On Sunday, November 23, the Church celebrates the Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe. The Gospel proclaimed at Eucharist is Luke 23-35-43. The scene is Jesus nailed to the wood of the cross, a criminal on either side of him. The second criminal reminds us that Jesus has done nothing unlawful, and then whispers, “Jesus, remember me, when you come into your kingdom.”
This line in scripture is an old friend to me. For over forty years, I have sung this sentence to people who are dying. I have tugged on the sleeve of this passage as I speak it in prayer when parents no longer have patience raising a child. I have tucked it into my heart when I just can’t reconcile with someone I love or when I am in a situation that has no obvious remedy or satisfying outcome. I have unfolded such a sentence from my soul when I am in a situation that is far beyond my calling or expertise. I have wiped water from my nose and eyes as I struggle to sing this phrase when I stand amid suffering that I cannot change or control, or when I know there is no other place to turn for help. I sing this phrase on behalf of people who face tragedy, loss, and uncertainty, when their lives and voices fail them. I have tucked this phrase under my pillow when I fear my own heart and the loneliness of aging.
As we conclude the liturgical year with the Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe, the King invites us to rouse all that is unfinished in our hearts to lay before him. This solemnity encourages us to trust that every aspect of life is in the hands of Christ when the world comes to its fulfillment. Nothing will be left behind, nothing will be without purpose, nothing will be finished apart from our Savior, Christ the Lord.
This understanding that all things will find their home in Christ is one of the most consoling summaries of the Christian life. All things will be one in Christ—all things. I believe this with my whole heart, with my entire being. This belief gives me the courage to sing this sentence among the dying and to speak it among the weak. This belief opens doors to me when the future seems to close before me. So I invite you to pray with the repentant thief, with the entire church, and with me on this last Sunday of our liturgical year. Pray for all the people who do not know where to turn for help. May we all turn to our solace and our hope in Christ, our King.
For nations stretching their goods and patience in times of war. May empty bowls in wartime be filled with rice, beans, and porridge. May empty hearts be filled in hope to overflowing with peace, security, housing, and education. May wars end and cities become places of safety, and may businesses thrive. May urban riots and protests finally bring peace and renewal. May gunfire ease and courage be the result of prayer, even when young children cry out in the nighttime. Jesus, remember me.
For all who sleep under cardboard on street corners or who survive under bridges or in dumpsters. May rough voices be heard and shouts of longing show us how to serve God’s beloved poor. May all who shout out in our urban areas for housing, mental health care, and sufficient food be acknowledged in love. May all who pound their fists on our doors find welcome and relief when they most need help. May all who walk the streets at night be protected under the lights of our concern. May women and children who live in cars find safe housing and protection. Jesus, remember me.
For children living with disabilities and parents who care for them. May our mothers care for their children in a warm embrace. May they push away gossip or destructive speech about their child. May they hold their children through sleepless nights and rock their child’s worries away in love and protection. May hope be born in our schools and in our cities, and may all people be given safe entrance into facilities, buildings, and even the hearts of our nation. May disabilities be honored, and may we reach out to one another to protect our children and all who raise them. Jesus, remember me.
For our aging loved ones and all who care for them. May our nation’s elderly poor find needed care and housing when illness and disease overwhelm them. May their bodies be kept clean, and may they be given sufficient food and attention. May our elders be not abused in care facilities, but their final years be filled with comfort and protection. May we extend our prayers to the furthest room down the hall, where the stories of our people need to be heard and honored. May we give our people more than false promises. May every voice be acknowledged with a song of hope and salvation. Jesus, remember me.
For children who survive abuse and for adults who struggle to heal. May all victims and survivors of abuse find their voice and healing. May we never fail to listen to the voices of people who carry the wounds of the past. May we find hope when anger and rage come to the surface once again. May our faith communities be places where healing becomes daily bread. May we turn our ears, our hearts, and our abilities toward opening new doors of hope to people who have lived in darkness and secrecy. May courage become a light that protects the innocent. May we become a healing balm that embraces all who are scarred by violence. Jesus, remember me.
For all who feel their voice is not important and not heard. For all who will conclude life without their stories ever being heard. For voices of color and voices from all nations. For voices silenced by criminal conviction. For voices that fall on the deaf ears of indifference. For voices that scream out in the night to be heard or understood. For voices silenced by divorce or infidelity. For voices that speak only of the past. For voices that ring out in pain that can never be eased or comforted. For voices that whisper on deathbeds. Jesus, remember me.
For voices rich in gratitude and deep in kindness. For voices of the prophets in our midst. For voices that help us dismantle our bias and rearrange our priorities. For voices that become rock so to build housing, universities, and hospitals. For voices not artificial but authentic, voices not to please others but from our deepest truth. For voices that melt threats and conflict like warm butter, for voices that console as mother’s milk. For voices that come from our bodies, not voices that remain flimsy or whimsical or computer-generated. For voices that affirm and build up. For voices rich in sweetness, not voices of self-sufficiency. For voices like spring rain that soak deeply into our human existence. Jesus, remember me.
For Holy Cross priests, brothers, and sisters ministering across the globe. May we take to heart the suffering of people in the cross of Christ. May the cross become our hope and only way of life. May we find our only hope when we reach deeply into the mystery of people’s suffering. May we discover Christ who longs to heal us, who helps us touch the wounds of the human heart. May we come to follow our promised salvation in our commitments in the Congregation of Holy Cross. Jesus, remember me.
For people who bear the weight of every difficulty under heaven. May all people burdened by human suffering come to hear Jesus comfort the heart of the repentant criminal hanging next to him. May we all be attentive to such promise and hear the requests of the poor. “Then he said, ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’ Jesus replied to him, ‘Amen, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise.’”
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About:
Rev. Ronald Patrick Raab, C.S.C., serves as religious superior of Holy Cross House, our retirement and medical facility at Notre Dame, Indiana. He is an award-winning author, blogger, and visual artist. Learn more: ronaldraab.com
Artwork:
Fr. Ron created this image for the Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe, a few months ago. Fr. Ron’s art has been published in parishes, dioceses, and ecumenical settings throughout the world.
Published October 2025
