The Two Kingdoms

What does it mean that Christians are to be the light of the world? In the historical church, there have been two very different ideas about this. How does the "city on a hill" function in a fallen world? Until recently, I hadn't deeply considered this question. And after considering it, I've had to reevaluate some of my positions.

In his epistles, Paul gave many moral guidances to the churches. To the Galatians, he wrote, "The acts of the sinful nature are obvious: sexual immorality, impurity and debauchery; idolatry and witchcraft; hatred, discord, jealousy, fits of rage, selfish ambition, dissensions, factions and envy; drunkenness, orgies, and the like. I warn you, as I did before, that those who live like this will not inherit the kingdom of God" (Gal. 5:19-21). There is much ink spilt in the New Testament reprimanding the believers for their behavior. Obviously, our actions as Christians are not a small matter.

But some have taken this sort of moral admonition together with the "city on a hill" parable to mean that Christians are to serve as the world's moral compass. And this makes sense, right? Doesn't the moral law apply to everyone, Christians and non-Christians alike? It does indeed. But nowhere in the Bible does Christ assign his followers the role of morality police. In reading the gospels, you'll find quite the opposite. Jesus' followers were commanded not to resist evil, to take up their crosses, and to endure suffering for doing good.

For the first centuries of its existence, the Church thrived as a suppressed minority. Even while being persecuted and scattered by its enemies, the Church was setting an example of love and good works, humility, charity, and nonviolent submission. They endured suffering cheerfully—because what they suffered, Christ had suffered more and had overcome.

But one important historical event changed the face of the earthly church. In AD 313 the Emperor Constantine endorsed Christianity as the state religion. Many church bodies see this as an act of grace; the persecutions were ended, and finally the church could grow and carry out mission work unopposed. But it came at a high cost.

The power that Christ gave to his Church was of a radically different kind than the power that earthly political leaders wield. This was no more apparent than when Jesus, the King of kings, faced off with Pontius Pilate. Jesus wasn't interested in overthrowing Rome and casting off the chains of tyranny, even though he had such power at his disposal. To Pilate's question of Jesus' kingship, his simple response was, "My kingdom is not of this world." And though he could have taken the earth by force and set it beneath his feet, he submitted to some of the most brutal tortures devised by man. Whenever he spoke to his disciples of this paradoxical Kingdom of God, it was in humble terms: wheat among thorns, a mustard seed, yeast in bread, salt in meat.

Such pictures are incompatible with political authority—the kind of authority that was handed to the church after Constantine that became the Holy Roman Empire. When the church began to wield such power (while well intentioned at first), it became as corrupt as the institutions that it sought to replace. It began to think that ridding the world of pagans and conquering under the sign of the cross was its divine calling. But when we look back at Jesus' words, we can see why this transformation took place; they had forgotten that their citizenship was in heaven! The Church on earth was not given a commission to forge heaven on earth, but to "go and make disciples of all nations." How? Not by the sword or by political means, but by "baptizing them" and "teaching them" (Mt. 28:19-20).  The Church was never meant to have the kind of authority wielded by a pope, emperor, king, or president. Yeast doesn't conquer the bread by force; it works quietly, invisibly, within.

Yet many Christians today still have the idea that their purpose is to make non-Christians into moral people. Preaching the gospel of love (if it is still a goal at all) becomes secondary to preaching decent behavior. This is of course putting the cart before the horse; faith must come before obedience. Obedience to the Law for the Law's sake brings only death (Ro. 7:10, 1 Cor. 15:56). The obedience that Paul spoke of to the Galatians is the "fruit of the Spirit," a thankful response from baptized and redeemed children of God. (Besides all this, you would think by now we would have learned that the world cannot be taught to obey God's Law when it has made itself God's enemy.)

And so it isn't difficult to see the thread connecting Constantine to the stereotypical "Christian activist," holding signs that say "God hates fags" and making death threats to abortion doctors. The Kingdom of God has become tangled with the kingdom of this world. We are blessed with many freedoms in the U.S., including the freedom of speech and the right to elect our leaders, but we must be cautious not to let our political concerns become our spiritual concerns. One can hardly imagine the early Christians standing on the street corners in Corinth protesting homosexuality. It would have been both utterly futile and a gross misunderstanding of the Christian calling. I have found myself shouting across 'picket fences' all too often concerning abortion, gay marriage, race, politics, etc. Maybe that is because the job that Christ has called us to do is much harder than condemning sin—it is pointing to our Savior, by following in his example, by showing unconditional love, and by sharing the gospel message.