Then I myself will gather the remnant of my flock out of all the lands where I have driven them, and I will bring them back to their fold, and they shall be fruitful and multiply. I will raise up shepherds over them who will shepherd them, and they shall not fear any longer, or be dismayed, nor shall any be missing, says the Lord. [The Prophet Jeremiah 23.3-4]

As if the lessons from history aren’t enough. As if the depredations of monarchs and dictators from the last century, alone, haven’t taught us to be wary. As a cautionary tale, last century was redundant, with lessons before us since Rachel was weeping for her children.  

Even now, we vote them in, these narcissistic populists of all shapes and predilection, or permit these diminished princes who behave as they please, to others’ destruction.

The Old Testament – and other – prophets warned their communities and their words resonate, yet still we tick the ballot box and bow the knee.

On this last Sunday of the Church year, this Sunday when we proclaim the Reign of Christ, the bells of alarm toll more loudly than ever.

There will be songs to sing of the risen Christ’s majesty and wonder, and they need to be sung. We assert the Reign of the crucified, risen One to the glory of God, and for our hope in this life.

And yet this tapestry has more than simply threads of gold.

On this Sunday, the Gospel readings speak of one who was marked as criminal, executed between two thieves. Our faith directs us away from the self-interest of political hacks and those entitled by bloodline towards a monarch who is most clearly identified by nails and a garland of thorns.

We are astonished, if we pay attention. Our lives are transformed if we step into the story.

The gilded life has no currency here. There is no resonance with the one who is known by their birthing in a feed trough and cradling on a cross. The God of Christmas and Easter is not found in the excess of the well-appointed, but in the lives we humans lead, lives of wonder and grief, of struggle and friendship, of ordinariness.

To identify a monarch by their brokenness, or their frailty, seems impossible, and yet that is both where we find Jesus and, so frequently, where we find ourselves. What is more, that is where we need Jesus to be, for those who have no recourse, and who believe there is no hope.

Jesus is born and dies outside the ambit of a just authority, and yet we place our hope in Jesus precisely for that reason. Christ’s resurrection asserts that all the rules are turned upside down, and are now located in the mercy and love of God.

Jeremiah reminds us that “nor shall any be missing” from the merciful embrace of God. And a crucified criminal finds not just understanding, but life, beside Jesus in their last moments; “today you will be with me in Paradise.”

Could any other gift be more precious?