On Earth as It Is in Heaven
Jim Palmer opens Chapter 11 of Inner Anarchy with this:
“There are 41,000
different Christian denominations around the world, and close to 450,000
international missionaries mobilized abroad. The Roman Catholic Church is
considered to be the largest financial power on earth.
“Evangelical
Christianity isn’t doing too shabby either. A top Christian televangelist lives
in a $10 million house, another one drives a $350,000 Bentley, and several of
them make more than $1 million a year. One megachurch meets in a sports
stadium, draws close to 50,000 people for a worship service, and has an annual
budget that exceeds $70 million.
“Speaking of budgets, 82
percent of the average church budget is used to cover the expense of buildings
and salaries. Considering the number of people, buildings, and dollars,
Christendom is quite an impressive empire on planet Earth.
“But for what?
“What has this shiny,
lucrative Christian empire actually accomplished? What do we have to show for
it? We haven’t made even a dent in the suffering that plagues humankind and our
planet.”[1]
My evangelical brothers
and sisters will have great difficulty with Palmer. I have not yet completely
connected the dots in his logic myself, but he definitely holds my attention!
Regarding the passage
above, most evangelical models (among the 41,000+ Christian denominations) will
respond that human suffering and sin will never be resolved until Jesus
returns, so we should not concern ourselves with earthly matters. Our call is
to get everybody saved in preparation for Christ’s return.
19th century
eschatology notwithstanding, I find those models to be distortions of one of
Jesus’ sayings and an dismissal of huge volumes of his teaching.
The misunderstood saying
is in John 18:36 “My kingdom does not belong to this world.” The
interpretation, based on the English translation, relates to location—a place: a
“heavenly” (in the sky) kingdom in contrast to earthly kingdoms.
Luke and Mark speak of
the “kingdom of God,” while Matthew uses the term “kingdom of heaven.” Remember,
the Jesus movement was a Jewish movement, and Matthew was a Jew writing to
Jewish converts. “Heaven” is a common Jewish reverential way of avoiding verbalizing
the name of God. As Matthew uses the phrase, heaven refers to a person, not a
place.
In
all three gospels, “Kingdom” refers not to a place but to an action, specifically,
God’s authority and assertion of kingly power over creation. In the Lord’s
Prayer, “Your kingdom come … on earth as it is in heaven” is one way of saying that.
Christians pray for something to happen, not for a place.
In
the passage from John, Jesus is saying, “My authority does not come from a
human source.” His comment does not imply an other-worldly place.
Nor
does any of his teaching discount human existence on planet earth. Indeed, the
overwhelming bulk of his teaching and his behavior is focused on how we humans
relate to each other and how we respond to poverty and to the systems—both governmental
and religious—that sustain it.
But
we Christians can’t come to a unified agreement and oneness among ourselves—about
much of anything. Surely that fact alone gives us grounds to rethink a
few things[2] (especially
the everybody-is-wrong-but-me/us mentality).
Is
it we Christians who have mucked up life’s possibilities with our human-constructed
belief systems that actually restrict access to life for everyone who disagrees
with us? Have we made our belief systems idols?
Jesus
said the kingdom is within (among) us, but we keep looking for it “out there”
somewhere. We keep waiting for God to intervene and make a physical appearance
(return/second coming of Jesus) and save us from ourselves. Whether that eschatological
narrative is metaphoric is part of what we Christians can’t agree on, but since
we humans have zero control and zero knowledge of when such a return may
happen, are we in the meantime within God’s will to totally ignore (or at least
discount) human suffering here and now—something over which we do have a level
of control?
I
still haven’t connected Palmer’s dots, and he’s challenging some of the basic
fundamentals of doctrine we humans have constructed (over 41,000 different constructions)
over the last twenty centuries, but I think he’s on to something. He at least
pushes me to look at my own faith with more humility.
That’s
the way it looks through the Flawed Glass that is my world view.
Together in the Walk,
Jim
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