Kingdom and Cross

In a January 2011 speech at Bristol School of Christian Studies (Putting the Gospels Back Together: How We’ve All Misread Our Central Story) Anglican Bishop N. T. Wright makes a compelling case that modern hermeneutics often sacrifices either the kingdom (Gospels) for the cross (Epistles) or else the atonement (Epistles) for social engagement (Gospels). He maintains that these two – kingdom and cross – must never be divorced nor even held in tension, but rather seen as necessary complements: What God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.

The kingdom of God, which is nothing less than the reign of Christ over all creation, was inaugurated in the life and ministry of Jesus of Nazareth and reached its climax in the cross (and its aftermath of resurrection and ascension). Bishop Wright notes, in paraphrase, that the cross is the cutting edge of the sword of the kingdom. It is perhaps apt to consider the cross the means of accomplishing the goal of making present the kingdom. Redemption, while personal, is never private; it always has a corporate, kingdom dimension.

I suspect that, with this hermeneutic in place, we will catch glimpses – and more than glimpses – of the kingdom-cross union throughout scripture. As one small case in point, I offer the account of the healing of the paralytic in Luke 5:17-26.

17 Now it happened on a certain day, as He was teaching, that there were Pharisees and teachers of the law sitting by, who had come out of every town of Galilee, Judea, and Jerusalem. And the power of the Lord was present to heal them. 18 Then behold, men brought on a bed a man who was paralyzed, whom they sought to bring in and lay before Him. 19 And when they could not find how they might bring him in, because of the crowd, they went up on the housetop and let him down with his bed through the tiling into the midst before Jesus. 20 When He saw their faith, He said to him, “Man, your sins are forgiven you.” 21 And the scribes and the Pharisees began to reason, saying, “Who is this who speaks blasphemies? Who can forgive sins but God alone?” 22 But when Jesus perceived their thoughts, He answered and said to them, “Why are you reasoning in your hearts? 23 Which is easier, to say, ‘Your sins are forgiven you,’ or to say, ‘Rise up and walk’? 24 But that you may know that the Son of Man has power on earth to forgive sins”—He said to the man who was paralyzed, “I say to you, arise, take up your bed, and go to your house.” 25 Immediately he rose up before them, took up what he had been lying on, and departed to his own house, glorifying God. 26 And they were all amazed, and they glorified God and were filled with fear, saying, “We have seen strange things today” (Lk 5:17-26, NKJV)!

The healing ministry of Jesus is an in-breaking of the kingdom; of this there is ample witness in scripture, not least in Mt 11. Thus, any healing must be seen in a kingdom context. But, the narrative structure of this healing account links it strongly with cross, as well. The visual imagery is perhaps the first key. There is, at the center of the story, a paralytic – confined to bed or pallet, unable to come to Jesus on his own. He is carried by friends, who metaphorically – and perhaps literally – dig through a roof to lower the man and pallet into Jesus’ presence. Can we see here a dead man, carried on a bier, and lowered into a tomb – not without hope – but dead nonetheless? And the cause of the man’s “death”? Sin, the condition which Jesus first addresses: “’Man, your sins are forgiven you.’” And with the forgiveness of sins comes resurrection and new life: “Immediately he rose up before them, took up what he had been lying on, and departed to his own house, glorifying God.” It is not a stretch to see this account as a textual icon of the harrowing of hell: Jesus in the midst of sin-bound and dead humanity – by his own death – reaching out to take Adam by the hand, lifting him up to life again. Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death and upon those in the tombs bestowing life.

Thus, what begins as a kingdom story of healing becomes a cruciform story of forgiveness and resurrection. The kingdom comes, this story proclaims, precisely through death, burial, and resurrection and precisely for the forgiveness of sins and the healing of the cosmos. Kingdom and cross belong together.

The purpose of this is not just to promote a more faithful and integrated reading of scripture – though that is no small thing – but a more faithful and integrated life in Christ. Some among us evangelize to save the soul but leave the body poor and hungry and naked and homeless; these must embrace Jesus’ kingdom vision – a kingdom that is already (Christ has begun his reign) but not yet (Christ’s reign in not yet universally acknowledged). Some among us pour out our lives in social ministry in the name of compassion and human dignity but not in the name of Christ crucified; these must embrace Jesus’ cross – a cross that is the very essence of compassion and human dignity.

Wright is right: kingdom and cross belong together – in our hermeneutics, in our proclamation, in our lives.

Sermon: 4 Lent (14 March 2010)

Regular readers of this blog -- if there be any such among you! -- may have noticed that throughout Lent I have been posting reprints of sermons from 2007. No, I am not getting lazy and falling back on "old" sermons. These are not, in fact, the sermons I am using in our gatherings at Trinity Church; those are entirely new. It is simply this: during Lent, I have determined to write no sermons, but instead -- as a wise saint and brother once directed me -- to prepare not a sermon, but rather to prepare myself for the sermon.

Lent 4: 18 March 2007
(Joshua 5:9-12/Psalm 32/2 Corinthians 5:16-21/Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32)
Let the Ones With Ears Hear

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

To his contemporaries Jesus was the prophet from Galilee. “Who do men say that I am?” he once asked his disciples. The answer was unanimous: a prophet. The people couldn’t agree on which one – John the Baptist, Jeremiah, Elijah, or some other – but they recognized a prophet when they saw one, and Jesus fit the bill.

The Hebrew prophets were masters of symbolic action and apocalyptic speech, revealing God’s message by deed and word. Jeremiah used a linen belt to symbolize his people’s pride and ruin, and a broken pot to pronounce destruction upon Judah. Ezekiel drew the city of Jerusalem on a clay tablet and then laid siege to it, building ramps and battering rams – playing in the dirt with army men to show the impending fall of Jerusalem. John the Baptist symbolized repentance with water, and perhaps the end of exile and the coming of the Lord with his appearance out of the wilderness. And of course they talked, these prophets. They explained – sometimes in very cryptic and apocalyptic language – the meaning behind their bizarre behavior.

Now comes Jesus, cut from the same cloth. “The kingdom of heaven is at hand,” he proclaims, and that becomes the primary theme of his prophetic ministry. Jesus is the prophet of God’s kingdom. What does this mean to his Jewish followers? Simply that God is now acting in history to fulfill the covenant he made with their fathers, with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob: a covenant to vindicate Israel, to declare them in the right as his people; a covenant to deal with sin – to establish purity, not least by executing judgment upon the pagan nations oppressing Israel, but also by renewal of the people and the land; a covenant to end the continuing exile of his people and to return them to sovereignty in the land.

But if Jesus was a prophet, he was a confusing one. He looked like a prophet and acted like a prophet and talked like a prophet, but the message…the message was just a bit off. And the way he used the symbols – not quite right. Take his healings, for example: a clear symbol of God’s renewal of Israel, of the reversal of the curse of breaking the law. Heal Jairus’ daughter? Fine. The woman with the issue of blood? Certainly. But the Syro-Phoenician woman’s daughter – a gentile? And the centurion’s son – a Roman? That is not the renewal of Israel. That is not what kingdom-come should look like. As for dealing with sin and establishing purity, take the cleansing of the temple. Almost right, but he drove out the wrong people, Jews – merchants – and pronounced judgment on the scribes, the Pharisees, the Sadducees, the priests. It was Rome he should have cast out, Rome he should have judged. And Jesus did play a bit fast and loose with the other symbols of Israel, especially the Sabbath which he and his followers routinely violated with healings and other works, and the purity laws which he disregarded by ignoring ceremonial washings and by talking with outcasts. As for the established religious system, Jesus soundly trounced the priesthood – as well as the Sadducees, Pharisees, and scribes – at every opportunity. He claimed the kingdom of God was near and in the same breath commanded his followers to forgive the Roman occupiers, to turn the other check when oppressed, to carry the soldiers’ packs and to pay taxes to Caesar.

And his words – well, baffling is an understatement. He spoke in parables, which seemed to conceal as often as to reveal.

He said, “The knowledge of the secrets of the kingdom of God has been given to you [the disciples], but to others I speak in parables, so that,

‘though seeing, they may not see;
though hearing, they may not understand’”
(Luke 8:10, NIV).

Parables are often misunderstood – not just the meaning of specific parables, but the nature and purpose of the literary form. Parables are not simple stories designed to illustrate complex spiritual truths – earthly stories with heavenly meanings as the Sunday School definition goes; if they are, they are abject failures. Nor are they primarily specific examples of timeless, universal principles that Jesus’ followers should embody. No. As Jesus used them, the parables were sharp social and religious critique meant to challenge and provoke his listeners to change. The parables were not intended to inform, but to transform. In story form they were the equivalent of Jesus’ signature proclamation, “Repent for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.”

The parable we call the Prodigal Son is a case in point. Most often it’s taught as an illustration of God’s unconditional and costly love for undeserving sinners. There’s no denying the prodigal nature of God’s love for us and, at some secondary level, that point may be present in the parable. But the parable was an answer to a specific charge against Jesus and a critique of the false piety of the Pharisees. It was also, of course, a call to repent.

Now the tax collectors and sinners were all gathering around to hear him. But the Pharisees and the teachers of the law muttered, “This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.”

Then Jesus told them this parable (Luke 15:1-3, NIV).

Actually, Jesus told them a series of parables: the lost sheep, the lost coin, and the lost son (the Prodigal Son). This text shows how symbolic action and parables worked together in Jesus’ prophetic ministry. Jesus acted in a way that expressed the coming of God’s kingdom, but in a way that also challenged common understandings of that kingdom, in a way that provoked and scandalized. And he in turn was challenged by the religious establishment. Why do you violate the traditions of the fathers? What do these actions mean? By what authority do you act in this way? And, as often as not, Jesus responded with a parable.

The theme of the Prodigal Son is not just the undeserved love of God, but the coming of the kingdom of God. It is a return from exile story, a story of Israel: the younger son is given a great treasure by his father; he leaves for a foreign land where he squanders his treasure and ends up in servitude to a pagan master; he comes to his senses, remembers his father, repents, and heads for home; he is welcomed by his loving father but ostracized by his elder brother. Good Jews chaffing under the yoke of Rome could hardly miss the parallels. Israel was the beloved son of God who had the treasures of election, law, and land. But they squandered these treasures and ended up in servitude in pagan lands or oppressed by pagan masters in their own land: first Egypt, then Syria, Babylonia, and now Rome. “Come to your senses,” Jesus calls to them. “Return to your father who will run to meet you and welcome you with open arms and with feasting. Repent, for the kingdom of God is at hand.” This is the way kingdom-come works in Jesus’ story. And some got his stories; some heeded the call to repent – generally the poor and dispossessed, the sinners and the tax collectors. “He welcomes sinners and tax collectors and even eats with them,” the Pharisees complain. “Yes,” replies Jesus in this parable, “because the kingdom of God is near and this is what it looks like.”

In this parable we typically cast the sinners and tax collectors as the younger brother, the scribes and Pharisees as the elder brother, and Jesus as the father, trying to hold the family – both brothers – together. I suspect everyone was happy with his role. The sinners and tax collectors were under no false illusions; they knew they were social outcasts – a scandal to society – and were ready to grasp at any hope of restoration. The scribes and Pharisees knew they were the faithful, long-suffering, and neglected people of God, rightfully incensed at the decadence of sinners. Could they fail to see how badly the elder brother fared in the parable – what a jerk he was, as disrespectful to the father as was the younger brother? Or did they see, but not see, and hear but not understand?

I wonder if Jesus wanted them to try on a new role, if that might have been one purpose of the parable. You see yourself as the elder brother, but can you also see yourself as the younger? Can you see that there is really little difference in the two, that in one way or another, at one time or another, both are estranged from the father, both guilty of dishonoring and opposing the father? Can you see that you, too, are in exile, and need to repent and return? This recognition lies at the heart of Jesus’ prophetic message: Repent, for the kingdom of God is at hand. And the kingdom is open for all who will come. The fatted calf has been prepared, the table is spread, the banquet is under way. Will you, too, repent and return, will you stay outside and sulk, or will you join the feast? This is the challenge the parable presents the scribes and Pharisees.

Only Luke records this parable, and it is an important one for him. It lies just barely under the surface of his account of the early church in Acts, an account of the church as it spreads from Jerusalem to Judea, to Samaria, and to the ends of the earth. The Samaritans hear the gospel and believe. The gentiles embrace the gospel and repent. The younger brother returns from exile. But the Jewish Christians…well, still they are the elder brother, sulking at the presence of these new converts, refusing to eat at table with them – literally refusing to eat with them, insisting they become circumcised and keep Torah first. So Luke records the parable: let the ones with ears hear.

What are we to do with this parable? First we must understand it rightly in its context – what we’ve tried to do – because it never was intended for us, unless we foolishly insist upon casting ourselves as one of the brothers. I suppose we could fall back on the parable as an illustration of the love God or the need for repentance. Some, quite wrongly, see it as an exhortation to a radical inclusion that rejects the need for transformation, lest we become the elder brother. But that won’t do. Let’s take a different approach all together – one based on the nature and role of parables. Let’s ask, How are we so radically to live the kingdom of God that we are forced to resort to parables to explain ourselves? What parables would we tell? We are called to live prophetically in our culture as Jesus lived in his, to act in such countercultural kingdom ways that people are compelled to ask: Why do you act this way? By what authority do you act and speak as you do?

What could we do that might call forth these questions? What if, as the disciples of Christ, we took his words to heart and rejected coercion and violence and force and retribution? What if we actually turned the other cheek, loved our enemies as ourselves, and prayed for those who persecuted us? What if we refused to fight the world’s wars? Might this not compel them to ask: Why do you act this way? By what authority do you act and speak as you do? And what could we say?

A master guitarist had two young protégés – both exceptional musicians, both intensely competitive, each jealous of the other. As much as each loved the master, so did they hate each other. Throughout their musical careers they vied for prominence. Disparaging remarks were made by each and countered by the other as the young men grew older and farther apart. The master continued to write each and plead with them to reconcile, but to no avail. Eventually he died and was greatly mourned by the musical community. On the first anniversary of his death a televised tribute concert was planned. Each of his two protégés received a telegram inviting him to perform and each telegram contained the same strange stipulation. Immediately before his death the master had composed a piece for each of them that had been held secret by his estate. Each piece was to be opened and played by sight on the night of the concert, with both men on stage at the same time. In this way the world would finally see which of the two protégés was superior and which would become the master’s true heir. Each man agreed, looking forward to the chance to vanquish his enemy in this musical duel.

The night of the concert arrived and, for the finale, each of the guitarists gathered on stage sitting opposite one another. Each was given a large envelope containing the master’s last composition. A signal was given and the envelopes were opened. Each guitarist paused stunned as he read the title: Pax et Bonum – Peace and Good, a Duet for Two Guitars. Let the one with ears hear.

What if, as the disciples of Christ, we took his words to heart and refused to lay up treasure on earth? What if we gave freely to those who asked us and did not worry about what we would eat or drink or wear? What if we truly put first the kingdom of God and his righteousness and trusted him to give us all that we need for life and health? Might this not compel the world to ask: Why do you act this way? By what authority do you act and speak as you do? And what could we say?

There was a certain businessman, or Three partners conceived of a plan. Or how about this? A young Maryville High School student moved to Philadelphia to go to school; there he met the Jesus who ruined his life. Now he’s poor – with little more than the handmade clothes on his back and the food for one more meal in his pantry and more blessings than he could ever have imagined. There’s a parable for you. Let the one with ears hear.

What if, as the disciples of Christ, we took his words to heart, “Repent, for the kingdom of God is at hand”? What if we lived so radically, so counterculturally that only parables had any chance of explaining us? And what if the parables we told weren’t just stories, but songs and art and professions and relationships and lives lived out in the image of Christ before the watching and wondering world? What if we became the living and loving parables of our living and loving God? Let the one with ears hear.

Amen.

Sermon: 2 Pentecost 2009 (14 June 2009)

Sermon: 2 Pentecost (14 June 2009)
(1 Samuel 15:34-16:13/Psalm 20/2 Corinthians 5:6-17/Mark 4:26-34)
Christ the King

(I must gratefully acknowledge N. T. Wright, Bishop of Durham, for his thought and writing on the Kingdom of God – much of which finds its way into this sermon. References are provided in the footnotes.)

Blessed be God and blessed be his kingdom now and forever. Amen.

Before we engage the Scripture this morning – and really as an introduction to the Scripture – let’s pause briefly to get our liturgical bearings, to see exactly where we are and where we are headed in the great cycle of feasts and fasts that tells our story and draws us into it anew each year.

The Easter cycle, with the climactic events of the story, is behind us: the crucifixion, death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus, and, most recently, his ascension and the ensuing descent of the Holy Spirit on Pentecost. The season after Pentecost, which we enter now, is often called Ordinary Time in the Western church due to its lack of major, extraordinary, feasts.[1] Of course, there is nothing truly ordinary about it; this season focuses on the nature and ministry of the church, that most extraordinary mystical body of Christ for which he died and rose victorious.

Ordinary Time can be quite long when Easter comes early as it did this year – some six months long. It seems long, too, with no great celebrations to punctuate it. Sometimes, at best, we just faithfully slog through it. Even that is a fitting symbol of the long church age – some two millennia and counting now – during which the church has, with greater and lesser faithfulness, pursued its mission, slogging through, waiting for Jesus. This waiting for Jesus intensifies as the weeks of Ordinary Time pass. It finally propels us into the season of Advent, that dual-natured time that recalls the past hope of Christ’s incarnation in humility and anticipates the hope of his return in glory.

Recently – within the last forty years or so, which is the blink of an eye to the church – several expressions of the Western church, led by Rome, have inserted a new feast – and, in some cases, a new season – into the liturgical calendar between Ordinary Time and Advent. The last four weeks of Ordinary Time have become the Kingdom Season and the last Sunday before Advent has become the Feast of Christ the King or the Feast of the Reign of Christ. On the surface this seems at least harmless and perhaps a good and welcomed innovation; it enlivens Ordinary Time and it celebrates the Lordship of Jesus Christ, always a good and joyous thing. On further reflection, though, we realize that the placement of the Kingdom Season and the Feast of Christ the King at the end of Ordinary Time – the period which focuses on the nature and mission of the church – changes the story entirely. The new season tells the wrong story and leads to a seriously distorted understanding of Christ (Christology) and the church (ecclesiology).[2]

How so? Well, let’s pick up the church’s “revised” story at Ascension. On that day our Lord returns to his former glory in heaven at God’s right hand. Ten days later, in fulfillment of his promise, Jesus sends the Holy Spirit (John 16:7) to indwell and empower his disciples and to inaugurate the church age – Ordinary Time, in the liturgical cycle: two thousand years of it so far in which the church has more or less faithfully executed its mission. And what is that mission? Look ahead in the story. In the “revised” version the story ends with Kingdom Season and the Feast of Christ the King. The implications are clear. The church age ends when the church has completed its mission of building the Kingdom of God. Then, and only then, does Christ assume his rightful place as King; then and only then does the Reign of Christ begin. In this new version of the story, the Kingdom of God and the Reign of Christ both result from the mission of the church. This is precisely where the new story gets it wrong; the placement of the Kingdom Season and the Feast of Christ the King reverses cause-and-effect.

What of the traditional telling of the story – the telling in the Gospels, in Acts, in the Epistles and the Revelation, and the telling in the church in ages past? It is perfectly clear in Matthew: before the Ascension, before Pentecost, before Ordinary Time.

But the eleven disciples proceeded to Galilee, to the mountain which Jesus had designated. When they saw Him, they worshiped Him; but some were doubtful. And Jesus came up and spoke to them, saying, “All authority has been given to Me in heaven and on earth. Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I commanded you; and lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age” (Mt 28:16-20, NASB).

“All authority has been given to Me in heaven and on earth. Go therefore,” Jesus says to the twelve, to the nucleus of the church. This is the gospel order: the reign of Christ does not come as the result of the church accomplishing its mission; the church has a mission to accomplish because Christ has already begun his reign, because the Kingdom of God has already come, because Jesus is already Lord of all creation. The established fact of the Reign of Christ is precisely what gives the church its mission and what defines the mission of the Church: to live, in the present, under the Lordship of Christ and to announce to a rebellious world that Jesus is Lord and Christ – King and Savior. This is exactly what Peter proclaims in his Pentecost sermon:

“Therefore, let all the house of Israel know for certain that God has made Him both Lord and Christ – this Jesus whom you crucified” (Acts 2:36, NASB).

This is exactly the reason Peter and John get all uppity when confronted by the deposed powers of their day:

“Rulers and elders of the people, if we are on trial today for a benefit done to a sick man, as to how this man has been made well, let it be know to all of you and to all the people of Israel, that by the name of Jesus Christ, the Nazarene, whom you crucified, whom God raised from the dead – by this name this man stands here before you in good health. He is the stone which was rejected by you, the builders, but which became the chief corner stone. And there is salvation in no one else; for there is no other name under heaven that has been given among men by which we must be saved” (Act 4:8b-12, NASB).

This is exactly why St. John’s vision of heaven in the opening chapters of the Revelation – heaven as it was in his day and is now – is that of God enthroned and the Lamb – our Lord Jesus – receiving the praise of all creation:

“Worthy are You to take the book and to break its seals; for You were slain, and purchased for God with Your blood men from every tribe and tongue and people and nation.

“You have made them to be a kingdom and priests to our God; and they will reign on earth”(Rev 5:9b-10, NASB).

While our reign is yet to come, Jesus’ reign is a present reality.

This is exactly why St. Paul continually invokes the earliest and most fundamental creed of the church – Jesus is Lord – to remind the church and the powers-that-think-they-be that the Kingdom of God has come, that Jesus has begun his reign, and that all nations and people had best heed the warning of the Psalmist.

1 Why are the nations in an uproar? *
Why do the peoples mutter empty threats?

2 Why do the kings of the earth rise up in revolt,
and the princes plot together, *
against the Lord and against his Anointed?

3 “Let us break their yoke,” they say; *
“let us cast off their bonds from us.”

4 He whose throne is in heaven is laughing; *
the Lord has them in derision.

5 Then he speaks to them in his wrath, *
and his rage fills them with terror.

6 “I myself have set my king *
upon my holy hill of Zion.”

7 Let me announce the decree of the Lord: *
he said to me, “You are my Son;
this day have I begotten you.

8 Ask of me, and I will give you the nations for
your inheritance *
and the ends of the earth for your possession.

9 You shall crush them with an iron rod *
and shatter them like a piece of pottery.”

10 And now, you kings, be wise; *
be warned, you rulers of the earth.

11 Submit to the Lord with fear, *
and with trembling bow before him;

12 Lest he be angry and you perish; *
for his wrath is quickly kindled.

13 Happy are they all *
who take refuge in him!

The biblical witness is clear and emphatic, and the testimony of the church in ages past is unwavering: the Kingdom of God has come already through the death, burial, resurrection, and ascension of Jesus Christ who already has begun his reign as Lord of heaven and earth. The mission of the church is not to build the kingdom so that Christ may begin his reign, but to announce to the world that God has already established the Kingdom of his Christ, that Christ is even now reigning over all creation, and that the world had better recognize the facts, repent of its rebellion, and bow before its true King.

So, we do not need another feast to celebrate Christ the King or the Reign of Christ, and particularly not one that comes at precisely the wrong time in the liturgical cycle. N. T. Wright says it this way.

First, we already have a ‘Feast of Christ the King’. It is called Ascension Day, and occurs forty days after Easter. It celebrates the time when the disciples recognized that the risen Lord Jesus was now the true King of the world… [He] has brought to birth a new sort of kingdom, a kingdom not from this world but emphatically for this world. Easter and Ascension, taken together, constitute Jesus as Messiah and King, as Lord of the world.

The mission of the church presupposes this. Going into the world to declare that Jesus is Lord only makes sense if he is already reigning, not if the church is merely suggesting that he might perhaps reign at some point in the distant future, at the end of the long years of church history (represented, in the church’s year by the Trinity Season [Ordinary Time]).[3]

The church is privy to a great mystery – not a secret, but a mystery once hidden and now revealed: despite all appearances to the contrary, Jesus Christ is already King of all creation – of heaven and earth – and the Kingdom of God has already come. Ordinary Time – the church age – is actually Kingdomtide, a celebration of the Lordship of Jesus Christ. This great truth propels the Spirit-empowered church into mission: to proclaim Kingdom-come to those who have yet to hear that good news and to those would-be powers who rebel against that good news, and to live as citizens of the Kingdom of God – not intimidated by the would-be powers and not conformed to their would-be rule.

What is this already present Kingdom of God like? It’s like…well, it’s like

“a mustard seed which, when it is sown on the ground, is smaller than all the seeds on earth; but when it is sown, it grows up and becomes greater than all herbs, and shoots out large branches, so that the birds of the air may nest under its shade” (Mk 4:31-32, NKJV).

Isn’t this just like our God to take something apparently small, insignificant – weak even – and use it to conquer all the powers and principalities, rulers and authorities arrayed against him? He did so with the cross; he does do now with a mustard seed kingdom and a crucified king before whom one day every knee will bow – in heaven, on earth, and under the earth – and every tongue will confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father (cf Phil 2:10-11).

What is it like with this already present Kingdom of God? It’s as if…well, it’s as if

“a man should scatter seed on the ground, and should sleep by night and rise by day, and the seed should sprout and grow, he himself does not know how. For the earth yields crops by itself: first the blade, then the head, after that the full grain in the head. But when the grain ripens, immediately he puts in the sickle, because the harvest has come” (Mk 4:26b-29).

In this already present but ever growing Kingdom of God our role is to sleep by night and rise by day; to plant, water, weed, and prune; and then to sleep and rise again – day after day, year after year, millennia after millennia. It is God’s role to provide the growth – and we might very well not know how he does it or even recognize that he is doing it. In speaking of Apollos and himself – of their work in Corinth – Paul writes:

Who then is Paul, and who is Apollos, but ministers through whom you believed, as the Lord gave to each one? I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the increase. So then neither he who plants is anything, nor he who waters, but God who gives the increase. Now he who plants and he who waters are one, and each one will receive his own reward according to his own labor. For we are God’s fellow workers (1 Cor 3:5-9a, NKJV).

God takes our faithfulness – our apparently insignificant mustard-seed prayers and works and sacrifices – and builds them together into his kingdom for his glory. God builds the kingdom, but not independent of us; we are God’s fellow workers: not that he needs our efforts, but that he has dignified and honored man by making us agents of the Kingdom.

So, we now enter Ordinary Time, though it is anything but ordinary. It is Kingdomtide, a celebration of the Kingdom of God and the Reign of Christ the King, a reminder to the church that the Kingdom of God has come, that Christ has begun his reign, and that the church has a mission: to proclaim Jesus as Lord, to live under his Lordship, and to offer God our prayers and worship and work as building blocks for the Kingdom.

Amen.

[1] It is also called Trinity Season, beginning, as it does, with the Feast of the Trinity and celebrating the church’s empowerment for ministry by the Holy Spirit, the third person of the Trinity.
[2]N. T. Wright has analyzed this most clearly in his books For All The Saints?, Morehouse (2004), and Surprised By Hope, Harper One (2008).
[3] N. T. Wright. For All The Saints? p. 66.

Sermon: 6 Epiphany (15 February 2009)

Sermon: 6 Epiphany (15 February 2009)
(2 Kings 5:1-14/Psalm 30/1 Corinthians 9:24-27/Mark 1:40-45)
The Leper and the Kingdom

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

When the church is bold to pray as Christ our Savior taught us, we ask God to establish his kingdom here on earth as it is in heaven. What would it look like? I wonder, if we were truly bold enough to mean the prayer and God knew us ready for him boldly to answer it. Kingdom come: what will it be?

There are hints, of course – poetic descriptions throughout the prophets – incomparably expressed by Isaiah.

For there shall be a new heaven and a new earth, and they shall not remember the former things, nor shall these things come into their heart. But they shall find gladness and exceeding joy in her, for behold, I will make Jerusalem an exceeding joy, and My people gladness. I will rejoice exceedingly in Jerusalem, and I will be glad in My people. There shall no longer be heard in her a voice of weeping, nor a voice of crying. There shall not be the untimely death of a child there, nor shall there be an old man who does not fulfill his time. For a young man shall be a hundred years old, but a sinner who dies at a hundred years old shall be cursed. They shall build houses and dwell in them; and they shall plant vineyards and eat their produce. But they shall not build, and others inhabit; and they shall not plant, and others eat (Is 65:17-22a, NKJV).

The wolf shall feed with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the young goat, and the calf, the bull, and the lion shall feed together; and a little child shall lead them. The cow and the bear shall graze together, and their young ones shall lie down together. The lion and the ox shall eat straw together. The nursing child shall play by the hole of asps, and the weaned child shall put his hand in the den of asps. They shall not hurt nor be able to destroy anyone on My holy mountain, for the whole world shall be filled with the knowledge of the Lord, as much water covers the seas (Is 11:6-9, NKJV).

Isaiah, through whom the Spirit uttered these words, viewed the coming kingdom as a renewal of creation and covenant, and as an end of exile for God’s people: the Adamic curse lifted – fruitful earth; harmonious relations between man and beast; long, prosperous lives – the repatriation of Judah and the rebuilding of Jerusalem, the righteousness of God covering the earth as the waters cover the sea.

Saint John, exiled on Patmos at the close of the first Christian century, had a similar vision, though more universal in scope.

It begins with judgment.

The devil, who deceived them, was cast into the lake of fire and brimstone where the beast and the false prophet are. And they will be tormented day and night forever and ever.

Then Death and Hades were cast into the lake of fire. This is the second death. And anyone not found written in the Book of Life was cast into the lake of fire (Rev 20:10, 14-15, NKJV).

It begins with judgment, but it ends with blessing.

Now I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away. Also there was no more sea. Then I, John, saw the holy city, New Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from heaven saying, “Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and He will dwell with them, and they shall be His people. God Himself will be with them and be their God. And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away (Rev 21:1-4, NKJV).

God with man, man with God, humanity drawn into the divine life, Satan bound eternally, death finally and fully vanquished, sorrow and pain and crying but dim memories: this is kingdom come. This is what it will look like. This is what it will be when God answers our boldest prayer: Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.

This is the kingdom of God writ large, fully present, fully realized throughout all new creation – the kingdom of God dawning on the last, great day, as it surely will – the kingdom of God of the prophets and seers. In the Gospels, though, we glimpse another vision of the kingdom – smaller, more localized – a sign pointing toward the fullness of the kingdom to come. This Gospel vision is no less the kingdom for being limited in space and time and scope: God is there with man, and man with God. Humanity is drawn into the divine life. Satan is bound and cast down and cast out. The dead are raised to new life. Sorrow and pain and crying are replaced with joy and health and laughter. And this Gospel kingdom is present wherever we find Jesus. Mark takes great pains to make that clear.

Now after John was put in prison, Jesus came to Galilee, preaching the gospel of the kingdom of God, and saying, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand. Repent, and believe in the gospel” (Mk 1:14-15, NKJV).

The kingdom of God is here: this is the beginning and heart of Jesus’ gospel proclamation. Wherever Jesus is, there, too, is the kingdom of God. So, what does that look like – the kingdom of God writ small in the towns and villages of Galilee, among the Samaritans, in the temple courts, on Calvary? It looks like men called from the ordinariness of life – from the mundane, economic affairs of boats and nets and fish – called from that to the grand adventure of life in the Spirit, to mission, to abundant and eternal life (cf Mk 1:16-20). It looks like authority – authority in the words and prophetic actions of a carpenter turned rabbi, an unlettered, uncultured Nazarene who bests the learned scribes (cf Mk 1:21-22). It looks like demons – Satan’s minions – bound and cast out with just a word (cf Mk 1:23-28). It looks like an entire city gathered at the door of a simple home in Capernaum – a multitude of deaf and blind and lame, leaving that door hearing and seeing and dancing because God-With-Us spoke a word or offered a touch. And it looks like a leper – a lost soul – in desperate hope falling on his knees in the dust before Jesus.

Now a leper came to Him, imploring Him, kneeling down to Him and saying to Him, “If you are willing, You can make me clean” (Mk 1:40, NKJV).

What would the kingdom of God look like to this leper? Make me clean. In the kingdom of God, I will be clean.

As pitiable a cry as any in Israel is the cry of this leper. To the Jew, leprosy was not just a disease of the flesh, a disfigurement of the body; it was a disease of the spirit, a disfigurement of the soul. Leprosy and sin were synonymous. When Aaron and Miriam murmured against their brother Moses, challenging his leadership and his call from God,

The anger of the LORD burned against them, and he left them. When the cloud lifted from above the Tent, there stood Miriam – leprous, like snow. Aaron turned toward her and saw that she had leprosy; and he said to Moses, “Please, my lord, do not hold against us the sin we have so foolishly committed. Do not let her be like a stillborn infant coming from its mother’s womb with its flesh half eaten away” (Num 12:9-12, NIV).

Moses prayed for her, but the Lord delayed her healing for seven days. For seven days she was unclean, banished from her people, sent outside the camp.

The story of Elisha and Naaman the Leper is cut short in this day’s Old Testament lesson. All faithful Jews knew its end.

15 And he returned to the man of God, he and all his aides, and came and stood before him; and he said, “Indeed, now I know that there is no God in all the earth, except in Israel; now therefore, please take a gift from your servant.” 16 But he said, “As the LORD lives, before whom I stand, I will receive nothing.” And he urged him to take it, but he refused. 17 So Naaman said, “Then, if not, please let your servant be given two mule-loads of earth; for your servant will no longer offer either burnt offering or sacrifice to other gods, but to the LORD. 18 Yet in this thing may the LORD pardon your servant: when my master goes into the temple of Rimmon to worship there, and he leans on my hand, and I bow down in the temple of Rimmon—when I bow down in the temple of Rimmon, may the LORD please pardon your servant in this thing.” 19 Then he said to him, “Go in peace.” So he departed from him a short distance.
20 But Gehazi, the servant of Elisha the man of God, said, “Look, my master has spared Naaman this Syrian, while not receiving from his hands what he brought; but as the LORD lives, I will run after him and take something from him.” 21 So Gehazi pursued Naaman. When Naaman saw him running after him, he got down from the chariot to meet him, and said, “Is all well?” 22 And he said, “All is well. My master has sent me, saying, ‘Indeed, just now two young men of the sons of the prophets have come to me from the mountains of Ephraim. Please give them a talent of silver and two changes of garments.’” 23 So Naaman said, “Please, take two talents.” And he urged him, and bound two talents of silver in two bags, with two changes of garments, and handed them to two of his servants; and they carried them on ahead of him. 24 When he came to the citadel, he took them from their hand, and stored them away in the house; then he let the men go, and they departed. 25 Now he went in and stood before his master. Elisha said to him, “Where did you go, Gehazi?” And he said, “Your servant did not go anywhere.” 26 Then he said to him, “Did not my heart go with you when the man turned back from his chariot to meet you? Is it time to receive money and to receive clothing, olive groves and vineyards, sheep and oxen, male and female servants? 27 Therefore the leprosy of Naaman shall cling to you and your descendants forever.” And he went out from his presence leprous, as white as snow (2 Ki 5:15-27, NKJV).

This leper in the dust before Jesus was, to the on-lookers and perhaps even to himself, an unclean sinner like Miriam and Gehazi, justly receiving in his body the judgment of God. And, like Miriam, he was banished from the community, forbidden to enter synagogue and temple, estranged from all human contact and exiled from the presence of God. Make me clean, he cried.

And Jesus did the unthinkable. Filled with compassion he stretched out his hand and touched the leper. How long had it been since the man had known either compassion or a human touch. And Jesus spoke the words – spoke them with authority – spoke the words the man longed to hear, “Be made clean!” And the leprosy left him and he was made clean and in that instant the kingdom of God struck earth like lightning and this once wretched man was made a citizen of that kingdom. His sins were forgiven, his body was healed, his exile was ended, and he was reconciled to man and God. And that is what the kingdom of God looks like writ small in the towns and villages of Galilee, but writ large in the human heart and soul.

The kingdom of God has come, for wherever Jesus is, there, too, is the kingdom of God. And surely we have his promise that he is even now among us, his promise that he will never abandon or forsake us, his promise that where two or more are gathered in his name he is in the midst of them. Jesus is here, and so, too, is the kingdom of God – not fully, not writ large across the new heavens and the new earth, but here nonetheless as a mustard seed planted in the ground, as leaven which a woman hid in three measures of meal until it was all leavened.

And so the question for us becomes, What does that look like – the kingdom of God writ small in our lives, our families, our businesses, our schools, our communities, our cities?

It looks like you and me in leper’s robes falling down before Christ and pleading “Make me clean.” For we are the lepers in the story – all of us, over and over again, in need of the compassion and healing and forgiveness that only Jesus can offer. The kingdom starts here, with the recognition of our estrangement from God and from one another, and with our repentance. Repent, for the kingdom of God is at hand, Jesus said and still says. Only through repentance is that kingdom opened to us.

It looks like you and me with restored limbs and healthy skin accosting everyone we encounter with the good news of our restoration and the hope for their own. Though Jesus told the leper to tell no one, he simply could not keep the news to himself. How could he? Instead, “he went out and began to proclaim it freely, and to spread the matter, so that Jesus could no longer openly enter the city, but was outside in deserted places; and they came to Him from every direction” (Mk 1:45, NKJV). Would that our churches were so overrun by the lepers of the world that we could no longer hold services or meet in our overcrowded buildings for the sheer press of people seeking Jesus. It will only happen when healed lepers tell other lepers of a Christ who cleanses and makes whole broken men and women. I like to think that, even before returning to his family, the cleansed leper returned to the colony, broke down the gates, and led a crippled, festering, mass of broken humanity straight back to Jesus: Here they are, Jesus. Make them clean, too. That’s what the kingdom of God looks like.

What else does it look like? Well, with the guidance of the Holy Spirit, with the witness of the Scriptures and the church, we will figure that out as we go. But this we do know: wherever the kingdom comes on earth as in heaven there will be repentance, forgiveness, healing, reconciliation – in the lives of men and women and families and communities and cities and states and nations until one day – on that last great day – the kingdom writ small becomes the kingdom writ large and all creation joins the hymn of praise to him who touched us and made us clean.

Amen.