At Morning Prayer, I
find myself thinking on the kingdom of heaven.
Kingdom is one of
the great themes that runs through the Bible. It does not refer to some future
and perfect realm—a utopia—but to the ability to see God at work in the
changing fortunes of human history. That is why Jesus’ parables describing what
the kingdom of heaven is like are so messy, so full of flawed actors—not simply
as a foretaste of a delayed rule but as a rule that is fulfilled imperfectly. It
is also why ‘apocalyptic’ is best understood as pointing to imminent
events (and, secondarily, cyclic events) rather than end-of-time events.
At times in the
Bible, the kingdom of God—the exercising of God’s sovereign rule through human
rulers—is manifested in events his people find incomprehensible, such as the
fall of Jerusalem to Babylon or to Rome. Or an innocent man hanging on a cross.
So, if we are brave
enough to pray with Jesus, ‘your kingdom come, your will be done on earth as in
heaven’ we must recognise that the answer to that prayer may look far from our
ideas of justice. Or, we might find ourselves learning to see God at work in
human history, even through the politicians and societies we don’t like.
That is not to
preach resignation, or fatalism, nor to affirm political leaders—past or
present—without question or challenge. Rather, it is to understand how God
rules.
The conversion of
Constantine was not a disaster that derailed the Church from her mission for a
millennium-and-a-half. Christendom was the kingdom of heaven on earth. But now
Christendom is passed; and that is not a disaster, either. Christendom gives
way to new expressions of the kingdom of heaven.
To see the kingdom
of heaven around us, as the parables do, is to have hope instead of despair. To
rest, instead of striving. And to remind those who exercise power now that God,
who raised them up, will also bring them down.
In other words, it
is deeply subversive.
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