Thy kingdom come! - part two

A few weeks ago I posted regarding the distinction between the church and the basileia tou theou, the kingdom of God. Before moving on, I'd like to clarify one thing: In saying that "Earth is not the kingdom, either; it is the place where the dominion of Christ is worked out," I do not intend to say that the kingdom doesn't have the aspect of being a realm or a place to be occupied. It certainly is, as indicated by Jesus' teachings that we can enter it as if passing through a needle's eye (Mark 10:25), and that he will drink wine with his disciples again there (Mark 14:25). But the primary teaching in the Gospels is that it is the reign of God present in Christ.

In two previous posts here (1) and here (2), I questioned some Christians' justification of physical violence in executing justice and bringing peace to this earth, namely, the plot of some members of the Confessing Church to assassinate Hitler and bring an end to WWII and the Holocaust. After all, Jesus said that "all who take up the sword shall perish by the sword" (Matt. 27:52). How different is this from theocracy or jihad? Theology here has ramifications spreading into all realms of ethics, including the ever-hot debates over laws governing abortion, euthanasia, capital punishment, homosexual marriage, and the like.

This has prompted me to read up a little on the prevailing theology behind many leaders of the Confessing Church: Luther's "two kingdoms" doctrine, an extension of his theology concerning the proper aims and uses of the Law and of the Gospel. (You can read an excellent summary here.) Just as the Word of both law and gospel were horribly mingled in the medieval Western Church, so the church and state were also improperly intertwined and mixed in one another's business.

In essence, Luther says that God's government (reign) is carried out in two different ways, the earthly (secular) and the spiritual. This allows the church to be properly distinguished from the state but not separate from it, just as Christian saints live in the good world God created but are no longer of this world (John 17:15-19). (1) On the "left hand" God governs and preserves the entire world through Law. Just as God's law serves to both convict and guide the consciences of all people (cf. Rom. 2:15), so does God maintain order and the things which cultivate life for all people through the use of law (both civic and natural) and reason. Here God works for the preservation of structures that make life possible, such as marriage and family, commerce, work, property, etc. For this reason Paul and Peter admonish obedience to the government as long as they have freedom to worship God (Rom. 13:1-7; 1 Pet. 2:13-14; cf. Luke 20:25).

(2) On the "right hand" God executes his spiritual reign through the church in the preaching of the gospel and the administration of the sacraments. There is no higher authority here than Scripture, and the main concern is to make and strengthen disciples of Jesus Christ. Clergy are not to be lawmakers, and dukes don't work to preach the gospel. Both jobs have specific purposes, and mixing the two gets ugly. You can be a Christian and honor God in your secular vocation, and Christians can advise lawmakers, but they're distinct.

Inevitably Christians twisted and misinterpreted this doctrine, leaving many to blame Luther for the rise of the Third Reich and its atrocities. (I hate to tell them, but Luther was dead for 400 years at that point.) But now I see that at least according to this doctrine, Bonhoeffer actually did properly embody it, leading him to seek to end the war by means of killing Hitler. He and others, while under the spiritual reign of God, didn't seek revenge for their own arrest or abuses. And under that same reign, the love of Christ compelled them to seek the good of others ahead of themselves. But how was this to be done? Hitler didn't respond to his nor Martin Niemoeller's preaching of either law or the gospel. Thus out of love for the common good and the preservation of life for Jew and German alike, they decided to operate under the earthly kingdom's sword and "be a sinner, and sin boldly" while trusting even more strongly in the forgiveness in Christ.

[*Perhaps this also clarifies my post concerning the interface between biblical ethics and legislation.]

Check 'em out

Okay, I'm not normally one to give props to others' weblogs, but I consider two recent posts worth passing on to like the three of you who read my blog:

First, Be Strong in the Grace wrote recently about the beauty of our calling as priests to console others by sharing the news that they're forgiven in Christ (commonly referred to as absolution or the office of the keys).

Luther writes in the Large Catechism:

"Christ himself has entrusted absolution to his Christian church and commanded us to absolve one another from sins. So if there is a heart that feels its sin and desires consolation, it has here a sure refuge when it hears in God's Word that through a fellow human being, God absolves a person from sin." Read more . . .

I used to balk in church when we, as a congregation, would confess our sins, followed by absolution from the pastor. I thought, This is crap. How can any pastor say whether or not anyone is forgiven? But now I'm beginning to see not only the "scripturality" of it*, but also the need for it.

Second, Rob at Love & Blunder's post "Theology for the dying and dead" begins in a way that sort of haunts me:

Death has been on my mind for more than a year. I can trace its shadow back to a strange origin: The birth of my daughter.

I think about it every night, as we put her to bed. We help Olivia into her pajamas, watch her brush her teeth, read "Goodnight Moon" together, and say a prayer. The lights go out. The rocking chair creaks, Olivia sighs in her sleep, and my own mortality grips me. And holding her there in the darkness, I'm filled with a holy ache. The close of the evening is one tiny goodbye in a lifelong string of goodbyes.

I can't help but whisper Jesus' name. I hold my daughter tight, and I cling to the Gospel all the tighter. Read more . . .

I sometimes wonder what it would be like to have a child of my own. What would it be like to hold her (or him)? Could I sleep at night if she weren't right next to me? Would I be selfish and try to wrestle "my time" away from her, or would I live this new death-to-myself that is required in lovingly raising a child? If she dies, will I be able to say along with Martin Luther (at the death of his father in 1530), "Never have I hated death so much"?

I mean, so often have I (and other Christians) thought of death as but a gateway into the glory hereafter, thanks to our union with the resurrected Christ. (Props to the Orthodox Church for placing this reality at the fore of their theology.) But in reality, we Christians ought to vehemently hate death in every form and weep in every place it rears its ugly head. It was never part of God's good plan for the world! (This is coming from the conscience of yours truly, a five-point Calvinist who believes that God, in some unfathomable way, foresees and foreordains every calamity and death.) We ought to look at death and fall into despair--only then to look with an even stronger hope in the Lord.
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* "I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven" (Matthew 16:18); "If you forgive the sins of anyone, they are forgiven; if you withhold forgiveness from anyone, it is withheld" (John 20:23); "You yourselves are . . . to be a holy priesthood . . . . You are . . . a royal priesthood" (1 Peter 2:5, 9). Also see Luther's Small Catechism, under "Confession", and the Heidelberg Catechism, Lord's day 31.

Thy kingdom come!

Have you ever heard anyone say, "We need to be part of building God's kingdom?" Maybe you've said it yourself; I know I have. And with the Emergent focus on missional living and being God's "kingdom agents"--a very good and honorable thing, I might add--I think it's important to recognize the distinction between the church and the kingdom of God. Here's a brief walk through Jesus' "kingdom parables" in Matthew 13, showing why I believe that, while inseparable in some sense, the church is not to be identified or equated with the kingdom of God.

Parable of the sower (13:1-23). The "word [message] of the kingdom" is something sown into people's hearts (v. 19). Thus we see the kingdom as something external to the people, which produces fruit within those who receive the news of it.

Parable of the tares (13:24-30, 36-43). The kingdom is compared to the man who sowed the wheat seeds. Likewise the enemy sowed the weeds (v. 25). Jesus' direct comparison of the kingdom and the sower in v. 24 ("The kingdom of heaven may be compared to a man who came and sowed good seed in his field") shows that the kingdom is something separate from the wheat, who are the "sons of the kingdom" (v. 38). These sons, the communion of saints, are those given new birth by the word of the kingdom (v. 19; 1 Pet. 1:23-25). They are those who are brought to creation from or on account of the kingdom, and who live a life concordant with their new nature and relationship to the Sower. To make the church synonymous with the kingdom is to make your unbelieving neighbor synonymous with Satan.

Parables of the mustard seed and the leaven (13:31-33). While the distinct aim of these parables is to show the growing, spreading nature of the presently incipient kingdom, as opposed to Jewish expectations that the messianic kingdom would come in one fell swoop, the kingdom-church distinction can be seen again. First off, the mustard seed becomes the tree in which birds perch. It is what creates a home for the birds. The birds are not a tree! And in the second parable, the yeast is a force that spreads through the dough and effects change within it. Thus the kingdom cannot be equated with the world, either.

Parable of the dragnet (13:47-50). This parable perhaps most strongly delineates the distinction. Here the kingdom is likened to a fisherman's dragnet that catches fish in its wake, collecting them for the day of judgment. Rather than equating the kingdom with the church, we see here the principle testified throughout these parables: the kingdom of God is really the eschatological reign or rule of God, the force of which creates the church and exerts influence in the world. The word for kingdom, basileia, really is better translated by "dominion" (cf. Dan. 7:13-14) or "kingship" (John 18:36, RSV).

So as we are a church body gathered to pray, "Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven," I think it's helpful to recognize a few things. First, we are not the kingdom. And Earth is not the kingdom, either; it's the place where the dominion of Christ is worked out. Nowhere does the Bible promise an earthly utopia or theocracy prior to the Second Advent and the great regeneration of all things (Matt. 19:28; 2 Pet. 3:13). (My apologies to any premillenialists and social gospel advocates reading this.) But we are to pray with the desire that the risen and ascended Christ will extend his scepter to free people from death and captivity to sin and the devil.

Second, we don't "go out there and build the kingdom." That's solely the work of Christ as he continues his ministry in the Holy Spirit (John 14:12). Rather, we are "kingdom participants" and witnesses of the King. But there is something we can and must do, for we are entrusted with the keys to the kingdom: The saving effects of Jesus' resurrection-dominion only come in people's lives through the means of grace, that is, the Word and the Sacraments. As the "message of the kingdom" (Matt. 13:19; 24:14) is sown, people are brought to faith and strengthened in it. Apart from the preached gospel, the kingdom is powerless, and no one enters. "He who has ears, let him hear."

(For a little more on the kingdom and mission, please check out what Mark Driscoll has to say. I'm starting to find him as one of the most well-thought and scripturally sound voices in the Emergent movement.)

New music recommendation

A la my friends Chris and Jim, it's time for a Thursday music recommendation (delayed until Friday). Well, not exactly. But I can't help but extol why I like the music of Mercan Dede so much, especially on my final day in Turkey until September.

Performing under the name Mercan Dede--his first name coming from a Turkish fiction novel character and his second name meaning "grandpa"--this Turkish-born, Quebec-dwelling DJ really captures what I feel is the modern spirit of Istanbul. His craft is a sort of Sufi electronica, blending computerized beats and modern elements with the traditional music and instruments of the whirling dervishes, such as the ney, a type of flute.

Why does he capture Istanbul so well? First off, he does Sufi music, i.e., it's Islamic. When Constantinople feel to Fatih Sultan Mehmet II and the Selcuks in 1453, the city quickly became "the city of a thousand mosques." Nowadays there are still many conservative Muslims here, and the ezan (call to prayer) can be heard sounding from minarets several times daily. But owing largely to Kemal Ataturk's secular reforms and nudges by the European Union's offers of membership, the devotion to Islam here is but a shadow of the past. But its influence cannot be escaped by even the most blind of persons.

Second, it's Sufi music. Sure, most of the Muslims in Turkey belong to the Sunni sect, but I think Sufism, once banned by Ataturk, may be on the rise. Spirituality is important to a lot of people, and Sufism offers connection with the divine within the elements of this world. You can see this in some of the more recent Turkish art. Dede's music is for dervishes, whose prayer-spinning attempts to experience the divine by connection between the heavens and the earth (hence their diagonally-outstretched arms).

Third, Mercan Dede reflects the modernization of the city while retaining its distinctively Turkish roots. I mean, it's electronica. Dede has had giant spikes for hair. But the traditional flavors will not leave; this is no mere progress-by-sounding-like-europop. This is something I really like about the megalopolis in which I live: many of new restaurants, night clubs, and art galleries exhibit progress into the future while echoing the past. (Case in point: the renovation of the Beyoğlu district.)

You can check out more, including several MP3 music files, at www.mercandede.com.

What do our votes say?

A few weeks back, my roommates and I had what became a rather extended discussion about why we would vote one way or the other on the issue of banning same-sex marriages. And with President Bush wasting taxpayers' money and congressmen's time trying futilly to add a Constitutional amendment banning same-sex marriages, I can't help think about it (along with how negligent the current administration is).

If you're a biblically-minded Christian or anyone else who believes homosexual marriages to be wrong, what would you do when faced with a vote that would either ban or permit same-sex marriage? For me--and hopefully for anyone with any true sensitivity and engaged in deep though--it's hardly a simple decision. My question is, What does my vote say or do?

I believe that same-sex marriage is not as harmless as many people like to claim. Anything contrary to God's revealed will for our wholeness is damaging and therefore wrong. (Uh-oh, I feel a discussion about theocracy coming on . . . ) And I cannot imagine what will happen to children, adopted or otherwise, reared in a same-sex household. So do I vote against it out of the desire to actually prevent potentially harmful situations from arising?

What happens if, even though I'm morally opposed to it, I vote to permit it, and it becomes/stays legal? Does legally allowing something imply that it's okay? I wonder, has a shift in popular opinion concerning abortion occurred since--or, more importantly but more difficult to determine, been caused by--the Roe v. Wade decision? Is there any inherent pedagogical and moral influence of laws? After all, St. Paul does say that he wouldn't have known that coveting is wrong if it weren't for the law (Romans 7:7).

Or what about the effects of my vote as far as what it says? If same-sex marriage is banned, does that simply serve to perpetuate the well-deserved stereotype that America's Christians, upon whom much of the blame will inevitably fall, hate gays? Will this only serve to further estrange the LBGTA* community from the Church--or, worse yet, from Jesus? I certainly don't want to set up any unwarranted and unnecessary hindrances to the gospel. Conversely, though, God does not need me to defend his honor or make compromises, as if I could embarrass him or screw up the execution of his eternal redemptive purposes. I mean, no amount of hate-mongering or "intolerance" by the Church has ever kept anyone from Christ. Rather, "the light has come into the world, and people loved the darkness rather than the light because their deeds were evil. For everyone who does wicked things hates the light and does not come to the light, lest his deeds should be exposed" (John 3:19-20). It's the prideful fear of exposure and the love of sin that keep anyone from repentance and faith in Christ.

Anyway, it's a lot to chew on. I could go on for a long time. But, really, what's a vote worth on this issue? How are we to choose?

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* LBGTA stands for Lesbian, Bisexual, Gay, Transgender, and Ally (those supporting LBGT rights)