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England’s monarchs have been vying with one another to secure another crown: this time to be voted the greatest sovereign of all time in an online poll. In a knockout final round, a surprising winner emerged when Elizabeth I was pipped to the title by the Anglo-Saxon Athelstan. Historian Tom Holland, who helped organize the ballot, says that while Athelstan, who reigned from 924 to 939, was a great conqueror who helped unite England, there were other reasons for his popularity. He felt a profound moral obligation to rule justly and well, according to Holland, and created just laws. To many, royalty is about grandeur, pomp and ceremony while others have always laid store by monarchs having Athelstan’s qualities – a sense of justice and obligation – even though some of them fell far short. These ideas of kingship derive largely from Hebrew and Christian scriptures. At every coronation service, there is reference to Zadok the priest and Nathan the prophet anointing Solomon king – a reminder that monarchs, like Solomon, should be bywords for wisdom. But it is the example of Jesus that has most influenced ideas of monarchy in this country. Tomorrow, Roman Catholic and Anglican churches will celebrate the feast of Christ the King. It’s always marked just before Advent, the run-up to Christmas when this king became the humblest of creatures, a child born in a stable, with a cot created out of the hay and straw of animal feed. Which raises the question: what kind of king is this? The answer, according to the Gospels, shows that he has come to serve and he has no throne of power but instead a cross: this is a king who represents sacrifice, humility and vulnerability. Some leaders – politicians or football managers, perhaps – might think that showing vulnerability is a sign of weakness in a leader. But in recent times we have seen two leaders express their frailty to powerful effect. A few months ago the Queen seemed poignantly vulnerable when she sat alone and masked at her husband’s funeral. And in his last years John Paul II continued to serve as pope, even when he was very weak. In doing he so conveyed the message that here was a leader who understood human frailty. The paradox is that for some leaders, vulnerability can be strikingly powerful. It runs counter to the all too common notion that a leader must actively shape their image, and so take on a particular persona. But leaders, honest about their frailty, have a notable authenticity. The personal story becomes greater than themselves.