What does it mean to call Jesus “King”?

For most of us, the word conjures images of golden thrones, jeweled crowns, and palace halls echoing with power. But if you want to understand the kingship of Christ—the one we celebrate on Christ the King Sunday—you don’t look at a throne room. You look at a hill outside Jerusalem where three men are dying on crosses.

You look at a hand-painted sign meant as mockery: “King of the Jews.” You look at a man gasping for breath who still has enough left to turn to the criminal beside him and say, “Today, you will be with me in paradise” (Luke 23:43).

That’s the king whose reign we’re invited into. A king whose crown was thorns, whose throne was a cross, and who couldn’t stop showing mercy even in his dying moments.

The Scene at Golgotha: Where Kingship Gets Redefined

We know this scene well—Golgotha, the place of the skull. Three crosses side by side. Soldiers gambling for Jesus’ clothing while a crowd watches for entertainment. Above Jesus hangs that mocking sign: “The King of the Jews.”

Two criminals hang on either side. We don’t know their names or their crimes. Luke’s Gospel uses a word closer to “scoundrel”—not necessarily the worst of the worst, just two more casualties of Rome’s brutal empire.

One criminal mocks Jesus: “Aren’t you the Messiah? Save yourself and us!” It’s the voice of despair, of expectations crushed, of someone who thought God would show up differently.

But the other criminal turns. He sees something. “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom” (Luke 23:42).

And Jesus—who has every reason to be consumed by his own agony—turns his head and offers everything: “Today you will be with me in paradise.”

Two Criminals, One Human Experience

Here’s the truth: most of us know what it’s like to be both of those criminals.

We’ve been the first criminal. Angry at God. Demanding that He show up the way we expect. “If You’re really God, then fix this. Take away the pain. Make it stop.” We’ve all had seasons of yelling into what feels like a void.

We’ve also been the second criminal. The one who comes to the end of their rope with nothing left to offer except two desperate words: “Remember me.” No bargaining. No credentials. Just a raw hope that maybe—just maybe—there’s grace available even for us.

And notice: Jesus doesn’t interrogate either man. He doesn’t ask the second criminal to prove his sincerity or clean up his life first. He simply sees him and offers him everything. Paradise. Right now.

This Is What the Reign of Christ Actually Looks Like

This scene reveals something revolutionary about Christ’s kingdom. Even in the midst of His own suffering, Jesus notices the forgotten man beside Him—someone the Roman Empire and the watching crowd had already written off. And He makes him a promise.

That’s the reign of Christ: not power that dominates, but love that notices. Not a king who saves himself, but a king who shows mercy while dying.

Why “King” Makes Us Uncomfortable (And Why That’s the Point)

Christ the King Sunday can feel strange. “King” is loaded language in our world—it suggests wealth, control, armies, and domination. Some churches now call it “Reign of Christ Sunday” because kingship carries so much cultural baggage.

But maybe that discomfort is exactly the point.

Because what Jesus does at Golgotha is completely redefine kingship. His throne is a cross. His crown is thorns. His royal decree is forgiveness for a dying criminal. As theologian Douglas John Hall noted, if you take the cross seriously, you can’t conquer anyone in Jesus’ name. The cross dismantles every version of Christianity that seeks power over others.

The rule of Christ is an upside-down kingdom where the last are first, the forgotten are seen, and mercy always gets the final word.

The Crucified King Is the Risen King

Here’s something crucial: Jesus’ resurrection doesn’t erase this reality. When Christ rises from the dead, He still bears the wounds from Golgotha. The scars remain. The crucified one and the risen one are the same person. Glory and suffering are held together in the body of our King.

This matters because it means the cross isn’t an interruption of Jesus’ kingship—it is His kingship. This is how God chooses to rule: not through domination, but through self-giving love. Not by crushing enemies, but by forgiving them.

What Does This Mean for Us?

When we live under the reign of Christ, we’re claiming allegiance to a kingdom that outlasts every empire, every political system, and every power structure that tries to tell us who we are and what we’re worth.

We belong to a King who:

• Notices the forgotten and overlooked
• Shows mercy when we have nothing left to offer
• Makes room for “one more” no matter how far we’ve fallen
• Responds to our desperate “remember me” with “you are with me”

This is the story we can return to when life gets hard—and it will get hard. When we feel forgotten, when we’re gasping for breath in our own Golgothas, we remember: our King knows what it’s like to hang between heaven and earth, and He still turned His head to see the one beside Him.

Your Turn: Living Under This King

The reign of Christ invites us into a radically different way of being in the world. It calls us to notice who others overlook, to show mercy when judgment feels easier, to make room when exclusion feels safer.

What would it look like to live today under a King whose throne is a cross?

We’d love to hear from you: How has understanding Christ’s upside-down kingdom changed the way you follow Him? Share this post with someone who needs to hear about a King who shows mercy in His dying moments—and tag us in your thoughts on social media.

Because in the kingdom of Christ, there’s always room for one more.Retry