His crown, found in the mountains

A reflection on the kingship of Jesus

Yesterday, we celebrated the Solemnity of Christ the King. This feast is the culmination of the liturgical year, and its focus is to honour Jesus Christ, King of the Universe.

A few years ago, I drove to mass at a different parish on this very feast. My route sent me over the bridge—one that crosses the Fraser River, connecting Surrey (where I live) to the rest of the Lower Mainland.

When it’s a clear day, the view over the bridge is breathtaking. As you take the on-ramp for the bridge, the curve around the bend reveals the river, trees and tiny homes on either side, and a magnificent range of mountains.

On this particular morning, the sky was cloudless, mostly blue with hints of pink and purple. But what really grabbed my attention was the mountains, sparkling with snow.

I simultaneously tried to keep my eyes on the road while I tried to take in the sight. The mounatin peaks looked like a crown—a crown fit for a King, on His feast. Now, every time I cross that bridge to go somewhere, I think about Jesus’ crown.

Jesus is King of the Universe. This statement is so big, so grand, that sometimes I get lost in how big it is. I also forget that, at a micro-level, He is also King of my life and heart.

To let Jesus be King of my life and heart is not an easy task, because it requires openness, trust, and surrender.

It is openness to let Jesus do what He wants in my life—not because my ideas don’t matter, or because I am not free to make any choices, but because I trust that He has something better in store for me than I ever could do on my own.

I shared recently that this level of surrender has been painful. But in the midst of that, I’ve also seen how Jesus can and will move when I give Him permission to. And that perhaps is the greatest irony: Jesus, who is King, can do anything He wants. Yet because of His love for us, He waits for us to surrender to Him with trust and freedom.

It’s the in-between space—where we tentatively step back, holding out what is imperfect trust to Him—that I find to be the scariest.

I was gently reminded recently that I have been grasping for things that I thought belonged to me. To be clear: Jesus was never withholding them from me, but when given the choice between surrender and taking control, I chose control. And in trying to take control of my own life, I found myself burdened with things and emotions that Jesus never wanted for me in the first place.

In returning back to the throne of Jesus, He doesn’t look down at me as a worthless, unfaithful servant—though it probably would be a fair assessment. Instead, He looks at me with love, inviting me to allow Him to be King of my little universe.

Throughout history, there have been many examples of “good kings”—given my recent time in St. Louis, King Louis IX, King of France, comes to mind as an example. But Jesus stands far above the rest, though His kingdom isn’t necessarily earthly. As He says to Pontius Pilate, “My kingdom is not from this world” (John 18:36, NRSV).

But despite this, Jesus finds His throne in the tabernacles in chuches all around the world. And I think this speaks to the uniqueness of the Kingship of Christ—a paradox which is so clearly articulated in St. Paul’s letter to the Philippians:

[T]hough [Jesus] was in the form of God, [He] did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied Himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness.

And being found in human form, He humbled Himself and became obedient to the point of death—even death on a cross.

Therefore God also highly exalted Him and gave Him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

(Philippians 2:6-11, NRSV)

As we enter into the season of Advent, we prepare for the coming of Christ in the way that is encapsulated by St. Paul in the passage above. Jesus, King of the Universe, second person of the Trinity, not only becomes man, but comes to us in the most vulnerable way possible: a human baby. As King, He could have come in glory and majesty, riding on chariots with hundreds of thousands of legions accompanying Him and millions more people lining the streets, worshipping Him.

But this is how He chose to enter into time and space. Jesus Christ, King of the Universe, was born of a woman, born into poverty, born rejected and cold, born in a stable among animals, born with people seeking to end His life.

Jesus desires nothing more than to be King of our lives. This is not so that He can be a taskmaster to lord things over us, but because He desires for us to live a life that is full with His love, grace and mercy. He knows that surrender is hard and that we will fall—but His mercy, so long as we turn back to Him, knows no bounds. Let us continue to honour Jesus, King of the Universe, not only in general terms, but especially in our hearts and lives.

Especially in times of trial, may we continue to lift our eyes to the hills and the mountains, seeking the crown of Christ, always reminded that our help comes from Him who made heaven and earth (cf. Psalm 121:1-2 NRSV).

In your kindness, I ask you to please pray for me and some special intentions that I have been carrying in my heart. Please feel free to reach out if you have any intentions I can pray for in a particular way, and know that I am praying for you, especially as we prepare for the coming of Christ, our Lord and King!

In Jesus Master,
Rachel