Homilies for November 2024

For All Saints’ Day, All Souls’ Day, November 3, November 10, November 17, and November 24 (Solemnity of Christ the King)

Solemnity of All Saints – November 1, 2024

Readings: Rv 7:2–4, 9–14 • Ps 24:1bc–2, 3–4ab, 5–6 • 1 Jn 3:1–3 • Mt 5:1–12a
bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/110124.cfm

This great solemnity is one in which we recall to our memory the company of the Saints, the Holy Ones of God. This Holy Day reminds us of us of what should be our two main goals in our life: what should be our ultimate destination, Heaven, and how we can get there, by centering our life around the Lord, by becoming saints.

What does the Lord really want from us? Perhaps only this — to make the Lord and the Lord alone the center of our life. He is asking us more than anything to refocus our spiritual eyesight, to move from our spiritual myopia and readjust our vision to focus on what truly matters, namely the Lord and the things of the Lord.

As we well know, the sense of eschatology — the sense of the four last things, namely death, judgment, Heaven and Hell — was so much greater in the early Church. These followers of the way, who daily were risking their lives because they believed in Christ, who were considered enemies of the state due to their faith, truly believed that, at any moment, Jesus, King of Glory and Lord of the World, would descend, just as he had ascended, to judge each man according to his deeds.

Naturally enough, when Jesus didn’t come back, after a year, after ten years, after fifty years, even as followers of a religion considered to be a dangerous, seditious cult, followers of the way began to become complacent. They settle into their daily routines and the concerns of daily life became more and more important. They began to focus in on the little things of life, naturally enough, and began to miss the big picture. Hence the reason why such an epistle like 1 Corinthians needed to be written. The Christians in Corinth began to forget that, at any moment, the one true Bridegroom could come again, like a thief in the night, and they could be caught, wallowing in the muck and mire of their own sin. Made for immortality, they are stuck in immorality.

As history progresses, this is even more true. When the danger of being Christian seemingly fades, when Christianity becomes, in a sense, mainstream, like after Constantine in 313 A.D., and even more so after Theodosius in 380 A.D., and, indeed throughout most of western civilization, instead of the big picture, we put our focus in on the little things, as important as they might be and miss the forest for the trees. We as Christians made the swords we fall on issues of maniples or overlay stoles, of inclusive language in the Universal Prayer, rather than issues of the Kingdom — Truth, Justice, and Joy.

The same is true today, even with the reality that being a Christian today, in the Middle East, in Africa, and in other places, can and might get you killed. In the U.S.A., in the age of the cult of political correctness, we may not be physically killed for our faith, but we are considered completely irrelevant and, sadly, to be the enemy by a large portion of society. We have lost that eschatological edge, and, I think, we need to reclaim it as soon as possible, if we are to regain the proper focus in the Christian life.

The Protestant theologian Paul Tillich asked what is our area of ultimate concern. What did he mean? Many people have concerns about certain things in life: education, careers, marriages, and their health. However, when asked what their ultimate concern is, it is harder to answer. Paul Tillich attempted to define religion by saying that it is our “Ultimate Concern.” He defined religion as “the state of being grasped by ultimate concern.” For Tillich, a person’s ultimate concern is something that they base their lives around; it is the most important thing. All that we think are our “ultimate concerns” will vanish after death; however, our believe in God will remain. Tillich said that our area of ultimate concern must become a significant part of our life and that we should consider it when deciding what to do in all the situations of our life. So, what’s our area of ultimate concern? What’s really our ultimate concern? If it’s not the salvation of our immortal soul, then we need to reevaluate our lives.

The Church is more than just her living members. There is the great Communion of Saints who spur us onward. Who are the saints? Bishop Robert Barron writes:

The saints, in a word, are those who have allowed Jesus to get into their boats and who have thereby become, not super-human or angelic, but fully human, as alive as God intended them to be. The entire purpose of the Church, as we saw, is to produce saints. Scripture, tradition, liturgy, official teaching, moral instruction, and the sacraments are all means to the end of fostering friendship with God.¹

The saint is one who, simply put, has God and God alone as his or her center of ultimate concern. Bishop Barron further writes:

The holiness of God is like a white light: pure, simple, complete. But when that lights shines, as it were, through the prism of individual human lives, it breaks into an infinite variety of colors. The four women we’ve considered in this chapter couldn’t be more different from one another — and that is why each one allows a unique dimension of the divine holiness to appear. God’s grace shone through the particularity of Edith Stein and gave us the clarity of her intellectual work and the beauty of her martyrdom; it shone through the uniqueness of Thérèse of Lisieux and gave us the little way; it shone through the individuality of Katharine Drexel and it produced a miracle of transfigured justice; it shone through the unrepeatable identity of Mother Teresa and brought forth the Missionaries of Charity. The Church revels in the variety of its saints because it needs such diversity in order to represent, with even relative adequacy, the infinite intensity of God’s goodness.²

Let’s aim to make it home, back to our origin and source, the center of our ultimate concern, Christ Jesus the Lord! Let’s aim to become who we were created to be, namely saints, those who have God and the things of God as our area of ultimate concern!

All Souls’ Day – November 2, 2024

Readings: Wis 3:1–9 • Ps 23:1–3a, 3b–4, 5, 6 • Rom 6:3–9 • Jn 6:37–40
bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/110224.cfm

A few years ago, New York City’s Metropolitan Opera was shut down, mid-performance. This was because someone thought that it would be a good idea during the intermission to scatter a white substance all around the orchestra pit. Naturally enough, those who were watching this action occur thought it was a terrorist incident. The building was evacuated, people panicked, and all were scared.

As it turns out, the man who sprinkled the powder was not sprinkling anthrax, but was instead sprinkling the cremated remains of his deceased best friend, who loved opera. The living friend was going around the world to the great opera houses and leaving traces of his deceased pal in each of them, as was his dying wish.

What a sad thing; a sad thing indeed. The thought that one would want his or her ashes scattered in a place where they spent their most cherished moments (if this was me, would it be in Religious Sisters of Mercy convents?) is a real misunderstanding of what lies ahead of us.

Again and again, we prove that we have lost what I have come to term as the eschatological edge, the idea that we are made by God, for God, to serve God and others in this life, and then, at a time appointed by him, we are meant to return to God. Upon this return, we face our particular judgment, and, by how we live, it is determined whether we spend eternity in Heaven or Hell, or if we need the purifying light of Purgatory.

This action of sprinkling the ashes of a friend in an opera house really betrays, ultimately, a desperate lack of hope in the promises of the Lord. To remember someone in this way puts the focus on the natural, and not on the area of our ultimate concern, the Beatific Vision, which we can only see in our true homeland, Heaven.

How best then can we remember those whom we love and lost and whom we long to see again? There is no greater way than what we do right here, right now at this altar, where we remember the quick and the dead. What is done here today by us, I pray that 100 years from now, a priest and some Sisters gather to do for us. What we do here is the ultimate act of hope, knowing that the resurrection won for us by Christ Jesus is real, that what and whom we receive here is real, and that the promise that it has for us is very real indeed.

As much as I love the idea of being perpetually with the Religious Sisters of Mercy of Alma, please don’t scatter me. Instead, let the words of Saint Monica be ours: “Bury my body wherever you will; let not care of it cause you any concern. One thing only I ask you, that you remember me at the altar of the Lord wherever you may be.”

Thirty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time – November 3, 2024

Readings: Dt 6:2–6 • Ps 18:2–3, 3–4, 47, 51 • Heb 7:23–28 • Mk 12:28b–34
bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/110324.cfm

In our readings this Sunday, we encounter the profound mystery of love as the foundation of both divine revelation and human response to God.

In Deuteronomy, Moses presents Israel with the Shema, the central command to love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, and strength. This passage is not merely an ethical instruction but a call to a radical, all-encompassing relationship with God. The idea of loving God “with all your heart” aligns with an understanding of how the human person is created to respond to God’s infinite love. Love is never a compartmentalized or half-hearted affair; it demands totality. God gives His whole self to humanity, and in return, humanity is called to give its whole self back to God. This is why the Shema demands the entirety of one’s heart, soul, and strength — it is a covenantal call to mirror God’s own self-giving love.

“Kenosis” — the self-emptying of God in Christ — is key in understanding how humanity is invited to reciprocate. Our love for God is not a passive emotion but an active, all-encompassing response to the love we have first received. Deuteronomy emphasizes remembrance and commitment: “Keep these words in your heart,” because love of God is not momentary but a lifelong fidelity.

In Mark’s Gospel, when Jesus is asked which commandment is the greatest, He unites the love of God and the love of neighbor: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart . . . and you shall love your neighbor as yourself.” Jesus does not separate these two loves but integrates them as the foundation of the Law.

The Incarnation of Christ is the perfect expression of love. In Christ, divine and human love meet. Christ’s love for the Father is shown through obedience, even to the point of the Cross, and His love for humanity is revealed in His total gift of self. Thus, these two commandments — love of God and love of neighbor — are inseparable. To love God with one’s whole being necessitates an outpouring of love toward others, because God’s love is never closed in on itself; it is always generous, self-giving, and outward-facing.

In the Trinity, love exists in the eternal exchange between Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. In a similar way, human beings are called to enter into this dynamism of love — loving God entirely and then letting that love spill over into the love of neighbor. The love of neighbor is not secondary to the love of God but is the natural expression of it. We see this in the very Person of Jesus, who embodies the union of these two commandments.

The Christian is called to witness to this divine love in the world. The way we love our neighbor is a witness to the world of the love we have for God. In fact, it is in loving others that we reveal our love for God. This echoes Christ’s statement, “You are not far from the kingdom of God” (Mk 12:34). Love of God and neighbor is not simply an abstract command but a pathway into the very life of the Kingdom.

Christian life is fundamentally dramatic, meaning it involves a mission to manifest God’s love in the world. Just as Christ’s life was a drama of divine love, so too must the Christian’s life reflect this drama by living out these commandments. This is not a passive reception of love but an active, dynamic engagement with God and the world. In this way, the commandments are not burdens but invitations into deeper communion with God and others.

The readings from Deuteronomy and Mark call us to a holistic love — one that encompasses heart, soul, mind, and strength, and one that is expressed in our relationship both with God and with others. Our Christian vision deepens this call by showing us that such love is rooted in the very nature of God as self-giving and self-emptying. We are invited into the drama of divine love, where the greatest commandment is not simply an ethical duty but the path to communion with the Triune God. In living this out, we embody Christ’s own love for the Father and for humanity, revealing God’s presence in the world through our lives of total love.

Thirty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time – November 10, 2024

Readings: 1 Kgs 17:10–16 • Ps 146:7, 8–9, 9–10 • Heb 9:24–28 • Mk 12:38–44 or 12:41–44
bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/111024.cfm

In the story that we have proclaimed to us this day from the First Book of Kings, we hear of the Prophet Elijah. Perhaps it’s necessary to put this prophet into context, so that we can more fully understand who he is and why his request to this Widow of Zarephath is all the more shocking. Pretty much Elijah is a man of mystery. He is known as a “Tishbite,” basically an immigrant living in a foreign land as a resident. His name means simply “YHWH is my God.”

When we meet Elijah in this story, it’s in medias res, and we find him without the ravens feeding him. Here he goes, a foreigner into this Phoenician town of Zarephath, and he is in need. So, to whom does he go? A widow! Recall that, throughout the Bible, when we encounter widows, they represent in themselves someone who is in need. And, to top it all off, she is not an Israelite. Therefore, we have a man in need, a foreigner, going to a woman, a non-Israelite, in need herself for help. Note, too, that this widow is not fooling around — she is really in need, desperate need. She soon expects her son and herself to die (spoilers: the son will die later on in this chapter!). Still, Elijah is rather pushy and asks her to make him a little cake (and what is rather charming is that the British English lectionary for today has Elijah ask her to prepare him to have a “little scone”; very British indeed). This widow does this and she and her son are saved.

Often, this particular passage is used to speak about sacrificial giving and certainly, it is all about that. However, we rarely speak about what is at the root of this sacrificial giving. I believe it is kindness. Yes, kindness, an often-forgotten trait in our very busy, at times rude and sometimes crude and, at times, needlessly officious world. Be kind. Recall what I have said what I believe is necessary for a successfully active ministry for all priests — be pleasant, be present, and be prayerful. Kindness is a theme that runs through all of three of these “p’s.”

What does it mean to be kind? Well, let’s have a via negativa, stating first what it is not: it’s not always nice, it’s not mushy, it’s not wimpy, it’s not maudlin, and it’s not saccharine. What it is really is nothing less than a fruit of the Holy Spirit, as Saint Paul the Apostle instructs us in Galatians 5:22. Paul takes this further in his First Epistle to the Corinthians, chapter 13 — you know, the one used at all those weddings: “the more excellent way.” He states that “Love is patient, love is kind . . .”

Being kind means doing the right thing, helping out another, and in some cases, if we can’t help, then simply not being a hindrance. Concretely, how is this manifested in our lives, most especially our lives as priests? Well, it means being obliging, anticipating the needs of others, basically getting out of ourselves and our own agenda and needs and putting the focus on others. Part of being an adult is triumphing over our own selfishness and recognizing the other in front of us is our brother. Being kind means being courteous, from something as simple as a “good morning” to holding the door for the other.

Kindness is the hallmark of what Saint John Henry Newman described as a gentleman in his work The Idea of a University. Allow me to let the Saint speak to us for a moment:

Hence it is that it is almost a definition of a gentleman to say that he is one who never inflicts pain. He is mainly occupied in merely removing the obstacles which hinder the free and unembarrassed action of those about him; and he concurs with their movements rather than takes the initiative himself.

His benefits may be considered as parallel to what are called comforts or conveniences in arrangements of a personal nature; like an easy chair or a good fire, which do their part in dispelling cold and fatigue, though nature provides both means of rest and animal heat without them. The true gentleman in like manner carefully avoids whatever may cause a jar or a jolt in the minds of those with whom he is cast — all clashing of opinion, or collision of feeling, all restraint, or suspicion, or gloom, or resentment; his great concern being to make every one at his ease and at home. He has his eyes on all his company; he is tender towards the bashful, gentle towards the distant, and merciful towards the absurd; he can recollect to whom he is speaking; he guards against unseasonable allusions, or topics which may irritate; he is seldom prominent in conversation, and never wearisome. He makes light of favors while he does them, and seems to be receiving when he is conferring.

He never speaks of himself except when compelled, never defends himself by a mere retort; he has no ears for slander or gossip, is scrupulous in imputing motives to those who interfere with him, and interprets everything for the best. He is never mean or little in his disputes, never takes unfair advantage, never mistakes personalities or sharp saying for arguments, or insinuates evil which he dare not say out. From a long-sighted prudence, he observes the maxim of the ancient sage, that we should ever conduct ourselves towards our enemy as if he were one day to be our friend. He has too much good sense to be affronted at insults, he is too well employed to remember injuries, and too indolent to bear malice. He is patient, forbearing, and resigned, on philosophical principles; he submits to pain, because it is inevitable, to bereavement, because it is irreparable, and to death, because it is his destiny.

If he engages in controversy of any kind, his disciplined intellect preserves him from the blundering discourtesy of better, perhaps, but less educated minds; who, like blunt weapons, tear and hack instead of cutting clean, who mistake the point in argument, waste their strength on trifles, misconceive their adversary, and leave the question more involved than they find it. He may be right or wrong in his opinion, but he is too clear-headed to be unjust; he is as simple as he is forcible, and as brief as he is decisive. Nowhere shall we find greater candor, consideration, indulgence: he throws himself into the minds of his opponents, he accounts for their mistakes. He knows the weakness of human reason as well as its strength, its province and its limits.

The widow of Zarephath shows kindness, exceptional kindness. Do we? Even when we are tired, sad, upset? Are we kind, and recall, I’m not speaking about being saccharinely sweetly “nice.” Father William Frederick Faber, a contemporary of Saint Newman, stated something that should be apparent to all of us who fret about coming up with programs for the new evangelization. Perhaps Faber’s words should be the start of a new program for the New Evangelization: “Kindness has converted more sinners than either zeal, eloquence, or learning; and these three last have never converted anyone, unless they were kind also.” You don’t always have to be nice; you always have to be kind. So, be kind.

Thirty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time – November 17, 2024

Readings: Dn 12:1–3 • Ps 16:5, 8, 9–10, 11 • Heb 10:11–14, 18 • Mk 13:24–32
bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/111724.cfm

In reflecting on today’s readings, we are invited to enter into the profound mystery of eschatology — the study of the “last things” — through the dramatic revelation of Christ. Both the first reading and the Gospel point to the end times, yet not as mere events to be feared, but as the unfolding of God’s redemptive love and His ultimate triumph over death and evil.

In Daniel, we encounter an apocalyptic vision, foretelling a time of great distress, but also of hope. The passage speaks of a future resurrection, where the dead will rise — some to everlasting life, and others to shame and contempt. For those who remain faithful, their destiny is to “shine like the brightness of the sky” and “like stars forever.”

We can see in full view the idea of God’s dramatic action in history, especially as it is revealed in Christ. The apocalyptic imagery here can be understood as part of the divine drama — a confrontation between good and evil, with the assurance that God’s love will ultimately prevail. The entire history of salvation as a drama of love, culminating in the decisive action of God in the Incarnation, Passion, and Resurrection of Christ. In this context, the apocalyptic vision is not simply a prediction of disaster, but a proclamation of the final act of God’s drama, where love conquers all things.

The imagery of “shining like stars” is significant. Holiness and beauty are reflections of God’s glory. The faithful who endure trials and remain true to their covenant with God become living witnesses to the beauty of God’s plan for humanity. Their resurrection is a participation in the life of the risen Christ, whose glory transforms them into beacons of divine light. God’s plan is always directed toward the transfiguration of creation, a theme echoed in Daniel’s vision of those who, through fidelity, are raised to everlasting life.

In Mark’s Gospel, we hear Jesus describe the cosmic signs of the end times — the darkening of the sun, the falling of the stars, and the coming of the Son of Man with great power and glory. While this can seem frightening, this passage is not a cause for fear, but as a profound unveiling of the truth of Christ’s sovereignty.

Christian eschatology sees the Lord Jesus as the center of all time and history. The coming of the Son of Man is the climax of God’s plan, where the mystery of redemption reaches its fulfillment. Jesus speaks of the cosmic signs as a kind of apocalypse — a revealing or unveiling of God’s ultimate victory over evil. The cross is already the beginning of this victory, and the second coming of Christ is its final manifestation. The imagery of stars falling and the heavens being shaken can be understood as symbolic of the overturning of worldly powers and the establishment of Christ’s reign.

At the heart of this passage is the mystery of time and eternity. Jesus speaks of the nearness of the Kingdom, yet also says that no one knows the exact hour. This tension between the immediacy of the Kingdom and its ultimate fulfillment is a key aspect of Christian hope. We live in the “already but not yet” — the Kingdom has been inaugurated in Christ, but we await its full revelation.

We would be wise to contemplate the eschatological tension as part of the dramatic nature of salvation history. We are participants in a story that is still unfolding, where God’s ultimate purpose is not destruction but transfiguration. The imagery of the fig tree putting forth leaves is a sign of life and renewal, even as the world experiences upheaval. This suggests that the end times are not merely about judgment but about the birth of something new — the restoration of all things in Christ.

We must recall the notion of God’s patience in the face of human freedom. In the Gospel, Jesus says, “Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away” (Mk 13:31). This points to the enduring truth of God’s love, which remains constant even as the world changes and decays. God’s patience is a manifestation of His love, allowing time for repentance, conversion, and the fulfillment of His redemptive plan.

The mystery of the end times is not to be approached with fear or speculation but with a deep trust in God’s love. The uncertainty of the timing of Christ’s return emphasizes our call to remain vigilant, not in anxious fear, but in hopeful expectation. The call to watchfulness is a call to remain rooted in the love of Christ, who has already revealed Himself as the conqueror of sin and death.

The mystery of the Cross is the key to understanding the end of history. The final victory of Christ over all powers and principalities was already achieved in His Passion and Resurrection. Therefore, the cosmic signs of the end times must be interpreted through the lens of the Cross. The darkness, the shaking of the heavens, the falling of the stars — all these can be seen as reflections of the cosmic significance of Christ’s death and resurrection.

The end times are not a separate event from the Paschal Mystery but are deeply connected to it. In Christ’s Cross, the old world of sin and death has already begun to pass away, and the new creation is already breaking forth. As we await the final coming of Christ, we are invited to live in the hope of His Resurrection, knowing that the final victory has already been won.

Both Daniel and Mark reveal the drama of God’s redemptive love, which culminates in the final coming of Christ. We are called not to fear the end, but to live in the hope of resurrection and transformation. The end times, rather than being a moment of terror, are the fulfillment of God’s love story with humanity.

Through the lens of the Cross, we see that all of history is moving toward the final victory of love. The faithful, like the stars in Daniel’s vision, will shine with the glory of Christ. Our task is to remain vigilant, rooted in love, and confident in the enduring promise of Christ, whose words will never pass away. Maranatha! Come, Lord Jesus!

Solemnity of Christ the King – November 24, 2024

Readings: Dn 7:13–14 • Ps 93:1, 1–2, 5 • Rv 1:5–8 • Jn 18:33b–37
bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/112424.cfm

In our Gospel passage today given for our reflection on this solemnity of Christ the King, we are drawn into a profound contemplation of Christ’s kingship and the mystery of His authority. This Gospel passage, where Jesus stands before Pilate and speaks of His kingdom, reveals a kingship that is radically different from worldly power. This scene is a central moment in the drama of salvation, where Christ’s true nature and mission are unveiled in contrast to the world’s expectations.

In John 18, Pilate asks Jesus, “Are you the King of the Jews?” This question represents the world’s misunderstanding of kingship. Pilate sees kingship in terms of political power, authority, and domination. However, Jesus responds in a way that overturns worldly assumptions: “My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over.”

The “kenosis” (self-emptying) of Christ can be seen as the true expression of divine love and authority. In this moment before Pilate, we see this kenosis at its most visible: the King of the Universe, standing powerless in worldly terms, about to be condemned to death. This is the paradox of Christ’s kingship — it is a kingship rooted not in coercive power but in the power of sacrificial love. Christ does not impose His reign; He invites, suffers, and dies to reveal the truth of God’s love.

Jesus’ statement, “My kingdom is not from this world,” is central to understanding Christ’s kingship. God’s revelation in Christ does not conform to human expectations. The kingdom of God, as revealed by Christ, is a kingdom of truth and love, not of domination or political control.

The Cross is the throne of Christ’s kingship. Jesus’ kingship is revealed most fully in His Passion, where He allows Himself to be handed over to death out of love for the world. The true power of God is the power of self-giving, which contrasts sharply with the power structures of the world. Christ’s kingdom is not one of conquest, but one where love reigns supreme. In this, we see a profound inversion of worldly values — God’s kingdom, unlike earthly kingdoms, is established through weakness and humility, rather than strength and violence.

Jesus’ kingdom, as He says, is rooted in truth. “For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth” (Jn 18:37). Truth is not merely factual correctness or intellectual understanding, but is ultimately personal — it is the revelation of God in Jesus Christ. Christ Himself is the Truth, and His kingship is a reign of truth because it is the revelation of God’s love. The Passion of the Christ is the definitive testimony to the truth of who God is: a God who loves the world so much that He gives His only Son.

Love and beauty are central to understanding God’s action in the world. Jesus’ kingship, therefore, must be understood through the lens of love. This love is not sentimental or passive, but active and self-sacrificing. Jesus’ kingdom is a kingdom of love that seeks not to dominate, but to transform. His royal power is not expressed through force, but through service, and this is the ultimate reversal of worldly power dynamics.

Christ is the Servant-King, whose authority is manifested in His willingness to give His life for His people. This idea draws from the biblical image of the Suffering Servant in Isaiah. In this Gospel scene, Jesus does not fight to defend His kingdom, nor does He rally armies or assert His power over Pilate. Instead, He silently embraces His mission to suffer and die, knowing that His kingship will be revealed not in this trial, but in the Cross and Resurrection.

Jesus tells Pilate that everyone who belongs to the truth listens to His voice. To belong to the truth is to be drawn into the reality of God’s love as revealed in Christ. This is not a passive listening, but a call to discipleship — a call to follow Christ, the King who rules through love and sacrifice.

Christian discipleship means participating in Christ’s mission to bear witness to the truth. Just as Christ’s kingdom is not of this world, so too must Christians live in a way that transcends worldly values. This involves embracing the same self-emptying love that Christ shows, a love that is willing to suffer for the sake of the other. The Christian, therefore, is called to be a witness to this truth, living in a way that reflects the love of Christ’s kingdom.

This also involves a rejection of the world’s false truths — truths based on power, domination, and self-interest. Pilate’s skepticism — “What is truth?” — is the response of a world that does not know Christ. But the truth of God’s love, revealed in the Person of Jesus, is the truth that sets us free. It is a truth that requires us to respond with our whole lives, just as Christ responded to the Father’s will with His whole life, even unto death.

The kingship of Christ is part of the great drama of salvation. It is a drama that unfolds through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus — a drama of love in which the stakes are nothing less than the salvation of the world. Christ, as King, is the protagonist in this divine drama, and His mission is to bring humanity into communion with God through His self-giving love.

The Swiss Roman Catholic theologian Hans Urs von Balthasar often spoke of the “theo-drama” — the divine drama in which God engages humanity in a dramatic dialogue of love. In Christ’s trial before Pilate, we see the world’s resistance to this divine drama. Pilate represents the world’s indifference and misunderstanding of Christ’s kingship, while Jesus represents the God who, in His infinite love, is willing to endure rejection and suffering to save the world.

The kingship of Christ, then, is a call to participate in this drama of love. It is a call to bear witness to the truth of God’s love, not by force or domination, but through service, humility, and self-giving. The reign of Christ is a reign of love, and it is through this love that God’s kingdom comes into the world.

In today’s Gospel, we encounter the mystery of Christ’s kingship — a kingship rooted in love, truth, and self-emptying. Jesus stands before Pilate as the true King, not of this world, but of a kingdom that transcends worldly power. His kingship is revealed in the Cross, where love triumphs over sin and death.

As we contemplate this scene, we are invited to recognize that the kingship of Christ calls us to a different way of living — a way rooted in truth, love, and service. The kingship of Christ is a call to participate in the divine drama, to bear witness to the truth of God’s love in a world that often rejects it. By following Christ the King, we enter into the mystery of His love, and we are transformed into witnesses of the kingdom that has no end.