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February 25, 2014

 Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven. Matthew 6:10

This isn’t heaven. Of course, we all know that. And yet it does not seem plausible that Jesus would have asked us to pray, “Thy Kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth as it is in heaven” if it were unrealistic that heaven could come to earth. Consequently, some of us believe that in the “Our Father” prayer we can expect heaven to come to earth, at least in some form and in some limited capacity.

So what might we expect in terms of his kingdom actually showing up? To begin with, we should remember that, in the words of C.S. Lewis, we live in “enemy-occupied territory.” Christians believe that we live in a fallen and broken world, and without a radical transformation, the kingdom could never come in its entirety, while many of the world’s inhabitants reject from the outset the idea that the world is fallen or broken.

And Christians believe that the inability to recognize one’s brokenness, or sinfulness, or fallen-ness, or blindness, is in itself a result of the Fall. In John 14, Jesus speaks of the coming of the Comforter, that is, the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of Truth—following his death and resurrection—to “convince, or convict, the world of sin, righteousness, and judgment. In other words, the Spirit of God comes to convince the world of what sin is, what righteousness is, what judgment is, or, rather the nature of all three of those things.

In terms of sin, or, “hamartias,” the word in the original Greek, this is any transgression of the Law of God. But, as many have heard me—and others—say, it literally means, “to miss the mark, or target.” Paul points out in numerous places in Romans that the entire world is under the judgment of sin: “All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.” There are no exceptions; in fact, “there is none that does righteousness, no, not one.” Many think of “sin” more along the lines of individual acts. But the reality is that sin is more like a principle, or a disease, with which everyone is infected. We could talk endlessly about the debilitating effects of sin, including its shame, stigma, and power. But, essentially, sin is what separates us from God. It keeps us from seeing and knowing God and from seeing and knowing ourselves. It steals, kills, and destroys. It ultimately leads to spiritual death. Very unpleasant stuff, sin is. From our point of view, it must be dealt with. That is why the Cross is necessary.

Paul says, in 2 Corinthians, “We thus judge: that if Christ died for all, then all were dead.” I always read this to mean everybody needs a savior, whether they are aware of it, admit or deny it. And when John says, in the second chapter of his first letter, that “He is the propitiation for our sins: and not for ours only, but also for the sins of the whole world,” he means that Jesus’ sacrifice is all-encompassing.

In terms of “righteousness,” and the word in Greek is “dikaiosyne.” It really means “rightness.” The Greeks, who tended to be precise in the words they used, had an understanding of righteousness as rightness in the sense of something’s intention. The best bare-bones definition of righteousness I ever heard was in Tom Langford’s Theology class at Duke: “That which is used according to the purpose for which it was created.” It’s rightly intended or it’s not. In the way of example, a screwdriver is intended to drive screws. To use it to drive screws, according to the Greeks (if there had been screwdrivers in ancient Greece), is a righteous use because that is its purpose and design. But you can use a screwdriver to open paint cans, or pry something, or chisel something (if it’s a flat-blade), and all sorts of other things. All of these alternative uses would be considered “unrighteous.” It doesn’t mean that they are evil, or that there is a stigma attached, it just means that one is employing the tool for something other than its intended use. I and a lot of other people think that our intended purpose is to glorify God, or, to reflect his Glory. We don’t have time or space to discuss in great detail what the Cross does to produce actual righteousness in us. But suffice it to say, as Paul puts it in 2 Corinthians 5, “For he hath made him to be sin for us, who knew no sin; that we might be made the righteousness of God in him.”

Judgment, or “krisis,” is not a popular idea to most moderns. But Christians believe that the world is under judgment. However, judgment as wrath is not so much the petulant, violent, capriciousness that many associate with an angry God, who, some would say, opens up holes to swallow people, or sends lightning bolts to fry this one or that one. Judgment, as Paul describes it in Romans 1, is characterized by “giving them up,” or, rather, loosing them (read: setting them free, not giving up on them) to have to suffer the consequences of their own bad decisions. Yes, I am aware that this reference to Romans 1 contains the only mention of homosexuality in the New Testament. But in this “cataloging” of sins, what Paul is really doing is trying to show—as I already mentioned—that everyone is under sin, no exceptions. Paul includes himself in that discussion, as he confesses in Romans 7 (“the good I want to do, I don’t do; the evil I don’t want to do, that’s what I do). I am included in that discussion. You are included in that discussion. This is actually the nature of judgment, whether we buy into it or not.

The passage in Romans 1 is part of a larger argument that runs throughout the first eight chapters. The case that Paul is making, which is also the theme of the entire book, is that “the just (or the righteous) shall live by faith.” Put another way, “Justification by Grace through Faith,” or, for the sake of brevity, “JBGTF.” In chapter 1, with its inclusion of homosexuality, both male and female, malice, insolence, arrogance, boastfulness, disobedience and disrespect to parents, untrustworthiness, heartlessness, un-mercifulness—he covers just about all the bases. And one can sense that Paul has “set up” his readers/hearers who would agree with him and disapprove of those “deviant” behaviors, and yet, with verse 1 of chapter 2, he lowers the boom—or pulls the rug out from underneath them—by saying, in effect, “Who do you think you are, judging all those people? You’re doing the same things.” He means, perhaps not the exact same things, but things that are equally egregious. The context of the first chapter does not come to an end until chapter 3, in which Paul points out, in verses 9 and 10, that “all are under sin….and there is none righteous, not even one.”

In fact, the very religious and most ardent in the keeping of rules and laws are missing the point. The other part of Paul’s argument in Romans is that “no one can be justified by works of the law.” Think “self-effort” here. He moves on to say that “a righteousness apart from the law has now been made manifest (known)” (v.21). And, furthermore, he echoes this idea in Galatians 3, also verse 21, that “if a law had been given which was able to impart life, then righteousness would indeed have been based on law.”

So the point here, given that the theme of Romans (and Galatians) is that “the just shall live by faith.” The problem is, in the eyes of God, no one is just, no one is righteous. And no one by one’s own effort can produce righteousness in oneself. However, through the Cross a means has been provided for unjust and unrighteous individuals to become just and righteous: by means of faith.

So, in the meantime, living in the Kingdom on the way to the Kingdom is what it’s all about. This awareness of the two kingdoms, knowledge of the two kingdoms, and acting as a priest who “stands in the gap” between the two kingdoms is brought about by faith, the gift of God. Faith is the way to know, and faith is the means for “thy kingdom (to) come, thy will (to) be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”

 
 

 

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