Of the Kingdom

Jesus Example

Was Jesus’ work on earth spiritual or physical? It was certainly spiritual, but nothing in God’s kingdom is ever purely spirit. Even God, who is Spirit, takes on flesh. The demons of pride and domination were cast out, so to speak, of the first century religious institutions, but so too were literal demons cast out of individual people. Christ preaches against greed, particularly amongst the religious, but he also makes a whip to drive out the money changers from the Temple. Jesus conquered spiritual sin on the cross, but did that in parallel with His conquest of physical death in the Resurrection. We are spirits indeed, but we are spirits clothed in flesh. The church is the spiritual body of Christ, but it is ones whose purpose is to effect physical change in this world. After all, the arguments the body parts have is over which is more effective in the physical world.

Why did Christ come? As it turns out, He had a lot to do. He came to “bear witness unto the truth,” (Jhn 18:37) so that “they might have life, and that they might have [it] more abundantly,” (Jhn 10:10) so they “might have my joy fulfilled in themselves,” (Jhn 17:13) to “seek and save that which was lost,” (Luk 19:10) to call “sinners to repentance,” (Luke 5:32, 1Ti 1:15) to the “lost sheep of Israel,” (Mat 15:24) to “save that which was lost” (Mat 18:11) to be the “Saviour of the world” (1Jo 4:14), that “we might live through him” (1Jo 4:9).

But His mission was not just preaching. Though salvation was certainly a theme and major part of his commission, it was not all of it. The longest passage discussing His purpose for coming to earth was read by Him in Nazareth at the beginning of His ministry. He reads, “The Spirit of the Lord [is] upon me, because he hath anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor; he hath sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised, To preach the acceptable year of the Lord” (Luke 4:18-19). Certainly there is a lot of preaching involved. But there is also liberation, deliverance, and healing. His commission was not simply to preach and convert by means of healings; they were independent parts of his commission. Of course, this could be spiritualized if isolated from Christ’s work. But interpreted by the life Christ then set out to live, and considering the sorts of things He spent most of His time doing, it would strain the text beyond its breaking point to think of this as being exclusively spiritual.

Jesus taught about the living bread, but he also fed 5000 people because they were hungry. He cleansed lepers for compassion sake. When he healed ten lepers, and He knew that only one of them would return. I do not think Christ would have withheld healing on the ten even if he knew that none would return. Truly, none did return. On the night of his arrest, His ministry collapsed as, “all forsook him, and fled” (Mark 14:50). The 5000 he fed. The 10 lepers he cleansed. Every single person for whom He did a miracle and to whom He preached left Him. At the time of his crucifixion, Jesus ministry was an utter failure in terms of evangelism. He had zero remaining converts. But had Jesus’ work up to that point been completely destroyed? Would the only value of His ministry come from His Resurrection?

The Prophets’ Mission

Such is the story of many of the prophets. Most ended their ministries killed in Jerusalem by those to whom they preached and demonstrated the Kingdom. The most pious tended to be the most rejected (compare the success of Jonah to Jeremiah). Does their only value, and that of Christ, lie in their ability to win souls?

I would answer emphatically, “No.” Christ showed the Kingdom of God while on earth. Every demon that was cast out was a picture of the coming Kingdom. Every cleansed leper, every full belly, every kind word and beautiful act Jesus did was a picture of that which was about to dawn. The feeding of the 5000 was a physical prophecy of the coming Kingdom; it taught about how hunger was a fleeting thing, something which would have no place in the Kingdom of Heaven. During His ministry, Christ sends out His disciples and tells them, “Heal the sick, cleanse the lepers, raise the dead, cast out devils: freely ye have received, freely give” (Mat 10:8). Their commission was not

Eternal Value

But how could any of these physical works have any real value? Would not any earthly deed be far out-shadowed by even the smallest eternal deed? Certainly helping the poor is good; but the poor, along with their slums and villages, hunger and disease; will rot and decay, or else be consumed along with all other things in the end times. Wouldn’t even a single salvation, a single person going from mortal to eternal, outweigh any amount of conversion-less charity?

The answer depends entirely on your view of eternity. If you see heaven as a place containing only souls, then evangelism is really the only important thing. All charity must become a means to that end. But did Christ heal, cast out and feed purely for the purpose of conversion?

All Things New

But what if Christ was serious when He promised to, “Make all things new” (Rev 21:5)? What if “all things” meant more than human “souls”? What if there were more to God’s redemptive work than the human element?

Will David’s Psalms be forever consumed when the elements melt away? Or will they too have a Resurrection? Perhaps the echoes of God’s glory which we hear of in the Psalms will be given new life, unclothed of the cloak of human language, and we can hear in their full beauty the melodies which David’s soul so imperfectly expressed. Will the judgments of Moses pass away? Maybe these earthly shadows will become the pillars upon which the new Temple will stand. Will Nehemiah’s Jerusalem be destroyed by the New Jerusalem? Or will the New be built upon the eternal part of the old?

When we see the glorious appearing of the New Heavens and the New Earth, will see what God has prepared for us, using our hands to achieve his purpose? Will the Holy Place contain living paintings of the ending of the Slave Trade, of the great Christian compassion on those with the Black Death, of the steadfastness of Martin Luther, of the sacrifice of missionaries? Will the courtyard of the Temple contain sculptures of the apostles and prophets and teachers? After all, are we not the clay and He the potter?

Art and Justice and Industry and Order are all real things, or at least they are as real as we are. And though canvases and courthouses and stones will pass away, the work of Man, or at least that part of Man’s work which was on God’s behalf, will be Resurrected like Man will be (or at least that part of Man which has gained eternity). For our God is not a destroyer of the Good; will He abolish just laws, burn beautiful paintings, smash efficient machines and tear down cathedrals? No, for this is the job of another. When He comes again, it will be to make all things new, not to obliterate all things. Humanity is His tool, His paintbrush, his violin. For whatever glorious reason, He has chosen to bring about His Kingdom in us and by us.

God never rebuked the tax collector for being a tax collector (3:13) nor the soldier for being a soldier (Luke 3:14). Paul never gave a universal command for believers to leave their jobs and become missionaries. Indeed, he talked of the variety of the gifts, about the beautiful diversity of the body. Moses judged. David sang. Nehemiah built. All by God’s power and at His command. Paul didn’t judge, or sing, or build; he evangelized. But whose work will survive into eternity? Certainly the souls that were saved by Paul’s word. But are we to believe that only some of the work commanded by God will endure? Will Paul’s work endure and that of Moses and David and Nehemiah pass away? Or will all of God’s work endure, even if we cannot conceive of how?

But isn’t this a much more consistent picture of the world? Doesn’t it help make the picture of Christianity more reasonable? If salvation is the only eternal thing, then anyone not actively engaged in evangelism is wasting his time. Everything becomes wholly consumed with that. Poetry, art, business and medicine all become means to an end. God would only delight in them insofar as they were able to bring about salvation, not as things in themselves. But this is not the God who inspired the Psalms, who gave light to the stars, who designed the Temple. God cares a great deal about many other things.

It seems to me that we have simply lacked the creativity to conceive of how this might be. But we must overcome the temptation of thinking that our vague conception of the Resurrection of humans is all that really matters. We need to look forward to the glorious dawn and take Peter’s advice: “Nevertheless we, according to his promise, look for new heavens and a new earth, wherein dwelleth righteousness. Wherefore, beloved, seeing that ye look for such things, be diligent that ye may be found of him in peace, without spot, and blameless” (2Pt 3:13-14).

We certainly need to seek moral perfection of ourselves and others in Christ, but we must also do a different thing. We must “look for such things.” What things? We must “…look for new heavens and a new earth, wherein dwelleth righteousness.” God is commanding us to see the bits of His Kingdom which are now visible. We should bits of this righteousness dwelling in Beethoven’s 9^th Symphony, Notre Dame, Milton’s “Paradise Lost,” Newton’s Theory of Gravitation or Algebra. The righteousness, the dikaiosynē, the part of a thing which conforms to and glorifies the Father, ought to be sought after by us.

Then comes the really exciting part. In whatever capacity God grants us, we should be his agents in bring His Kingdom to earth. This includes evangelism, but also art and poetry and social work and government. We need to first pray to God, “Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth, as [it is] in heaven” (Mat 6:10). Then we must do the harder thing; we must take the advice God gave to Joshua when Joshua knew what he should do, “Get thee up; wherefore liest thou thus upon thy face?” (Jos 7:10). We must get up off our knees and bring God’s Kingdom to earth, by word and deed, by pen and hammer, by paintbrush and guitar, by law and contract.

Nightmares and Eternity

It’s right behind you. You’re running as fast as you can. But not fast enough. It sinks its foul teeth into your neck. You scream, but you cannot. You wake up. It was only a nightmare.

“What do you mean only a nightmare,” you should ask. Wasn’t the horror real? Surely the cold sweat proves that at least some part of you was in terrible torment moments before waking. But as soon as you see that it isn’t real, it’s better. The memory may linger, but the suffering is gone.

I’m not quite sure why it’s better when you wake up. For other things where the ‘suffering is gone,’ like a past trauma, it’s certainly possible for it not to be better. But nightmares, where you have experienced horrific losses, embarrassments, and died many times over, don’t often have the same sort of power.

I don’t know the mechanism, but I know the effect. In the presence of reality, that which is ethereal passes away as unimportant. Perhaps this is what happens in Eternity. Suffering really happened, as nightmares did, but it doesn’t matter anymore.

In the Lord of the Rings, Sam has this feeling at the end of the book; when he sees Gandalf he asks, “Is everything sad going to come untrue?” I think the answer is, “Yes.”

Eulogy of Wolf

Wolf is dead. My good friend is dead. His violent and turbulent life ended peacefully this week.

The first part of Wolf’s story is one of darkness and violence. He was a Hell’s Angel and wielded terrible power over those around him. His life was a kaleidoscope of guns, sex, drugs and the occult. He was a violent and selfish man. It was here that Steven Johnson became “Wolf.” His nickname was appropriate, for all his life he would be aggressive and never well-mannered.

His life of violence made him many enemies. One night, he knew that men were coming to kill him. He turned his home into a fortress, and armed himself for a last stand. He feared death. But he would not die that night. That night he would find True Life. He accidentally turned on the TV. The channel was TBN, and the preacher pointed to him and said he needed Jesus to forgive his sins.

Then he saw a light from heaven and he audibly heard the voice of God. He felt a warmth that started in his belly and radiated thorough his body even to the tips of his fingers. His eyes became as fountains, and he wept so that his long beard was soaked with tears. That moment, he walked out of the house, literally leaving his old life and its problems behind him.

He quickly became a powerful man of God. Upon acquiring a King James Bible, he went to a coffee shop and read through it cover to cover in a few days, barely sleeping. And from that moment on, he would live such a life of adventure as to make any hero seem a coward.

He once had a gun bag that he’d fill with many pounds of tracts and Bibles. He would fast for days on end until he had distributed them all. The police once warned him that the particular neighborhood he was in was extremely dangerous for white people; he said he didn’t care and entered anyways. His entrance attracted the local gangs to come and threaten him. But he preached the Gospel to them, and not a few were convicted of their sins and prayed for forgiveness

There were many other stories of exorcisms, poltergeists, and mighty acts of the Spirit. He took jobs in logging, construction, body-guarding and other equally manly vocations.

Later, he led a home for adolescent boys with problems. To hear of his love for those kids was heart-warming. He really cared for those who were so much like him: aggressive, angry and energetic with no positive outlet. He gave them an outlet. He taught them exercise and martial arts. He directed their anger at their own sin and Satan, and their energy to good works.

But one day, he brought a black boy into the church, and this went against the deepest, darkest racist sentiments of the church leaders. It became such an issue (tact was never one of Wolf’s talents), he was fired from his live-in position and so also evicted. He vowed then that, though his belief in Christ was firm, he would never set foot in a church again. After this, he was hit by a Cadillac Escalade, permanently injuring his back and afflicting him with great pain from which he would not have a reprieve for the rest of his life.

He became homeless. His lost job, his injury, and the depression that ensued kept him on the street. The harsh conditions of the street aggravated his difficulty breathing (COPD), the result of a lifetime of smoking. Soon, the street became his home. Abandoned by his church family, and still estranged from his natural family because of his early life, his family became the homeless of his home town: Westwood. Alienated from the rest of the world, his social circle was limited to others who had (or would have) mental problems. He struggled with depression and suicidal thoughts.

Then something incredible happened. He began praying for a church. And then one opened literally across the street from where he slept every night. Shoreline Community Church, after a series of moves, had settled on the Broxton theater. And Shoreline had a heart to reach West LA. All of it. The poor along with the rich. And so people from the church began to befriend Wolf.

He became a part of our family. He went on our family outings (including our men’s retreat and our church picnics). He slept on our couches on particularly cold and rainy nights. We bought him food, and (embarrassingly) he bought us food. He once insisted (and believe me, it’s hard to dissuade him from a thing once he sets his mind on it) on buying food for a barbeque. I’ll never forget what he said that day, with more than a dozen of us gathered to eat steak the homeless man purchased for us with his EBT (food stamps). Someone asked him what he liked with his steak. He replied heartily, “More steak!” He encouraged us and we encouraged him.

Who was Wolf to me? He was one of my good friends the last two years of college. My first conversations with him were simply out of duty. I ought to lower myself to talk with him; I ought to condescend to the poor sinner (He was a sinner, after all; he had a bad mouth; and he drank alcohol). I did not then consider that he may be closer to God than I was.

I am clean person outwardly; a friend (slightly drunk) once addressed me as, “David Carreon! The F***ing Messiah!” And this foul-mouthed, irreverent, racist homeless man taught me, a test-acing, bright-futured, spotless goodie-two-shoes. Truly, I learned many important lessons through God’s servant Wolf.

He inspired me to courage. I may not risk my life as he had, but I certainly could risk my reputation. I may not have the spiritual strength to cast out demons, but I could contend for my faith. Before I knew Wolf, I considered myself among the bravest of spiritual men. He showed me just how far I have to go.

He challenged me to spiritual discipline. This man prayed for me every night from under a pile of cardboard. He read his Bible every day though he was driven from every table he ever limped to. And what did I do? I didn’t even read my Bible 15 minutes on an oaken table in a warm room. And I didn’t pray for him. And he was the one that was needy. Or was he?

He taught me humility. How could I complain about anything when I had a bed? I helped him construct his home of cardboard behind the CitiBank in Westwood a few times. I felt the looks of scorn and the people crossing to avoid coming within ten feet of he and I. I shared in a drop of his tribulation.

He taught me faith. Through the cold of the street, the pain of his back, and an illness which left him often gasping for breath, he struggled with depression. But never would he forget his savior; he never lost the hope of glory. His strength to continue living wavered at times, but his faith never did. He was assured of his salvation, and now stands before the One in whom he trusted.

“Blessed are the poor, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.” I always thought Jesus was talking about me, a spiritually humble person. I thought, “Mine is the Kingdom of Heaven.” But I think this better applies to Wolf than to me. He was poor. He was blessed. And now, his is the Kingdom of Heaven.

Death

Like a wave, sorrow approaches me. I could clench my jaw and hold back the flow, damming up the emotion. But I keep the floodgates open, and the tears fall and fall.

My brain does not know why I cry. My sorrow is not from thoughts, for they were scattered and confused, like fireworks shooting off brightly in all directions, like a boat tossed on the violent sea of sorrow.

Death reached out and touched my brother in the Spirit this week. The cold like a fell wind penetrates the flesh and the brain to the soul. It puts a weight upon my chest that is not physical.

The spiritual is the deepest darkness of death. Death affects the emotions and the brain: sadness for separation, sorrow for pain suffered. But the blackness, the despair goes deeper than that. It goes to the very essence of my being. This is the fount of these tears.

Why do we find death so difficult? Is not this the way things have always been? Why do we yearn for an exception? Why do we want to escape from this reality of death?

It has not always been this way. And it will not always be this way. There is a memory of eternity. And there is a hope for everlasting life. And this is why we yearn: because we know this truth deeper than we know our own name.

The Valley of the Shadow of Death

I was Atlas, bearing the weight of the world pressing down on me. Under the emotional exertion, my heart beat faster, also crushed by the heavy responsibility before me.

I walked down creaking pine floorboards to where I would take up my mantle as senior “Médico,” not that 22 years gave me any qualifications for such a title. I took my place in a bare, makeshift examination room. As it seemed with everything in this part of Tijuana, the furniture was being held together by sheer ingenuity that comes with poverty.

The quiet, black fear broke out into an active yellow terror, like a rat out of a cage. I began to think of any means of escape. My mind darted left and right. Could I pass it to another? Could I leave it undone? No and no. All escape was blocked. If I was to be anything but a coward, I had to do this. I clenched my teeth, preparing for what would be an anaesthetized vivisection of my emotions.

Señor G staggered in, leaning on a friend. I greeted him warmly. He was wearing a blue Chargers hat that he had received as a gift. I complimented him on the hat, and he beamed with joy. I yearned for this moment to stretch into eternity.

It did not. The moment came that I had feared, the moment I had run through a hundred times in my mind. I had to tell him he was going to die. Sr. G had been on heroin and cocaine for many years. That together with alcohol had destroyed his liver, and he did not have long to live. He was my patient, and I alone bore the weight of delivering the news. Everyone dies, but woe unto me, for I had to translate a fact into a reality.

I gathered up all the courage within me, but it was only sufficient to produce a euphemism: “You’re not going to live much longer.”

“I know,” he replied. But he didn’t. He talked about plans he had for years ahead. And now I had to crush them.

“You don’t have much longer to live,” I tried again to make the sting of death less sharp. But death’s sting cannot be dulled by soft words.

“I know,” he said again. But still he didn’t. His planning continued.

“You’re going to die soon.” I used the word. I said it. And I saw despair in his eyes. His spirit overflowed with sorrow and his eyes with tears.

Then something happened that I did not understand. I spoke without speaking, and a voice that was not my own asked if I could pray for him. He and I shared a common faith; the request would have been reasonable, but for the alien source. Laying my hand on his shoulder, I prayed, pouring out my heart to our God. I thanked God for his love to us in giving salvation; I prayed that we would have faith in the valley of the shadow of death; I prayed in the hope of eternity. Then his dirge entered a new movement, as if a light new flute melody danced atop the low and mournful chorus: he remembered hope. The blackness of his night was pierced as if by the morning star; black indeed, but not black complete.

My own terrible weight of fear was cast into a sea of sadness. But even in the darkness above the waters, there was a wind of hope that hovered there unseen. As he limped away, I realized it would be the last time I would see him this side of eternity.

What did I fear? I entered medicine to speak Life, and I had to declare Death. I learned that doctors do not only announce hope, wearing white coats and stethoscopes; we must also proclaim doom, taking up the black hood and sickle. We are not saviors, but guides. We may be angels, but sometimes we must be the Angel of Death. Though we always desire to lead our patients out of the valley of the shadow of death, not all leave the valley. For those who must stay, we must be faithful guides even unto the grave. And it was that grim task that I feared.