2025.11.23 | No Kings
No Kings
Jeremiah 23:1–5 & Luke 1:68–75
Preached by
Rev. Dr. Marvin Lance Wiser
Eden United Church of Christ
Hayward, CA
23 November 2025
Good morning, church! In the liturgical calendar, today marks a monumental occasion—the centennial celebration of Christ the King Sunday. This observance was established in 1925, one hundred years ago, to counter the rise of fascism in Europe. Well… we know how that played out. But we are still here, still declaring, “No kings except Christ.” Amen? I knew this would be a holiday we could rally around. We’re still choosing to build a beloved kin-dom rooted in God’s justice and equity, not in the false security of earthly kingdoms.
In just a few weeks a child—often called a “child-king”—will be born unto us. But we will not rush that part of the story. First, on this final Sunday of our liturgical year, we proclaim that we give our allegiance to no demagogues, no authoritarian rulers, and we actively reject the systems that uphold fascism and domination. Today is not about celebrating monarchy—it is about celebrating Christ’s authority, which is always an authority of justice, compassion, and liberation.
Just last month, many of us joined thousands in the streets to proclaim that very truth: no strongman gets our allegiance.
And here’s the irony: Jesus never ruled as an earthly king. His “kingship” was a subversive protest against the imperial powers of his day. The early church used the title Christ the King as a radical theological claim: Caesar is not lord; Jesus is. His entry into Jerusalem on a donkey was a deliberate parody of military might—a living critique of power that harms.
So as we enter Advent next Sunday, we are not anxiously waiting for a military solution. We are waiting for the One who liberates, not dominates: Christ the Liberator.
Hoy se conmemora una ocasión muy importante: el centenario de la celebración del Domingo de Cristo Rey. Esta festividad se estableció en 1925, hace cien años, para combatir el fascismo en Europa. Pero seguimos hoy en día proclamando: «No hay otro rey que Cristo». Seguimos eligiendo construir un reino de amor fraterno arraigado en la justicia y la equidad de Dios, y no en la falsa seguridad de los reinos terrenales.
Both Jeremiah and Luke turn our attention away from fantasies of monarchs and strongmen and toward God’s alternative social order—a community of justice, mercy, and shared dignity. When we say “No Kings,” we’re not simply rejecting monarchies. We are refusing every system that concentrates power and sacrifices the vulnerable.
Jeremiah—much like Habakkuk two weeks ago—pronounces “woe” on the shepherds who scatter the flock. His words are a blistering rebuke of leaders who hoard power, exploit fear, profit from suffering, and abandon the vulnerable. But Jeremiah doesn’t call for a better monarchy—he calls for a new kind of leadership, rooted in justice and compassion. His vision is of a healed community, rescued from predatory economics and corrupt politicians—not a restored throne.
Luke echoes Jeremiah. Zechariah proclaims that God has raised up “a mighty savior”—not a king—to set us free from our enemies so we may serve without fear. And this Advent we’re going to name our fears and confront them, we know they don’t just go away. Luke’s focus is not on consolidating power but on love that liberates. The “horn of salvation” is power that humbles the mighty.
Tanto Jeremías como Lucas nos alejan de las fantasías de monarcas y tiranos y nos señalan el orden alternativo de Dios: una comunidad de justicia, misericordia y dignidad compartida. Cuando decimos «No a los reyes», no solo rechazamos las monarquías, sino también todo sistema que concentra el poder y sacrifica a los más vulnerables.
Jeremías regaña a los pastores que dispersan el rebaño: líderes que acaparan el poder, explotan el miedo y abandonan a los indefensos. No pide un rey mejor, sino un nuevo tipo de liderazgo, arraigado en la justicia y la compasión, una visión de una comunidad sana, no de un trono restaurado.
Lucas hace eco de esto. Zacarías proclama que Dios ha suscitado «un poderoso salvador» —no un rey— para liberarnos del miedo. Y en esta temporada de Adviento, nombraremos esos miedos con honestidad. El mensaje de Lucas es claro: el poder de Dios no domina, sino que libera. El «cuerno de la salvación» es una fuerza que humilla a los poderosos.
Hace dos domingos, después del culto, viajé a El Salvador con las pastoras Davena y Rhina como parte de la delegación del Ministerio Latino de la UCC. Visitamos organizaciones de justicia, líderes comunitarios y congregaciones que realizan una labor valiente sobre el terreno.
Muchos de ustedes conocen la historia de la pastora Rhina: huyó de El Salvador a los 15 años durante la guerra civil apoyada por Estados Unidos, más o menos la misma época en que San Óscar Romero era arzobispo. Romero vivió entre los pobres, predicó desde la pequeña capilla de un hospital y exhortó a los soldados a desobedecer órdenes injustas. Por decir la verdad, fue asesinado en la mesa de la comunión.
Visitamos la capilla donde predicaba, su residencia, el Museo de los Mártires Jesuitas y el Museo de la Palabra y la Imagen, lugares llenos de historias de sufrimiento, resiliencia y solidaridad. Ahorita vamos a ver algunas fotos de estos lugares. También conocimos a mujeres como Teresita, que ayuda a las refugiadas que regresan a plasmar su trauma en arte y sanación a través del bordado. Me he traído alguna de sus obras para exhibirla en nuestro Centro de Los Recién Llegados, como símbolo de lucha y esperanza compartidas.
Two Sundays ago, after worship, I went straight to the Eden Area Interfaith Council annual meeting, and then boarded a redeye to El Salvador. I joined our conference ministers, Pastors Davena and Rhina, and others as part of the Ministerio Latino UCC delegation. We visited social-service organizations, justice groups, and communities of faith.
Why El Salvador? As many of you learned at our retreat, Pastora Rhina is Salvadoran. Like many, she immigrated at age 15 after surviving the genocidal violence inflicted by the U.S.-backed Salvadoran army during the civil war from the late 70s through the 80s.
It was during this era that San Óscar Romero was called to serve as Archbishop, shortly after his friend and predecessor was assassinated. Romero requested to live not in the palace but beside Hospital Divina Providencia, among terminal patients. From the small chapel there, he preached weekly homilies broadcast across the nation. In one of his last sermons he declared, appealing directly to soldiers:
“When you hear a man telling you to kill, remember God’s words, ‘thou shalt not kill.’ No soldier is obliged to obey a law contrary to the law of God. In the name of God, in the name of our tormented people, I beseech you, I implore you; in the name of God I command you to stop the repression.”
After this, the Salvadoran army resolved to kill him. He was assassinated while presiding over a funeral mass in the same chapel.
We hear dangerous echoes of this today—when our own head of state calls for the arrest and hanging of those who encourage soldiers to defy illegal orders. History may not repeat itself, but it rhymes.
Our delegation visited that chapel, heard Guillermo—one of the musicians who composed for Romero—sing his songs. We walked through the Monsignor Romero Center and saw his simple living quarters. We visited the Martyrs’ Museum at the Jesuit university, where the Jesuit theologians, their housekeeper, and her daughter, Elba and Celina Ramos, were murdered by the U.S.-backed army. The Dean, Ignacio Ellacuría, was a liberation theologian whose papers I once archived while working at the GTU library.
At the Museo de la Palabra y la Imagen we encountered stories from the massacres—stories of grief, resilience, solidarity, and the homecoming of refugees.
We also met people like Teresita, who works with returning women refugees—compañeras who embroider their trauma into art, claiming healing and freedom with every stitch. I have brought one of their works home and will be donating it to Eden to hang in our Newcomer Navigation Center. May our clients see in it something familiar—something empowering.
But repression isn’t just history. In the last few years El Salvador has undergone dramatic shifts. While gang violence once plagued the nation, the current administration has suspended constitutional rights and incarcerated tens of thousands without due process. Violence is down—but fear is up. Human rights organizations are being surveilled or silenced. Some with whom we met have now had to flee the country.
And a few steps ahead of the U.S., El Salvador has made it illegal to use the words “diversity, equity, and inclusion.” Not only in schools, but in workplaces and even in public life. There is now a hotline to report any questionable activities. Combined with suspended due process, the implications are chilling.
Yet this is exactly why meeting with Trans groups, queer communities of faith, and Comunidad Magdala mattered so much. This past week held both Trans Day of Remembrance and the anniversary of the Jesuit martyrs. These communities are doing holy work—surviving with courage, creating Beloved Community underground.
When we visited Hombres Trans, we officiated the sacrament of baptism and a naming ceremony of a young adult choosing joy, belovedness, and Christ—in spite of everything. It was one of the most powerful moments of the trip. No king but Christ.
Romero shows us the contrast between earthly power and Christ’s power:
Kings demand loyalty; prophets demand justice.
Kings enforce silence; Romero amplified the cries of the people.
Standing where Romero stood, you feel it: The Gospel always takes the side of those scattered by violence, corruption, and fear.
La represión en El Salvador no es solo cosa del pasado. Hoy en día, los derechos constitucionales están suspendidos, miles de personas están encarceladas sin el debido proceso, e incluso palabras como "diversidad, equidad e inclusión" son ilegales. Sin embargo, las comunidades clandestinas —grupos trans, iglesias queer y defensores de la justicia— continúan construyendo una Comunidad Amada con valentía. Incluso celebramos un bautismo, un poderoso recordatorio de que no hay otro rey que Cristo.
Romero nos enseña el contraste:
Los reyes exigen lealtad; los profetas exigen justicia.
Los reyes silencian; Cristo da voz a los oprimidos.
Y este es también nuestro llamado: a unirnos, no a dispersarnos; a liberar, no a dominar; y a construir una comunidad de misericordia, justicia y alegría, respondiendo al miedo no con pánico, sino con el poder del reino de Dios.
Our world still chases kings—political strongmen, corporate monopolies, even churches longing for one charismatic leader to fix everything. We live in an era of “states of exception,” suspended rights, and constitutional violations.
But God offers something radically different in Christ: Basilea tou Theou; the Beloved Community; the sacred commonwealth; God’s just and compassionate order. It is the opposite of kingship in three ways:
Shared power instead of concentrated power
Liberation instead of control
Covenant instead of coercion
The kin-dom is built by ordinary people—with extraordinary love—and Christ at the head.
The grassroots movements we visited are doing precisely this. People feeding one another; organizing youth; defending migrants; healing trauma; reclaiming dignity. They are not waiting for a king to save them—they are becoming agents of their own liberation. As Romero said:
“It is not enough to be good. It is not enough to be good. It is not enough to not do evil. My Christianity is something more positive; it is not a negative.”
This is how we co-conspire against fascism—by not just being against something, but for something, positively creating liberative communities and causing good trouble together.
And this, church, is our calling too:
To be shepherds who gather, not scatter.
To be neighbors who liberate, not dominate.
To build a community of mercy, justice, and joy.
We reject kingly leadership models, demagoguery, authoritarianism, fascism, nationalism. We practice Christ’s kind of power—collaborative, compassionate, justice-centered, grounded in dignity and diversity.
So when ICE shows up indiscriminately at our schools, our parks, or our places of worship, we respond in power, not panic.
We respond as people of the kin-dom.
As people of liberation.
As people who follow no king but Christ.