Kings and Kingdoms
Lent 2003
Week of April 14, 2003
Lectionary Readings
Mark 11:1-11
John 12:12-16
Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29
The forty days of Lenten penitence and sorrow now draw to a close this
Easter week, but not before a final, poignant reminder of the stark
differences between the kings and kingdoms of this world and the reign of
King Jesus. Palm Sunday, which we just celebrated, gives us important
clues.
Palm Sunday celebrated the so-called Triumphal Entry of Jesus into
Jerusalem. He was hailed by throngs of people who waved palm branches,
who shouted, and who spread their very own coats on the road before him.
But look closely and you see that this king was riding a young donkey,
which is not exactly regal transport. Nor would his coming kingdom, which
they hailed, vanquish the Romans. Rather, King Jesus called for some sort
of dying to self in order to gain life. The crowd did not understand
this, for if they had they would not have turned into a violent, raging
mob by the end of the week.
Interestingly, the disciples were just as clueless. According to John,
“at first his disciples did not understand all this” (John
12:16), and when we read the Gospel accounts of the passion week
John’s statement begins to sound like a classic understatement.
Judas betrayed Jesus and later wept bitter tears of remorse, but not
before all the disciples wondered aloud if they themselves might in fact
be that betrayer. Peter impetuously denied that he would ever deny Jesus,
then did just that three times. In the garden of Gethsemane, when Jesus
was staring down the face of death itself, his disciples fell asleep. At
the crucifixion, all of the disciples fled the scene, but who could blame
them? Three years of hopes and dreams, miracles and healings, ended in
violent death. In his last hours, Jesus could only cry a cry of
dereliction, feeling forsaken by God Himself. Then the Romans nailed him
to a cross between two criminals.
But in his dying breath there were words of forgiveness to those who
murdered him. There were words of salvation to a thief. Later there
would be full and free restoration for Peter, and even a promotion of
sorts to lead the apostolic band. Nor do we read a syllable of
recrimination or rebuke for the sleepers in Gethsemane who fled in fear.
They too were restored. Yes, this is a very different king and kingdom
than those of this world. Paul summarizes the nature of King Jesus
succinctly in his hymn in Philippians 2:8-9, “and being found in the
appearance of man, he humbled himself and became obedient to death, even
death on a cross.”
The kings and kingdoms of this world are not characterized by obedience
to death on behalf of others, but by what Nietzsche called a will to
power. Right now our country has almost finished its war on Iraq. This
is the easy part. Debate rages who will now run Iraq and how, but there
is no debate about what President Bush wants. Weeks ago you could read in
the newspapers about his handpicked leadership team, already in place, to
head the “provisional government.”
There are many fine believers who love Christ and His church who
subscribe to what is called the just war tradition. This requires a bit
of history. It is fascinating that there is no evidence of Christians in
the military until the year 170 or so, but Rome had no universal
conscription so perhaps there was little or no pressure on Christians to
join. Eventually, Christians became divided on this matter. Some argued,
rightly, that believers should support the state. Others drew attention
to the oath of allegiance which was idolatrous, and to the teachings of
Jesus as they contrasted with the necessity of a soldier to kill the
enemy. Or, maybe a believer might join the imperial service, and choose a
non-military role. Eventually some believers were charged with disloyalty
to the state for not joining the military; in response the theologian
Origen (185-230) wrote in Against Celsus that Christians served the
state by praying for it and by living moral lives that strengthened
society. According to Origen, “prayer would combat the forces of
evil that were responsible for violence and conflict.”1
By the time of Augustine (354-430), Christians were no longer a tiny
minority but instead a leading cultural force. Having enjoyed the
benefits of the state now made it difficult to be a pacifist and refuse
military service. Augustine became the chief architect of what we know as
the just war theory. According to Augustine (and later Aquinas, and the
16th century Protestant Reformers), war might be rightly used to obtain
peace and justice. But war itself is not just. There is, rather, an
attempt to circumscribe it with a number of caveats of justice: there must
be a just cause, limited means, regard for non-combatants, honorable
intentions, the idea that war is at best a last resort, legitimate
objectives, and so on.
More interesting still is that Augustine saw war as a cause for deep
remorse, grief and repentance. To be sure, these are Lenten virtues, and
characteristics of the kingdom of Jesus. “The wise person will wage
just wars,” he wrote, but the very thought of war should shake our
souls. War “should cause humans sorrow because humans are
responsible for it...Let everyone grieve when he thinks about the truly
shocking and cruel evil here, and let him acknowledge his miserable
state.”2
There is much misery in the Iraqi war to grieve and shock: failed
diplomacy, the provocation of Arab extremism, the wicked brutality of
Saddam’s regime which has killed more Muslims than anyone, the
senseless deaths of civilians and journalists, and a whole spectrum of
devastating losses: “The loss of a future for all who die and their
loved ones. The loss of normal expectations and aspirations for all those
maimed and wounded. The loss of property, resources and environmental
health, which will be cast aside in war’s devastation.”3 Augustine advises us to grieve these
losses, to sorrow over the extent to which we humans are responsible.
The violent end that King Jesus met this Easter week was not a defeat in
a power struggle or a will to power. Rather, beginning with a ride on a
gentle donkey through Jerusalem, passing through a garden in deathly
despair, and ending in a violent murder, it was a voluntary sacrifice to
secure a peaceable kingdom. In the kingdom of Jesus we celebrate a
fatherly God who causes rain and sunshine to fall on the just and wicked
alike. We inherit a kingdom in which we love our enemies and do good to
those who hurt us, a kingdom in which we forgive seven times seventy, a
kingdom in which the last will be first, and a kingdom that lavishes love
on the sick and the unrighteous.
Dear Father, as we pass through Lent to celebrate Easter, give us wisdom
to discern all the many counterfeit kingdoms, claims, and powers that
tempt us. Please help us to know and experience the endless abundance of
the kingdom of Jesus.
1 Robert Clouse,
Evangelical Dictionary of Theology (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1984), p.
1152-1155.
2 As quoted in The
Christian Century (April 5, 2003), p. 5.
3 Ibid.
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