Title: Christus Rex and the Pop Star’s Choice
Scene: A quiet candlelit chapel. Stained glass glows in the background. Christus Rex—Christ the King—radiates regal humility, wearing a crown of thorns and golden armor. Justin Bieber, dressed in streetwear and a heavy heart, kneels at the altar. The air is thick with incense and decision.
Christus Rex:
Justin, child of the North, I’ve watched you dance with fame and flirt with ruin.
You’ve been on more covers than saints in cathedrals.
But now, I ask: who do you say that I am?
Justin Bieber (softly):
You’re the King… the real one.
But I don’t know where I fit in Your kingdom anymore.
There’s so much noise out there.
Private jets, praise bands, $300,000 Rolexes on preachers’ wrists.
And I’m lost between the beats.
Christus Rex (firmly, lovingly):
That’s not My Church.
That’s Caesar’s temple, not mine.
I never wore gold on Earth—I carried a cross.
Not a Rolex, but the weight of mankind.
If you want to walk with Me,
Don’t follow the mega-stage lights;
Follow the flicker of candles in the silence.
Kneel in confession, not in adoration of celebrity.
Justin:
You’re telling me to go… Catholic?
Christus Rex:
Go home.
To the Church that still remembers My Body is real.
Where the Eucharist is not a metaphor, but Me.
Where saints walk with you, and Mary guards you like your own mother.
And Justin—if your heart longs to serve…
Not for clicks, not for likes,
But in armor forged in faith,
Then take the next step.
Become a Knight.
Justin:
A Knight of Columbus?
Christus Rex (smiling):
Yes.
Not for pageantry—but for protection.
Of the widow, the orphan, the unborn, and the poor.
You’ve guarded your fame long enough.
Now guard My people.
Justin (tearfully):
But I’ve messed up so much…
Christus Rex (extending His hand):
So did Peter.
So did Paul.
I don’t call the perfect—I perfect the called.
Come, Bieber.
Sing a new song.
Let the world hear that.
The chapel bells toll. Outside, a soft snowfall begins as Justin rises with a peace unknown to pop charts. Christus Rex vanishes, but a glint of gold remains—not on a wrist, but in the monstrance on the altar.
🕊️
