Have you ever wondered why we still apply the word “King” to Jesus? When the Romans fastened to the Cross the inscription “Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews,” their purpose was to taunt the Jewish people, as if to say, “You call this man a king? Look at him, helpless, defeated, and utterly powerless” (Luke 23:36).

Ironically, their mockery revealed a deeper truth about Jesus. Without intending it, they declared to the world that He reigns not through power or domination but through a radical acceptance of His vulnerability. He conquered sin and death not by evading suffering but by entering fully into its darkness and transforming it through His self-giving love. Even in the resurrection, Jesus retains His wounds to show that His authority is inseparable from His crucifixion.

Jesus models a leadership that prioritizes the dignity and well-being of others, even at great personal cost. Indeed, Jesus overturned every conventional notion of kingship. So why do we persist in according Him a title that is burdened with historical and cultural meanings far removed from the Gospel?

Aside from evoking images of thrones, crowns, armies, and subjects often forced into submission, the word “king”has become largely irrelevant. In countries where monarchs remain, they often serve as symbolic or ceremonial figures rather than actual rulers. Calling Jesus a “King” can obscure rather than clarify who He truly is.

Recently, the Vatican issued a Doctrinal Note declaring two Marian titles “inappropriate,” prompting immediate objections from many devotees and theologians, some of whom accused the Church of discarding centuries of tradition. Yet the Church’s intent may not be to diminish Mary’s honor, but rather to express it in language more pastorally attuned to contemporary understanding. If this is the case, then perhaps it is also time to reconsider the traditional titles ascribed to Jesus, like “king,” “shepherd,” etc.

St. Anselm wrote that theology is “faith seeking understanding.” Many Catholics today struggle with certain Church doctrines not because they reject them, but because these teachings are expressed in words, metaphors, and symbols shaped by pre-modern world views. Such expressions often fail to resonate with people whose minds are shaped by scientific reasoning, technological advancement, and rapidly evolving language and culture.

Whenever words fail to connect, the message fails to land. This is why the Church has always adapted its language to communicate the Gospel across cultures. The earliest Christians translated their message into the idioms of foreign worlds. St. Paul employed Greek philosophical concepts that were unfamiliar to Judaism. Medieval theologians drew from Aristotelian, Platonic, and Islamic traditions. Missionaries throughout history learned new languages and rendered the Gospel in ways indigenous peoples could understand.

The Church has never hesitated to adopt new intellectual tools when clarity required it. Updating theological language is not a betrayal of tradition but an expression of fidelity to its deepest logic. This is the mystery of the Incarnation itself: God speaking in a language shaped by human experience and history. The Word becomes flesh within culture, not outside it.

To update theological language today is to acknowledge the lived reality of contemporary people. Pastoral care demands speaking of grace, sin, and salvation in ways attentive to the emotional well-being, trauma, relational complexity, cultural diversity, and the challenges of secular pluralism. The Church must use words that heal rather than alienate, that illuminate rather than obscure, that open hearts rather than close them with antiquated formulations.

The Gospel is ever ancient and ever new. Its truth does not change, but human understanding does. If the Church hopes to be heard in an age shaped by algorithms, global crises, and scientific wonder, she must rediscover the boldness of the apostles and Mary during Pentecost. They dared to proclaim the timeless Gospel truth in many timely tongues. Only in that way can the Church cease sounding like an echo of the past and begin sounding once again like Good News.