Consider the crown and who wears it

The Feast of Christ the King prompts Jamie Mulvaney to ask what sort of strong leader we should seek.

Jamie Mulvaney

Jamie is Vicar of St Michael's Chester Square, London.

King Charles in a black dinner suit talks and gestures to President Macron who is similarly dressed.

King Charles and President Macron at a September 2023 state visit.

Remember singing 'God Save the King' for the first time and it took a little more effort? Instinctively, we were so used the Queen, and unless you're well into your eighties the concept of a King will still be something a novelty. Slowly the stamps have changed, and new passports are finally being printed. After King Charles' first year on the throne, and having celebrated his 75th birthday this month, we can reflect with a little more perspective about what it means to have a king.

A new king gives us an opportunity to look forward and back. The crown cradles continuity, bringing the past into the present. And whether you've been indulging in the latest series of Netflix's The Crown or venturing further back into royal history, we can also indulge in a little time travel. Maybe not a regal DeLorean, but if you hop inside the state coach there’s quite the ride to be taken. The historian Dominic Sandbrook recently detailed in The Times how in Britain that 'it is remarkable how often monarchs’ opening 12 months have set the tone for the rest of their reign.'

We find ourselves in a liminal space - not quite an airport terminal - but one where we are on our way although not there yet. We see glimpses of this still-coming kingdom, but not yet fully realised.

What if we went back to the future even further, considering Jesus Christ as king? We might be unable to argue with the enduring legacy of this historical figure, but most of us are unfamiliar with Jesus as King. We tend to think of baby Jesus, Jesus feeding the five thousand or Jesus on the cross, but what about Jesus as King? Today the church celebrates the Feast of Christ the King, an interestingly fairly recent tradition. A bit like the John Lewis Christmas ad encouraging us to 'let your traditions grow'. But there is nothing new about Jesus' kingship. The church has always thought of Christ as King. According to the accounts of Jesus' life in the Bible, the topic Jesus taught on more than anything else was 'the Kingdom of God'. And King Charles’ coronation was itself a portal to the life of this king. The service began with the Chapel Royal chorister greeting the new monarch, ‘Your Majesty, as children of the Kingdom of God, we welcome you in the name of the King of Kings.’ His reply? ‘In his name, and after his example, I come not to be served, but to serve.’ It was a useful reminder that the form of servant leadership we have assumed and expected from the Queen and now the King is not a modern invention or interpretation of how monarchs should be.

Much like the arrival of a new king, Christ the King Sunday also enables us to both look back and look forward. We find ourselves in a liminal space - not quite an airport terminal - but one where we are on our way although not there yet. We see glimpses of this still-coming kingdom, but not yet fully realised. The word 'Gospel' was well-known in the ancient world, describing the good news of the rightful king who has returned home to take this throne.

But this king is quite the contrast to the strong leader we're used to. As we look to world leaders today, we see many elder statesmen (you decide whether 'elder' or 'statesmen' should be emphasised!). There are different understandings and projections of what strong leadership looks like.

The historical reality of Jesus, his fingerprints on the world today, and the professed experience of millions of people worldwide continue to subvert.

Jesus is a king who comes in humility. There was speculation of a slimmed-down coronation for King Charles proportionate to the cost-of-living crisis. But in Jesus’ mind must have been more the cost of dying, as he rode on a donkey into Jerusalem, surrounded by a fickle crowd cheering his own coronation before condemnation only a week later. At his execution there was mockery with the sign on his cross ‘King of the Jews’, and of course wearing a crown of thorns. If you travel back to his birth, the magi bring royal gifts, so his life is bookended with rumours of kingship.

What might this mean for us in the twenty-first century? On the one hand, there’s the personal, individual connection to the king. Pope Francis heralds ‘Christ the King who conquers us’. We’re happy for his rule and reign out there, but what about extending into our own lives? For the past few years on the eve of Christ the King I've been to baptism services at Southwark Cathedral. One of the symbols of the water in baptism is that we overwhelm our lives with Christ's life, and ultimately his reign over who we are, how we are, and what we do. Then there’s the broader reality: a king who does not neatly or easily fit into our political paradigms, whose priorities in one way or another will catch us off guard.

Jesus is the king who turns things upside-down. His kingdom is not marked by borders but is still whispered of and spoken about two thousand years later. That is what we sing about at Christmas. The king arriving in vulnerability as a baby and one day - who knows when - Christians believe he returns in power as king. On that day, Christians believe justice, goodness and all that we long for will be ushered in. But until then, the historical reality of Jesus, his fingerprints on the world today, and the professed experience of millions of people worldwide continue to subvert.

As Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the German theologian famous for plotting to kill Hitler said, ‘A king who dies on the cross must be the king of a rather strange kingdom.’ The mystery amidst the majesty. Keep looking back. Keep looking forward.

Article

Atheism

Belief

Creed

13 October 2025

4 min read

Atheism discovers Christianity — just not the inconvenient bits

When sceptics start praising faith for its vibes and values, you know the secular ship is taking on water

Jonah Horne

Jonah Horne is a priest, living and working in Devon.

A spotlit round table with podcast guests around it.

Steve Bartlett and guests discuss belief.

Diary of a CEO.

Atheism in the age of authenticity and self-expressive secularism is inherently cannibalistic. I’m not suggesting that Dawkins, Harris and Hitchens are losing their minds and devouring one another. But what I am proposing is that atheism, held within today’s philosophical waters, cannot not affirm the thing it so vehemently denies: faith.

There’s a fascinating moment in a round table conversation with Steven Bartlett (Diary of a CEO) and Alex O’Connor (Cosmic Skeptic). The former presents a case of his friend whose life is radically changed when he becomes a Christian. In some senses it’s a classic despair to hope story. Bartlett concludes by asking O’Connor “what would you say to this friend?” The answer that follows flawed me. O’Conor, an ardent atheist, responds by essentially saying “if these things work, then I’d encourage him to continue doing them.”

In a similar vein, last year Richard Dawkins professed his faith in cultural Christianity. Dawkin’s well documented and fresh alignment with Christianity is accordingly founded upon its ‘fundamental decency.’ Which just to be clear, according to the biologist, is very unlike Islam. Sadly, his newfound respect hasn’t prohibited New Atheism’s inherent Islamaphobia, it just seems to be masquerading in more sympathetic clothing.

Amongst these stories and other examples there seems to be a resurgence, or at least a growing respect, in Christian religion and faith. This can also be seen in church attendance and statistics around those professing faith. And whilst Dawkin’s move away from religious degradation towards cultural affirmation can, in some senses, be welcomed; there is an inherent flaw in both his and O’Connor’s perspectives when held in light of Christianity’s central claims.

For O’Connor, Christianity is seemingly commendable if it leads to self-actualisation, self- fulfilment and a privatised sense of hope. From O’Connor’s atheistic vantage point, the goal of the human is self-actualisation. When confronted by Christianity as a means of this fulfilment, his philosophical stance begins to eat itself. Similarly, for Dawkins, Christianity is a useful tool for the construction and preservation of Western societies. As our country goes through rapid change and our cities exponentially expand in size and multiculturalism Dawkins finds himself affirming the faith he so enthusiastically mocked as a means of security. His atheism inevitably eats itself.

Whilst different, Christianity in both of these cases is used as a crutch. The faith becomes a prop either for societal betterment or self-fulfilment: it is a reductive perspective that views Christianity as the best truth amongst other truths on offer. It approaches religion as a pick-n-mix sweet shop, with Christianity currently the best flavour.

However, for Christians, their faith is not a truth amongst other truths, it is the truth. It is not primarily reasoned, discovered or affirmed upon positive reviews but is fundamentally revealed to us and encouraged by a Triune God of love. Reason, positive societal change and personal fulfilment are not bad things in of themselves but when approaching Jesus, they are utterly secondary. This revelation, when fully recognised, reveals O’Connor and Dawkin’s understandings of Christianity as inherently stunted. For O’Connor his affirmation of faith, when positively leading to self-actualisation, would struggle to reckon with St. Stephen’s death found in the book of Acts. The first Christian martyr pleaded for God’s mercy upon his murderers as they launched stones at him. His faith led to incredible courage in the face of intense violence but I’m not entirely sure you could say it led to a widely accepted notion of self-actualisation. For Dawkin’s his affirmation, of Christianity as a pillar for society, should be held in light of the early church’s teachings on radical hospitality, their startling financial generosity and the faith’s ongoing care for the alien or foreigner. This, I would contend, would unsettle the biologist’s divorce of culture and faith.

The challenge for Christians when confronted by seemingly positive reactions from historically antagonistic voices is to refuse the subtle domestication of the ancient faith. I appreciate O’Connor’s openness to the Christianity and I commend Dawkin’s softening tone. However, their self-defeating and cannibalistic atheism can only affirm Christianity as crutch for their own agendas. They concede defeat but on their own terms. Their vision accepts a partial understanding of following Jesus, an understanding that has been moderated and regulated to fit into their preconceived philosophical and societal agendas. However, for Christians, Jesus is not someone who affirms our predetermined frameworks but instead devastates our self-obsessive tendencies and overwhelms our insecurities with a profound love best revealed in his life, death and resurrection. This realisation is ultimately revealed to us, not on our terms but received freely as a gift. It is given, not grasped or owned, but received.

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