Kingdom Come

Matthew 11:28-30; Luke 23:39-43; Matthew 5:10

When we think of kingdoms we immediately imagine regal power, majesty, and wealth. We might imagine Prince William and Princess Kate being driven through London in a Rolls Royce. We might imagine a palace decked out in treasures from around the world and a level of comfort that defies reason. We might imagine the power to say a word and watch a whole village collapse before us. 

Christ’s kingdom is not like that, so much so, that to even refer to it as a kingdom seems ludicrous when paralleled to human dominions. Christ’s kingdom was peopled with the Least of These. His regents were a batch of illiterate fishermen, the women with them, and a few outcasts from Roman society. As he told would-be followers, “The Son of Man has no place to rest his head”—even animals do better than him with regard to homes (cf. Mt. 8:20). He wandered, gathering the broken, the misfit, and the lost to him. No wonder Pontius Pilate could not figure him out—here was a man the Jewish authorities declared a usurper of the Emperor, yet the poor governor can find no evidence of any power whatsoever—the man won’t even defend himself!

Yet, Christ’s kingdom so gloriously outshines any and every human kingdom as to make them laughable. Power? Christ has power over death itself! Redemption from fear? Christ, with no army at all, eradicates the power of fear to rob us of meaning—there is nothing that can overwhelm a follower of Christ! Christ taps into the very power of God, not as a pretender, demanding all subjects to worship or die, like a pharaoh or caesar, but as the real thing, bringing God to us, directly and surely. 

The Eighth Beatitude explains this mystery, uncomfortable as it seems to be. No one wants to intentionally bring suffering upon themselves if they are healthy. No one walks into a crowd, hoping they will get beaten and abused. Yet, in Christ, we see the dynamic writ large. However, we do not worship a savior who was sickly masochistic or who saw himself as so worthless that he did not resist any and all abuse hurled at him. No, there is an entirely different, purely holy, dynamic at work in Christ’s presence—the world rejects him because his holiness is so pure and so righteous that it offends the sensibilities of a world driven by Self—self-serving, self-centered, self-aggrandizing, and self-gratifying. Christ rebelled. Christ refused to play the game. Christ saved us, and the world chose to be shed of him. 

But God waits for us to come to our senses.God waits for us to perceive what is actually present in Christ. God will wait as long as it takes. God knows that eventually and inescapably all of us will meet a moment where all else fails. Some crises are dark. A crisis in health, a relationship falling to bits, or a failure that proves to be catastrophic will bring us pleading for help with something we cannot work through on our own. Or, beatifically, we will meet a moment so glorious and miraculous that all our reason fails. This happens to new parents; it happens when we find the person who completes us; it happens when we simply encounter the wonder and miracle of creation itself—like stepping from your front door into eight feet of snow, as our friends in Buffalo, NY did this week. We are left speechless and awed into a recognition of power beyond all imagination.

If we are in that first set of conundrums—the ones that threaten to undo us—turn to the thief near Jesus on Golgotha. Here was a man so totally out of options that the existential abyss of nothingness swallowed him whole. It devoured his compatriot on the other side of Jesus so completely he joins the jeering. But this man sees a ray of light even in the abyss. Jesus is different. Jesus is not like them—nor like anyone, really. He is dying just like them, but he is not lost—something is fundamentally different, other, and transcendent. He is persecuted, but the kingdom is his. So, in an absolute fit of faith, he throws himself at Jesus with a simple plea, “Remember me!” God does remember. God always remembers. God will never forget a child created by God’s own hand. The thief will die surely, but he will be remembered, even that very day. He will be with God and all shall be well.

Now, if we find ourselves in that second set of miracles, overwhelmed, exhilarated, and unsure what to do next, Christ is there, too. On the brink of Advent, remember the shepherds—scared stupid when the night sky exploded in a fireworks display so otherworldly, it flattened them at the feet of their sheep, as the King James Bible reads, “sore afraid.” They are us. God is full of surprises. God is full of wonder. When we hear something inexplicable, do not fall to cynical pragmatism, simply hear it. When we hear someone confess being touched by a miracle that we see no reason to believe ever happened, fall silent and let them be in their revelatory joy—let it touch you and infect you—here is someone who has seen God and lived, as Jacob cried out after waking from a wrestling match all night. Rejoice! God’s kingdom includes the likes of us. God’s kingdom touches even us real and ordinary people. Christ is our sovereign. We are Christ’s people.

So—rethink what a kingdom really is; reconsider what a monarch might be; shed our illusions and delusions of power, seeing instead real power, real glory, and actual wonder might be—come to Christ, the Lord of the Cosmos. He is strong to save and sure to answer every one of us.

It turns a curse into a blessing—

Blessed are the persecuted, for theirs is the Kingdom of God.