Lectio
Divina:*
Meditatio:
‘…Jesus, remember me when you come into your
kingdom....’ (Luke 23:42)
Commentary (878 words):
The Kingdom, the Cross, and the Republic of Grace
The idea of royalty sits uneasily with many political sensibilities today. Even in private religious devotion, the image of the crowned, suffering servant on the cross resonates more deeply than that of a High King seated in judgment in the heavenly courts. Yet, we recite the Our Father daily, often without pausing to consider the implications of the phrase: “Thy Kingdom come.”
If God has a Kingdom, then God is a King. And if Jesus is
God, then Jesus is also a King—something He affirms repeatedly in the Gospels,
including today’s reading from Luke and the Letter to the Colossians.
But Jesus’ kingship is unlike any earthly monarchy. It took
the first disciples a long time to grasp this, and even today, some Christians
struggle with the idea. There’s a lingering sense that modern commitments to
democracy and universal suffrage are somehow at odds with the proclamation that
Jesus Christ is King of all. Yet his kingship is not a
worldly power grab—it is a deliberate, radical rejection of domination. Jesus
was not crucified for lack of power, but because he chose to reign through
love, not coercion.
The Good Thief and the Kingdom of Mercy
In Matthew and Mark, the criminals crucified with Jesus are
described as thieves who mock him. But in Luke’s Gospel, we encounter a moment
of grace and exception. Luke, ever the evangelist of mercy, offers us this
exchange:
Then he said, ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’ (Luke 23:42)
One of the condemned men—traditionally called the “good
thief”—robbed heaven that day. He had not kept the 613 commandments. He likely
had not fasted, prayed, or performed ritual penance. He had no time for a
this-worldly purgatory. Yet he received salvation through grace.
Jesus answered him, ‘Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.’ (Luke 23:43)
Imagine hearing those words from Jesus. The promise is not
only of forgiveness, but of communion—to
be with him. In a sense, Jesus offers this man a share in his own kingship.
We, too, are invited into this royal inheritance.
A Republic of Saints
Verse 43 contains a radical claim. It undermines much of
what we consider as earthly royalty and points toward a divine republic in
which the “subjects” of the King are also co-heirs of the Kingdom—a community
of peace, joy, and love. Is this unorthodox? Not at all. Consider the words of
St. Peter, the first bishop of Rome:
But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people,
in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvellous light. (1 Peter 2:9)
There is, by tradition, a ministerial priesthood—those
called to serve at the altar. But there is also the royal priesthood of
all the faithful. Laypeople, religious, deacons, priests, and bishops alike
belong to this priesthood. There is no hierarchy of grace.
This otherworldly kingship is grounded not in domination but
in love. It is a reign of gentleness, kindness, and invitation. It is
unfamiliar to us, but not unreachable. The Kingdom begins to break in when it
breaks out in our hearts. Where two or three are gathered in his name, there is
the Kingdom—already present, already alive.
The Kingdom in the midst of earthly struggle
Our journey winds through the shadows of earthly
kingdoms—some oppressive not only in palaces but in homes, workplaces, and even
places of worship. Yet through it all, the light of the Kingdom remains a
possibility for each of us. Everyone, without exception, carries a spark of
truth, a gift to offer. Let us not place obstacles in one another’s path, so
that each person might one day say:
“For this I was born, and for this I came into the
world.” (John 18:37)
Radical discipleship means affirming the dignity and
vocation of every person—regardless of sex, age, or religion. This is the only
path consistent with the heavenly republic of equals.
A Troubling Question
And yet, we must not shy away from the hard questions. Elie
Wiesel, Holocaust survivor and witness, recounts a moment in Night that
pierces the soul:
“Then came the march past the victims. The two men were no
longer alive. Their tongues were hanging out, swollen and bluish.
But the third rope was still moving: the child, too light, was still
breathing...
And so he remained for more than half an hour, lingering between life and
death, writhing before our eyes.
And we were forced to look at him at close range. He was still alive when I
passed him. His tongue was still red, his eyes not yet extinguished.
Behind me, I heard the same man asking: ‘For God’s sake, where is God?’
And from within me, I heard a voice answer: ‘Where He is? This is where—hanging
here from this gallows…’”
— Elie Wiesel, Night
This is not a rejection of God, but a cry from the heart of
suffering—a theology of the cross in its rawest form. For Christians, it echoes
the crucified Christ: the King who reigns not from a throne, but from a
gallows.
Oratio
Collect
of the Word for this Sunday (Church of Ireland)
Eternal God, you exalted Jesus Christ to rule over all
things, and have made us instruments of his kingdom: by your Spirit empower us
to love the unloved, and to minister to all in need, then at the last bring us
to your eternal realm where we may be welcomed into your everlasting joy and
may worship and adore you for ever: through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives
and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and
ever. Amen
Footnotes
* These readings are taken from the Sunday
lectionary used in most Catholic churches. The source is BibleGateway.com: A searchable online
Bible in over 150 versions and 50 languages (using the New Revised
Standard Version - anglicised catholic edition). Psalms in this Blog are
numbered according to the Hebrew (Masoretic) text with the Greek
Septuagint/Vulgate numbering in parenthesis where applicable.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: only a member of this blog may post a comment.