, and whispers, “Lucifer borrowed it.” “Borrowed? Why?” “Hell is jam-packed with new arrivals. He needed an industrial blower to keep the coals blazing. Your clock spins so fast it keeps the fires hot, the screams loud, and the smoke extra premium.” He winks. “He’ll return it—once the 2026 national budget finishes paying for new hell furnaces.”
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In our first reading, all the tribes of Israel anoint David as king. He is chosen not for personal glory, but to be a shepherd of the people—a leader who protects, cares, and guides them, ensuring their life and well-being. True leadership is measured not by power, but by service, integrity, and accountability. As we pray for godly, honest, and accountable leaders, we must also examine our own role in building Christ’s kingdom in our homes, schools, workplaces, and communities. Too often, we breed corruption in everyday choices: children asking parents for extra money for a “science project” that doesn’t exist; husbands hiding income meant for groceries to buy motorcycle or car accessories; employees slacking, shopping online or scrolling Facebook instead of finishing work, yet still filing for overtime; local officials diverting social welfare benefits to family and political supporters while ignoring the needy. God calls us to act justly and faithfully in our spheres. By nurturing honesty, responsibility, and generosity in small daily choices, we mirror the shepherding heart of David. Leadership begins with us—living with integrity, serving others, and ensuring that the little kingdoms we steward reflect the justice, mercy, and love of Christ the King.

In the misty mountains of the Higaonon, hunger howled like the wind through empty granaries. Children cried at night, mothers whispered prayers, and desperation pushed some to take what was not theirs. The law of the tribe was clear and sacred: theft must be answered with sixty to one hundred twenty lashes, for only justice could hold the tribe together. Then came the day no one ever imagined. The king’s own mother—frail, trembling, eyes full of shame—was found stealing dried cassava. When she was brought before the king, the people stood silent, hearts heavy. The evidence was undeniable. She was guilty. Everyone knew: her fragile body would never survive even the first lashes. The king stood slowly. Tears glistened in his eyes—not of weakness, but of love. He removed his royal garments, stepped down from his throne, and walked to his mother. Gently, he held her shaking shoulders, then wrapped his arms around her. With a voice that broke the silence and broke every heart, he said to the punisher, “Let justice fall—but let it fall on me.” Each lash that struck his back echoed through the valley—not as punishment, but as love. He did not cancel the law. He fulfilled it. He did not abandon his mother. He embraced her. And in that sacred moment, the tribe understood: true reconciliation is not the absence of justice—it is justice carried by mercy, and mercy carried by love.

To enter the Kingdom is to be lifted from the shadows of darkness into the brilliant light of God’s presence, freed only by the forgiveness of our sins. Paul reminds us in Colossians that in Christ, the fullness of God dwells, reconciling all things to Himself, making peace through the blood of His cross—on earth and in heaven. But hear this: such mercy is not to be taken lightly. Every small sin, every choice to turn away, risks plunging us back into darkness. To truly honor this gift, we must strive—not perfectly, but sincerely—to live in holiness. Speak kindly, forgive generously, act justly, and resist the temptations that pull us from God’s light. Gratitude for Christ’s reconciliation is shown in how fiercely we guard the life He restores in us. To sin recklessly is to spit on His sacrifice; to live intentionally in grace is to thank Him with every heartbeat.

One afternoon, twelve-year-old Justin was playing basketball in the street. His mother had warned him many times not to play near the house. But excited and careless, he dribbled too close—and the ball bounced straight into the living room window, shattering it into pieces. Panicked and shaking, Justin rushed inside. His mother stood by the broken glass. She didn’t shout. She simply asked, “Did you do this?” Justin’s eyes filled with tears. “Yes, Mom. I’m sorry. I knew I shouldn’t have played here. I was wrong.” She knelt, held him tight, and said gently, “I forgive you. I love you. That will never change.” As Justin sighed in relief, she added, “But love doesn’t erase responsibility. The window still needs to be fixed. You’ll help pay for it from your allowance, and until it’s repaired, you’ll do extra chores.” Justin nodded. Forgiven—but still accountable.

The liturgical year ends with the cross. There, in the shadow of death, a repentant thief turns to Jesus, acknowledges his guilt, and cries, “Remember me when you come into your Kingdom.” In his final hour, Dismas sees the King for who He truly is: innocent, just, merciful. And Jesus responds—not with a pardon that erases reality, but with a promise: “Today you will be with me in paradise.” Notice the paradox: Dismas is forgiven, yet the crucifixion remains. Justice is not ignored. Sin’s consequences linger, not to torment, but to teach, to transform, to heal. Forgiveness restores relationship; accountability repairs the damage. We live in a world riddled with corruption. Officials who have plundered the people must be confronted with their misdeeds. If they repent sincerely, mercy can flow. But forgiveness without justice is a mockery. They must be held accountable—brought to the light, made to restore what was stolen, humbled before the people they betrayed. Christ’s kingship calls us to the same: love fiercely, forgive fully, but do not dodge truth. We cannot reconcile without justice. We cannot heal without accountability. 

¡Viva Cristo Rey! ¡Que Tu Reino permanezca para siempre! Long live Christ the King! May Your Kingdom endure forever!

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📸 The Crucifixion with the Two Thieves by John Snellinck, oil on panel (1597).