The Kin-dom of God

By: The Rev. Brenda Sol

“What have you done?” Or maybe, if it was you, you’d say: “What have you done?” I’m guessing we’ve all blurted out that phrase, on one occasion or another—especially in response to our children. “What have you done?” Or, perhaps, you’ve just screamed it in your head, while dealing with an employee, when you're at your wit’s end.

 This is what Pilate—in this morning's Gospel reading—demands to know from Jesus. Pilate’s trying to sort out what’s his to do, and what he’s being pressured to do. There seems to be a bit of curiosity in the mix as well, as he asks Jesus: “Your own nation and the chief priests have handed you over to me. What have you done?” Of course, we know what Jesus has done. He has consistently turned things on end.

Over and over, he breaks cultural norms, going against the status quo to speak out on behalf of those whose voice is usually ignored. And the people around Jesus find his actions a bit more than mildly irritating. His constant bucking the system has them so riled-up, they demand Pilate prosecute him, the first chance they get.

I remember a time when a colleague of mine, pounded his fist against his forehead, mumbling: “What have you done?” We were team-teachers in a combined 3rd and 4th grade classroom in Portland, Oregon. He’d warned me, the day before, that I shouldn’t confront the principal, but I did it anyway. And, now, he was worried we would both suffer the repercussions of the person whom we referred to as a “female Napoleon”.

She was the kind of school principal that led with the motto: “Children First”. But the motto was only a tagline. When it came down to it, meetings, budgets, hiring practices, etc., took priority over what was best for the children. In her defense, part of the challenge was our school served the largest low-income housing project in the state of Oregon. So these kids needed lots of extra attention, and, as so often happens in contexts like that, the budget couldn’t support the needs.

In particular, on the day of my encounter with her, I was having a heart-to-heart with one of our fourth graders, whose parents were going through a messy divorce. He was a smart kid with a big heart, but all the transitions—which were probably not handled well at home—resulted in him being very disruptive during class, and on the playground.

I really felt like I was getting through to him, in our after-school chat, but then the principal burst into our classroom, and loudly announced that I was late for the staff meeting. I looked up from the student, replying, “As soon as Deon and I are done talking, I’ll be right there.”

She countered with, “You’ll come to the meeting. Now.”

So, the answer to my team-teacher’s cry of “What have you done?”, was that, I had gone to the principal’s office to ask her to help me understand how “Children First” didn’t mean the same thing in all settings. I spoke out for a voice that was typically ignored—a voice of one who was oppressed in so many ways.

The scriptural stories we encounter seem so much more monumental than talking to a principal on behalf of a child. Yet, in Jesus’s model, we find that it really is that simple. We are called to use our power to help those who haven’t been granted the same privilege. We must strive to do what we can, in our own contexts—whether in our home, in our neighborhoods, or at work—to speak out on behalf of those who need reminding (as so many of us do) that we are ALL God's beloved.

Jesus says it this way: “For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.” And, in older liturgical calendars, this Sunday is referred to as “Christ the King”. Pulled from other scriptural passages, the intention was to also turn things on end, replacing monarchy with our grace-filled and merciful God.

But in our more contemporary understandings of monarchy, it’s often questioned whether this is still a suitable metaphor. Kings weren’t always benevolent rulers, with the people’s well-being at the top of their priorities. And all of that flies in the face of what we hear Jesus saying about getting rid of hierarchy, while insisting we all share responsibility for bringing about God’s full reign…here on earth.

So, these days, this Sunday is more often called the “Reign of Christ”. While we often relate reign (R-E-I-G-N) with royal authority, reign also means the period during which one has dominion. This is God’s dominion.

Which is why so many theologians, priests and writers refuse to speak of God’s “kingdom”. Instead, many of us say, God’s “kin-dom”, purposefully leaving out the “g” of kingdom to indicate the inclusivity and non-hierarchical nature of a kin-dom—a realm where we are all connected—where we are “kin” and responsible for, and accountable to, each other. Not a realm where a king rules over us.

This could easily be labeled: “just semantics”—that we’re simply stirring around a pot of words in ways that don’t matter. But semantics, and how we use our words—especially to give voice to the oppressed—are important. Like Jesus, we can flip our words on end. That’s what excited me about a book I heard of recently.

The book is called Gracism. And though I haven’t yet read it, I understand the message is that we, as followers of Christ, use our voices to counteract racism, sexism, agism, etc., with God’s grace. In Gracism: The Art of Inclusion, Rev. Dr. David Anderson offers seven practices, or sayings, that we might use in our efforts to practice “Gracism”. They are:

1.     I will lift you up

2.     I will cover you

3.     I will share with you

4.     I will honor you

5.     I will stand with you

6.     I will consider you

7.     I will celebrate with you

We endeavor toward gracism, not only because Jesus models such life-affirming actions, but also because we are people of hope. Hope that comes from understanding oppression and seeing both the realities of that—as well as the Good News of Christ in juxtaposition of that—reflected throughout the Bible.

So, I’ll wrap-up by pointing you back to our reading from Revelations—a book written for, and by, oppressed people, imagining their troubles being flipped on end, as they lean into the depth and breadth of God’s love. Lifting up what they know to be true, they say, all of this comes from the God who was, the God who is, and the God who is to come…the true God—the Alpha and the Omega.

-AMEN