Matthew 25:31-34

Scripture refers to “the kingdom of God” frequently, but many people are unclear as to its meaning. Let’s look at the past, present, and future reality of this concept.

The first thing we must realize is that the heavenly kingdom refers to everything under Christ’s control. At the moment of salvation, we are transferred from the reign of darkness to the bright authority of Jesus. And we are eternally secure in Him.

As today’s verses explain, Jesus’ kingdom and reign have been planned since the foundation of the world. From the beginning, God has been preparing mankind for what is to come. One way was by using prophets to foretell how He would redeem humanity and sovereignly rule over heaven and earth.

Once Jesus came and gave His life, He established the “present” kingdom. This isn’t a geographical locale; it’s a term describing the heart, where God’s Holy Spirit indwells believers to guide, counsel, and empower.

But there is also a future aspect of the kingdom, which we can anticipate with excitement. You are probably familiar with the words “Thy kingdom come” from the Lord’s Prayer (Luke 11:2 kjv). This speaks of the new heaven and new earth, where we will enjoy freedom from pain and sin. There, we will worship Jesus with gladness and joy for all eternity.

As God’s kingdom ambassadors, we who are His children have the responsibility and privilege of sharing the good news: Through Jesus’ death, burial, and resurrection, all who trust in Him are forgiven of sin and assured of eternal life with God. Whom can you tell about this amazing gift?

 Gregory Wolfe, editor of Image journal, tells a story about telling stories for his kids. He describes the memorable bedtimes when he attempts to concoct a series of original tales. “My kids are polite enough to raise their hands when they have some penetrating question to ask about plot, character, or setting,” he writes. “If I leave something out of the story, or commit the sin of inconsistency, these fierce critics won’t let me proceed until I’ve revised the narrative. Oddly enough, they never attempt to take over the storytelling. They are convinced that I have the authority to tell the tale, but they insist that I live up to the complete story that they know exists somewhere inside me.”(1) Children seem to detest a deficient story.

There is no doubt that our sense of the guiding authority of story and storyteller often dramatically lessens as we move from childhood to adulthood. And yet, regardless of age, there remains something deeply troubling about a story without a point, or an author not to be trusted.

 In an interview with Skeptic magazine, Richard Dawkins was asked if his view of the world was not similar to that of Shakespeare’s Macbeth: namely, that life is but “a tale told by an idiot, filled with sound and fury, signifying nothing.”(2)

 “Yes,” Dawkins replied, “at a sort of cosmic level, it is. But what I want to guard against is people therefore getting nihilistic in their personal lives. I don’t see any reason for that at all. You can have a very happy and fulfilled personal life even if you think that the universe at large is a tale told by an idiot.”(3)

 His words attempt to remove the sting his philosophy imparts. And yet, it stings regardless—both with callousness and confusion. If I am but a poor player fretting my hour upon the stage of a tale told by an idiot, what is a “fulfilling” personal life?  There is no basis in the naturalist’s philosophy for intrinsic dignity, human worth, or human rights. There is no basis for moral accountability, right or wrong, good or evil. There is no basis for the layers of my love for my husband, the cry of my heart for justice, or the recognition on my conscience that I am often missing the mark. There is no room for my surprise at time’s passing or my longing for something beyond what I am capable of fully reaching in this moment.  This is not the story I know.

 In the words of G.K. Chesterton, “I had always felt life first a story: and if there is a story there is a story-teller.”

 Could it be that our relationship to stories, our first love of the tale beyond us and the author beside us, conveys a deep truth about our own cosmic tale?  Are not the very philosophies we carry attempts to make sense of the grand story of which we find ourselves a part? 

 The first words of Genesis 1 boldly claim that we are not lost and wandering in a cosmic circle of time and chance. There is a story that emerges from the beginning, and we have a place within it. Similarly, the writer of Hebrews describes Jesus as the author and finisher of our faith, where ultimate significance is aptly defined as being written into the story of God. God’s Word places us in the timeline of a coherent history, delivering us from the deceptions of the enemy, telling us who we are, and where we came from, what is wrong with us, how we are made whole, and where we are going. We are placed within a story of which we know and celebrate the outcome, even as we wait for it through time and trial. In Christ, history’s outcome—its ultimate end—is revealed. Dark days may follow, but the ending is known. It is a story neither deficient, nor untrustworthy.

 C.S. Lewis fittingly describes heaven at the end of his Chronicles of Narnia as a place where good things continually increase and life is an everlasting story in which “every chapter is better than the one before.”  His compelling reflection has often reminded me of Christ’s beloved disciple in the closing chapters of his testimony to the significance of Jesus Christ. Notes John, “If all of the acts of Christ were recorded, the world would not have enough room for all the books that would be written” (John 21:24-26). Like children, eyes widen at the thought. What a story to be a part of, a life to find touching your own.

 Jill Carattini is managing editor of A Slice of Infinity at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries in Atlanta, Georgia.

 (1) Gregory Wolfe, Intruding Upon the Timeless: Meditations on Art, Faith, and Mystery (Square Halo Books: Baltimore, 2003), 81-82.
(2) Skeptic, vol. 3, no. 4, 1995, pp. 80-85.
(3) Ibid.

Morning  “For I was ashamed to require of the king a band of soldiers and horsemen to
help us against the enemy in the way: because we had spoken unto the king,
saying, The hand of our God is upon all them for good that seek him; but his
power and his wrath is against all them that forsake him.” / Ezra 8:22

A convoy on many accounts would have been desirable for the pilgrim band, but
a holy shame-facedness would not allow Ezra to seek one. He feared lest the
heathen king should think his professions of faith in God to be mere
hypocrisy, or imagine that the God of Israel was not able to preserve his own
worshippers. He could not bring his mind to lean on an arm of flesh in a
matter so evidently of the Lord, and therefore the caravan set out with no
visible protection, guarded by him who is the sword and shield of his people.
It is to be feared that few believers feel this holy jealousy for God; even
those who in a measure walk by faith, occasionally mar the lustre of their
life by craving aid from man. It is a most blessed thing to have no props and
no buttresses, but to stand upright on the Rock of Ages, upheld by the Lord
alone. Would any believers seek state endowments for their Church, if they
remembered that the Lord is dishonoured by their asking Caesar’s aid? as if
the Lord could not supply the needs of his own cause! Should we run so hastily
to friends and relations for assistance, if we remembered that the Lord is
magnified by our implicit reliance upon his solitary arm? My soul, wait thou
only upon God. “But,” says one, “are not means to be used?” Assuredly they
are; but our fault seldom lies in their neglect: far more frequently it
springs out of foolishly believing in them instead of believing in God. Few
run too far in neglecting the creature’s arm; but very many sin greatly in
making too much of it. Learn, dear reader, to glorify the Lord by leaving
means untried, if by using them thou wouldst dishonour the name of the Lord.

Evening   “I sleep, but my heart waketh.” / Song of Solomon 5:2

Paradoxes abound in Christian experience, and here is one–the spouse was
asleep, and yet she was awake. He only can read the believer’s riddle who has
ploughed with the heifer of his experience. The two points in this evening’s
text are–a mournful sleepiness and a hopeful wakefulness. I sleep. Through
sin that dwelleth in us we may become lax in holy duties, slothful in
religious exercises, dull in spiritual joys, and altogether supine and
careless. This is a shameful state for one in whom the quickening Spirit
dwells; and it is dangerous to the highest degree. Even wise virgins sometimes
slumber, but it is high time for all to shake off the bands of sloth. It is to
be feared that many believers lose their strength as Samson lost his locks,
while sleeping on the lap of carnal security. With a perishing world around
us, to sleep is cruel; with eternity so near at hand, it is madness. Yet we
are none of us so much awake as we should be; a few thunder-claps would do us
all good, and it may be, unless we soon bestir ourselves, we shall have them
in the form of war, or pestilence, or personal bereavements and losses. O that
we may leave forever the couch of fleshly ease, and go forth with flaming
torches to meet the coming Bridegroom! My heart waketh. This is a happy sign.
Life is not extinct, though sadly smothered. When our renewed heart struggles
against our natural heaviness, we should be grateful to sovereign grace for
keeping a little vitality within the body of this death. Jesus will hear our
hearts, will help our hearts, will visit our hearts; for the voice of the
wakeful heart is really the voice of our Beloved, saying, “Open to me.” Holy
zeal will surely unbar the door.

“Oh lovely attitude! He stands

With melting heart and laden hands;

My soul forsakes her every sin;

And lets the heavenly stranger in.”

I slept, but my heart was awake.    Song of Songs 5:2

Paradoxes abound in Christian experience, and here is one: The spouse was asleep, and yet she was awake. The only one who can read the believer’s riddle is he who has lived through this experience. The two points in this evening’s text are: a mournful sleepiness and a hopeful wakefulness. “I slept.” Through sin that dwells in us we may become lax in holy duties, lazy in religious exercises, dull in spiritual joys, and completely indolent and careless.

This is a shameful state for one in whom the quickening Spirit dwells; and it is dangerous in the highest degree. Even wise virgins sometimes slumber, but it is high time for all to shake off the chains of idleness. It is to be feared that many believers lose their strength as Samson lost his hair, while sleeping on the lap of carnal security. With a perishing world around us, to sleep is cruel; with eternity so close at hand, it is madness.

Yet none of us are as awake as we should be; a few thunderclaps would do us all good, and it may be, unless we soon stir ourselves, we will have them in the form of war or disease or personal bereavements and loss. May we leave forever the couch of fleshly ease, and go out with flaming torches to meet the coming Bridegroom! “My heart was awake.”

This is a happy sign. Life is not extinct, though sadly smothered. When our renewed heart struggles against our natural heaviness, we should be grateful to sovereign grace for keeping a little vitality within this body of death. Jesus will hear our hearts, will help our hearts, will visit our hearts; for the voice of the wakeful heart is really the voice of our Beloved, saying, “Open to me.” Holy zeal will surely unlock the door.

 Oh lovely attitude! He stands

With melting heart and laden hands;

My soul forsakes her every sin;

And lets the heavenly stranger in.

 Family Reading Plan    Ezekiel 27  Psalm 76