Week of November 23, 2025

“In Christ Alone: Mission Possible”

Luke 23:33–43

I. Introduction — The Final Question of the Christian Year

Beloved church, today we stand at the very end of the Christian year—Christ the King Sunday.

Through the Revised Common Lectionary, churches around the world journey together through Scripture in a three-year cycle—Years A, B, and C—so that the full story of God’s saving work shapes our worship.
And every year, the last question the Church asks is simple and profound:

“Who is your King?”

Before we begin Advent next week and wait for the birth of Christ,
the Church invites us to pause here—
to end the year not with nostalgia,
but with confession.

And if I look back honestly on this year—
as a pastor, a parent, and an immigrant—
I can see moments when my heart was ruled more by anxiety than by trust,
or by the need for control more than by grace.
Perhaps some of you know that feeling as well.

So today, Luke’s Gospel brings us to the center of the question:

Why do Christians call Jesus “King,”
and why is His kingship revealed most clearly on the cross?

II. Earthly Kingship and Biblical Kingship Are Not the Same

When we hear “king,”
we usually imagine strength, authority, force, and self-protection.
Earthly kings secure their power, defend their territory,
and preserve themselves at all costs.

But in Scripture, “king” is not merely a political office;
it is a theological statement about how God rules.

• In the Old Testament, kings were expected to uphold justice and protect the vulnerable.

• Most failed.

• Therefore the prophets spoke of a coming Messiah—
  a true King who would embody God’s own way of ruling:
  justice, mercy, righteousness, and peace.
  

• Biblical kingship is not about status or domination.
  It is about the character of God’s reign.

And Jesus reveals this reign not through force,
but through self-giving love.

III. Why the Lectionary Ends the Year at the Cross

The Church could end the year with the resurrection,
the ascension, or the vision of new creation.
But Christ the King Sunday always brings us to Golgotha.

Why?

Because:

Jesus’ kingship comes into full view not in His triumph,
but in His crucifixion.

In Luke 23, the inscription above His head reads:
“This is the King of the Jews.”

To the soldiers, religious leaders, and even one criminal,
this was mockery.

“If you are the King—save yourself! Come down!”

In their imagination, kingship means proof of power.

But Jesus does not descend.
He does not defend Himself.
He does not save Himself.

And precisely in that refusal,
the true nature of God’s rule is revealed.

Luke loves reversal.
Strength appearing as weakness,
victory emerging through vulnerability,
God’s rule showing up where no one expects it.
The cross is the ultimate reversal.

IV. The Cross as the Throne of the True King

Luke places two criminals beside Jesus—
not by accident, but to help us see two different interpretations of power.

1. The first criminal voices the world’s definition of kingship.

“Save yourself and us!”
For him, kingship equals immediate rescue and visible control.

2. The second criminal sees what others cannot.

He sees a king whose power is revealed through mercy.
A king who refuses to destroy but chooses to forgive.
A king whose authority does not come from escaping suffering,
but from entering it fully with love.

He prays,
“Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

This “kingdom”—or as we say in inclusive language, the Kin-dom—
is not an empire of force
but a community shaped by grace, reconciliation, and belonging.

3. Jesus’ response defines His kingship.

“Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”

Three phrases reveal the nature of His reign:

• Today — God’s mercy is not delayed; it is immediate.

• With me — God’s reign is relational, not distant or detached.

• Paradise — God’s rule restores what sin has broken.

This is the throne of our King.

He reigns not by saving Himself,
but by saving those who call upon Him.

V. Paul’s Witness — The Cross as the Turning Point of God’s Reign

What Luke shows in narrative form,
Paul explains theologically.

In Colossians 1:13–20, Paul declares that:

• God has delivered us from the power of darkness
  and transferred us into the Kin-dom of the beloved Son.

• Through the cross, Christ brings peace.

• By His blood, He reconciles all things—
  things in heaven and on earth.

This is not poetic exaggeration.
Paul is describing a transfer of authority.

The cross is the moment when the old powers lose their grip,
and the reign of Christ takes hold.

Colossians 2:15 continues:

“He disarmed the rulers and authorities
and made a public example of them,
triumphing over them in the cross.”

Christ triumphs—
not by domination,
not by violence,
but by self-giving love that unmasks the emptiness of all earthly powers.

In the Wesleyan tradition,
this is where grace becomes visible:

• Prevenient grace drawing us toward God,

• Redeeming grace reconciling us to God,

• Sanctifying grace shaping our life together in love.

The reign of Christ is the reign of grace.

VI. The Core Christian Confession

Here is the heart of Christian faith:

The One who reigns over all creation
is the One who gives His life for the world.

Jesus is not the king who sacrifices others for Himself.
He is the King who sacrifices Himself for others.

This is the foundation of our calling.
Throughout this year—
as we explored compassion, mercy, hospitality, prayer, and mission—
we learned that each of these becomes possible
only under the reign of Christ, the crucified King.

This is why we end the year here—
at the cross.

VII. Before Advent, the Cross Teaches Us How to Wait

Next week we will turn toward Bethlehem.
We will wait for the Christ child.

But the Church asks us to look first to the cross
so that when the child comes,
we recognize Him not only as infant and Savior
but as King.

The manger and the cross are not separate stories—
they are one story.
The child who is born in humility
will reign in self-giving love.

That is why today matters.

VIII. Conclusion — Whose Reign Shapes Your Life?

So on this final Sunday of the Christian year,
let the question rest gently but honestly upon our hearts:

Who is your King?

• Fear?

• Anxiety?

• The desire for control?

• The expectations of our culture?

• Or the crucified and risen Christ?

The gospel invites us to confess:

In Christ alone.
We belong to the reign of the One
who rules with mercy,
who reconciles by grace,
and who restores through love.

With this confession,
we step toward Advent—
ready to welcome the One who comes to us
as our King.

Amen.

____________________________________________

2025 Thanksgiving Interfaith Worship - Pastor DH Choi 
“The Courage to Remember Care: How Gratitude Opens the Way” - Luke 12:22–34

He said to his disciples, “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat, or about your body, what you will wear. For life is more than food, and the body more than clothing. Consider the ravens: they neither sow nor reap, they have neither storehouse nor barn, and yet God feeds them. Of how much more value are you than the birds! And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? If then you are not able to do so small a thing as that, why do you worry about the rest?

“Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, how much more will he clothe you—you of little faith! And do not keep striving for what you are to eat and what you are to drink, and do not keep worrying. For it is the nations of the world that strive after all these things, and your Father knows that you need them. Instead, strive for his kingdom, and these things will be given to you as well.

“Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom. Sell your possessions, and give alms. Make purses for yourselves that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

Beloved friends,
We come today from many traditions, many histories, and many languages of prayer.
Yet in this season, a single question gathers us:

Whose care has brought us here?

Thanksgiving, at its heart, is not simply a harvest celebration.
It is a sacred pause—an invitation to remember the grace, the people, and the unseen mercy that have carried us.
Gratitude begins when we have the courage to remember that we have not walked alone.

1. The Journey of My Life: Tracing the Care that Carried Us

It has now been almost four months since my family moved to Simsbury.
As a United Methodist pastor, following God’s leading often means following where the bishop sends us.
Looking back over the last fifteen years, our journey moved in ways we never planned—
from a dorm room in New Jersey,
to Hicksville on Long Island,
to Napanoch, Windham, Greenwich,
and now here in this valley.

Along the way, a student became an immigrant,
an immigrant became a pastor,
a couple became a family,
and our lives were reshaped by both hardship and hope.

Not long ago, my wife and I recalled those years, and we found ourselves saying,
“We truly have been through a lot.”
And then a second sentence rose quietly in our hearts:
“And through it all, there was a protection we cannot fully explain.”

There were seasons of hunger—physical, emotional, and spiritual.
There were moments when the next home was unclear.
There were nights when the future felt painfully uncertain.
Yet again and again, a door opened.
A person appeared.
A quiet act of kindness became a shelter.

Looking back, it is unmistakable:
We did not come here alone.
These memories have become a personal theology for me—
a way of seeing how grace leaves footprints across our lives.

**2. “Consider the Birds… Consider the Lilies”:

How Remembering Care Heals the Fragmented Heart**

In today’s reading, Jesus offers a simple yet profound instruction:

“Consider the ravens.
Consider the lilies.”

He is not dismissing planning or responsibility.
He is speaking to the heart that feels divided—pulled apart by fear.
The Greek word for “worry” means exactly that: a mind scattered into pieces.

Birds do not store food for long-term security.
Wildflowers do not calculate their beauty or worry about tomorrow.
They live within the quiet rhythms of creation—
held, sustained, provided for.

This is not sentimental nature poetry.
It is a spiritual truth:
Creation rests in the steady care of the One who formed it.
And so do we.

Trust, in the wisdom of our traditions, is not passive.
It reshapes vision.
When we remember the care that has already carried us,
fear loosens its grip,
and gratitude rises—not as denial, but as clarity.

Gratitude is the ability to see the life we have already received.

3. Gratitude Turns Us Toward One Another

In Jewish tradition, zikkaron—remembering—is not simply looking back.
It means allowing memory to shape how we live now.

In Christian tradition, gratitude is never contained within a private heart.
It moves outward—toward compassion, justice, and shared good.

And so today’s gathering is itself a sign of hope.
Different communities.
Different stories.
Different paths of faith.
Yet gratitude draws us to the same table.

This is a glimpse of shalom—
not merely the absence of conflict,
but the presence of wholeness, right relationship, and mutual care.

Gratitude softens our posture.
It opens our eyes to the dignity of others.
It helps us say with sincerity,
“I’m grateful you are here.
You matter.”

4. Gratitude as a Small Force That Repairs the World

We live in a moment when many feel weary.
Families navigate economic strain.
Neighbors carry loneliness quietly.
Communities confront conflict and division.
And the wider world is shaped by displacement, fear, and grief.

In such a world, we may feel powerless.
But our traditions—Jewish, Christian, and beyond—teach something different.

In Judaism, tikkun olam begins with small, faithful acts.
In Christianity, peace does not grow through argument
but through daily choices of generosity and courage.

Gratitude asks:
“What can I share?”
“Where can my gratitude flow today?”
“How might my life ease someone else’s burden?”

A shared meal.
A listening presence.
A gentle word.
A quiet act of service.

Small things, yes—
but in the moral imagination of our traditions,
these small things repair the world.

Gratitude is not merely a feeling.
It is a force—quiet, persistent, transformative.

**5. Conclusion:

Those Who Remember Care Become Builders of Shalom**

Friends,
This Thanksgiving we may list the blessings of the year.
But perhaps the deeper work is this:

“Whose care has carried me this far?”

When we hold that question with honesty,
we begin to see the grace that sustained us,
the faces that strengthened us,
the mercy that steadied us.

And from that remembering, a new way of living opens:

Not a life shaped by worry,
but a life grounded in care.
Not a heart tightened by fear,
but a heart opened by gratitude.
Not isolation,
but connection.
Not scarcity,
but generosity.

Gratitude begins in memory.
Memory leads to solidarity.
Solidarity becomes shalom.

Those who remember care
become builders of peace.

May our gratitude today
become the light that carries someone else tomorrow.

Thank you.