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.