Christ the King in an Age of Upheaval — An Anglican Reflection

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.

As Christians, we are living in a moment of extraordinary noise. Social media has become a battleground of opinions; cultural conflicts spill into every timeline and comment section; and the news confronts us daily with anger, sorrow, and suffering. It is remarkably easy—even for the most faithful among us—to be swept into the vortex of fear, cynicism, and outrage.

Earlier this month, after a long stretch of exhaustion and online tension, I found myself caught in that very spiral. I was replying too quickly, arguing too freely, and allowing the world's turmoil to shape my heart more than the peace of Christ. At one point I even thought, Perhaps I should disappear from all of it—delete everything and retreat.

But then I remembered what week we were approaching:

The Feast of Christ the King.

In the Anglican tradition, this feast stands at the threshold between the closing of one liturgical year and the dawning of Advent's holy expectation. It is a reminder placed intentionally before us—not to look away from the world's brokenness, but to remember who reigns above it.

And perhaps never in modern times have we needed this reminder more.

For while we debate online, Christians across the Middle East and Africa are enduring suffering we can scarcely imagine. Ancient Christian communities have been scattered. Churches have been bombed or burned. Believers have been kidnapped, imprisoned, and killed for the simple act of gathering to worship the Lord Jesus Christ.

These are our brothers and sisters—part of the same Body, baptized into the same death and resurrection, praying to the same Lord who reigns over heaven and earth. Their faithfulness, forged in the crucible of violence and fear, reveals something Western Christianity often forgets:

Christ's kingship is not theoretical. It is not symbolic. It is costly, real, and life-changing.

When Pope Pius XI instituted the Feast of Christ the King in 1925—long before it was embraced across Anglicanism—he did so in response to the rising secular ideologies that sought to dethrone Christ from public life. The world needed reminding that no government, no movement, no ideology may claim ultimate authority. Only Jesus Christ is King.

And today, the Church stands in a similar moment of confusion.

Many are uncomfortable with the word King, believing it belongs to a bygone or oppressive age. But Christ's kingship is the very opposite of earthly domination.

Jesus is the King who kneels to wash feet.

The King who heals the sick and welcomes the outcast.

The King who refuses the sword and embraces the cross.

The King whose crown is one of thorns, not gold.

Anglican spirituality has always held this paradox close: majesty expressed through humility, sovereignty revealed in sacrifice.

Christ the King Sunday is not a feast of triumphalism.

It is a feast of allegiance.

A feast of orientation, re-centering our lives on the One who reigns not by force, but by love.

And this kingship is meant to be lived—daily, practically, sacrificially. Even in the digital spaces where we so easily forget ourselves.

On a recent afternoon in Youngstown, I watched people quietly tying scarves and gloves to lampposts and trees—gifts for whoever might need them. No conditions. No judgment. No litmus test. Just compassion in action.

That is the reign of Christ made visible.

That is the kingdom breaking through.

So as we observe this feast—online, scattered across cities and countries, gathered not in one building but in one Spirit—let us allow Christ to reclaim His rightful place in our lives:

May He reign in our minds, shaping our thoughts more than the world's anxieties.

May He reign in our hearts, softening us toward those who suffer.

May He reign in our words, including the ones we type.

May He reign in our hands, guiding us toward mercy, generosity, and service.

And may He reign in His Church across the world—in safety where possible, and in courage where necessary.

For Christ is King: of persecuted believers, of weary saints, of the brokenhearted, of the forgotten, and of all who still dare to hope in His name.

Amen.

+The Right Reverend Brent E. Whetstone

Bishop