About the Author: Austin Leduc (b. 2001, Cornwall, Ontario) is Roman Catholic and an aspiring canonist. He holds an Honours Bachelor of Arts with a Major in Theology and a Minor in Human Relations and Spirituality from Saint Paul University, Ottawa (2024), graduating summa cum laude. His primary interest in Theology is Scriptural Theology and Church History. Currently, he is pursuing both a Master of Canon Law and a Licentiate in Canon Law (Juris Canonici Licentiatus), and is working towards completing a Microprogram in Safeguarding Minors and Vulnerable Adults. Austin is married, and deeply committed to the life and mission of the Church.
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It is absurd to think that a method of execution—so cruel that even citizens of the Roman Empire were not killed in this manner—became the throne in which our Lord Jesus Christ trampled death. And yet, this is the scandal and the glory of the Christian faith: that majesty is revealed through abasement, that victory is won through surrender, and that kingship is displayed not with golden crowns but with thorns pressed into flesh. The Cross, a symbol of shame, is lifted high as the emblem of divine reign. In embracing it, Christ did not lose power—He redefined it. From this place of utter humiliation, He reigns, not by domination but by self-emptying love. Here in wood and nails is enthroned the King whose power is mercy, whose justice is pierced hands, stretched wide in welcome.
I could provide a plethora of Biblical references that point towards the theme of Kingship in Paradox; however, I will spare you some of your valuable time and only address three examples.
John 19:19–22 — “Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews”
Paradox: Earthly mockery becomes divine coronation.
The Gospel according to Saint John is, in my humble opinion, one of the most profound and majestic portrayals of the Passion of our Lord. In the 19th chapter, verses 19 to 22, we find a small but astonishing detail—an inscription ordered by Pilate, nailed to the Cross: “Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews.” I must not neglect that this inscription is also mentioned in Matthew’s account of the Passion narrative; however, for the sake of brevity I wish to only address the writing of Saint John—perhaps I can address Saint Matthew another time, however, the writing Iesus Nazarenus, Rex Iudaeorum means the same in both accounts—Jesus is mocked, yet his executioners did not know the reality of what was written.
To the casual observer, it may have seemed like a final stroke of irony from Saint John—the inscription could have served as mere mockery towards Jesus and perhaps even to insult the Jewish leaders who delivered Him over who vehemently claimed that he was no King, “Do not write, ‘The King of the Jews,’ but, ‘This man said, I am King of the Jews” (19:21). Yet, John invites us to read deeper. In this seemingly trivial placard is hidden a powerful paradox: what the world intended as mockery becomes, in the eyes of faith, a divine coronation.
The throne is a cross. The crown is made of thorns. The robe is soaked in blood. Yet here is the true King, reigning not with violence or pride, but with mercy and sacrificial love. Within John’s Gospel, there seems to be a theme of reversal, in which weakness becomes power, death leads to glory, and mockery unveils the deepest truth.
John 12:23–33 — “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified”
Paradox: To be “lifted up” is both crucifixion and exaltation.
In chapter 12, verse 23, Jesus declares, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified.” At first glance, one might expect this to signal a triumphant moment, perhaps a royal enthronement or public acclaim. However, what follows immediately is a striking paradox: Jesus speaks of His death—His being “lifted up” from the earth—as the very means of His glorification.
This image of being “lifted up” carries a double meaning. The first meaning refers to the crucifixion, literally being hoisted up onto the Cross to die. The second points towards the deeper meaning, the exaltation: Jesus is not lifted up only on the Cross but also into the fullness of divine glory. Once again, we witness how the Cross is a throne; the King is crowned—with the crown of thorns—and throned upon the Cross, exalted for all to see.
Luke 23:39–43 — “Today you will be with me in paradise”
Paradox: The Cross is already the gateway to the Kingdom.
Saint Luke illustrates the scene of the crucifixion which includes the striking encounter between Jesus and the repentant criminal. Amid the excruciating agony and humiliation brought forth by the execution, the thief recognizes Jesus’ innocence, and most importantly Christ’s kingship. The thief makes a humble request: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom” (23:42).
The thief, only requesting to be remembered, is met with the mercy of God, Jesus replies: “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise” (23:43). At the moment of death, Jesus extends the promise of eternal life—not in the future, not after the final judgement, but today. The Kingdom opens at the Cross.
This paradox is profound; in the place of execution and what seems to be defeat, Jesus exercises His royal authority and grants salvation. The Cross, which was a symbol of disgrace and abandonment, becomes the threshold of Paradise. This is an anticipation of the mystery of the Resurrection—where life emerges from death, mercy triumphs over judgment.
Final Remarks on the Cross
The Cross stands at the heart of the Christian mystery—scandalous to the world, yet glorious to the eyes of faith. It is here, on this brutal instrument of death, that Jesus Christ is enthroned as King. His crown is woven with thorns, His sceptre is a nail, and His royal decree is forgiveness to the very ones who crucified Him. The paradox is complete, what appears to be the end is the beginning.
It is here, at the foot of the Cross, that we recognize the true nature of divine authority—one that serves, suffers, and saves. And it is from the throne of wood and nails that Christ continues to reign, drawing all people to Himself.