Tag: kingdom

A king forever (2 Sam 7; Pentecost 9B)

“A king forever”. That is the promise of these well-known words in 2 Samuel 7, which we will hear and reflect on in worship this coming Sunday. They are significant words for Jews; they are also significant words for Christians, for they have informed the way that followers of Jesus would talk about him. The words are given initially to David, only the second king of Israel, but the one who would provide descendants to sit on the throne for half a millennium.

The words of the prophet Nathan, given to him (as he says) by the Lord God, are reported and remembered over those centuries as validation of the power of those kings, even though so many of them “did evil in the sight of the Lord” (as later verses in the historical narratives of Israel report). God stood by those leaders over many generations, consistently reminding the people of their responsibility to adhere to the covenant, affirming them at moments when their faith is evident, and rebuking them at times when that is not the case.

These words have been remembered further by Christians, who see that in Jesus, God has sent “the King of the ages” (1 Tim 1:17), to whom “belong the glory and the power forever and ever” (1 Pet 4:11; also Rom 16:26; Eph 3:21). This is in accord with the “eternal purpose that [God] has carried out in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Eph 3:11), to lead believers to “eternal life” (Luke 10:25; John 17:3; Rom 5:21; 6:23).

Of course, in those words which Nathan speaks to David, we recognise the play on words that occurs. David understands God to be promising a “house” which is “a house of cedar” (v.7), but God actually intends to establish “offspring after you … his kingdom” (v.12).

Writing in With Love to the World, Mel Pouvalu observes that “The word “house” is used fifteen times in 2 Samuel 7, where it has three different meanings. It refers to David’s palace (vv.1–2), to the temple of the Lord God (vv.5–7, 13), and then to David’s dynasty (vv.11, 16, 18–19, 25–27, 29).” She continues, “It is important to see that our ways are not God’s ways, even if we mean well. The story promises a stable future for generations to come, and these narratives are reminders that God will always be seeking us.”

The motif of a kingdom that lasts “forever” is linked both with the affirmation that there will be a king “forever”, and also with the belief that the covenant with Israel will last “forever”. That there will be a king “forever” is integral to God’s promise to David that “your throne shall be established forever” (2 Sam 7:16), repeated by the Chronicler, “when your days are fulfilled to go to be with your ancestors, I will raise up your offspring after you, one of your own sons, and I will establish his kingdom … and I will establish his throne forever” (1 Chron 17:11–12).

The kingdom that will last “forever” is introduced by God’s words in 2 Samuel 7, where God promises David that “your house and your kingdom shall be made sure forever before me” (2 Sam 7:16). The Chronicler also repeats this promise, quoting God as saying of David, “I will confirm him in my house and in my kingdom forever, and his throne shall be established forever” (1 Chron 17:14).

Affirmation of a covenant that will last forever is found in a number of psalms. “The Lord our God … is mindful of his covenant forever, of the word that he commanded, for a thousand generations, the covenant that he made with Abraham, his sworn promise to Isaac, which he confirmed to Jacob as a statute, to Israel as an everlasting covenant” (Ps 105:7–10).

The covenant is noted in a number of psalms. “The friendship of the Lord is for those who fear him, and he makes his covenant known to them”, sings the psalmist (Ps 25:14). “I have made a covenant with my chosen one, I have sworn to my servant David”, God sings in another psalm; “I will establish your descendants forever, and build your throne for all generations” (Ps 89:3–4).

In this same psalm, God affirms that, even if the children of David “forsake my law and do not walk according to my ordinances”, God will punish them, but “forever I will keep my steadfast love for him, and my covenant with him will stand firm … I will not violate my covenant, or alter the word that went forth from my lips” (Ps 89:28, 34). That covenant is to last “forever” (Ps 111:9).

The ultimate message, then, is that God will stand by the leaders of Israel, punishing them, forgiving them, loving them at each step along the way. A promise to sustain a king and a kingdom “forever”, by virtue of a covenant that lasts “forever”, undergirds this reality for the people of Israel. The modern nation state of Israel has adopted this confident assertion, although without any critical appreciation of the context and the purpose of this promise in antiquity. The dreadful results of this unthinking adoption of the mantra that “God is always with us” is playing out in the many deaths, injuries, and sadness that is taking place in Gaza, even today.

Of course, in the traditional understanding of Christianity, the “forever” component has been taken up in the application of 2 Samuel 7 to Jesus of Nazareth. Jesus is acclaimed as “Son of David” in the Synoptic Gospels (Mark 10:47–48; 12:35; Luke 3:31; 18:38–39; and especially in Matt 1:1, 20; 9:27; 12:23; 15:22; 20:30–31; 21:9, 15; 22:42). This claim is also noted at John 7:42; Rom 1:3; 2 Tim 2:8; Rev 3:7; 5:5; 22:16). The heritage of David lives on in these stories.

This particular son of David, as Christian understanding develops, was understood to be king “forever”; “he will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end” (Luke 1:31–33). The covenant that he has renewed and enacted with the people of God is “forever” (Heb 9:15; 12:20); and the kingdom that he proclaimed and for which we hope will also be “forever” (2 Pet 1:11).

In the late first century document that we know as letter to the Ephesians, for instance, the resurrected Jesus is seen as seated at the right hand of God “in the heavenly places, far above all rule and authority and power and dominion, and above every name that is named” (Eph 1:20–21). That place of authority for Jesus is envisaged as stretching into eternity, “not only in this age but also in the age to come” (1:20), and as encompassing all places, for God “has put all things under his feet and has made him the head over all things” (1:22).

The global and eternal rule of Christ is here clearly articulated. The statement by the writer that God “seated [Jesus] at his right hand in the heavenly places, far above all rule and authority and power and dominion” (1:20–21) has inspired the development of the imagery of Christ as Pantocrator (Greek for “ruler of all”) in Eastern churches, both Orthodox and Catholic.


Jesus Christ Pantocrator; from a mosaic in the Hagia Sophia mosque (formerly a church), in Istanbul

This line of thinking has culminated in the festival of the Reign of Christ, which has been celebrated in the Roman Catholic Church since it was introduced by Pope Pius XI in 1925. It has since been adopted by Lutheran, Anglican, and various Protestant churches around the world, and also, apparently, by the Western Rite parishes of the Russian Orthodox Church Outside Russia.

1925 was a time when Fascist dictators were rising to power in Europe. I have read that “the specific impetus for the Pope establishing this universal feast of the Church was the martyrdom of a Catholic priest, Blessed Miguel Pro, during the Mexican revolution”; see Today’s Catholic, 18 Nov 2014, at

Christ the King

The article continues, “The institution of this feast was, therefore, almost an act of defiance from the Church against all those who at that time were seeking to absolutize their own political ideologies, insisting boldly that no earthly power, no particular political system or military dictatorship is ever absolute. Rather, only God is eternal and only the Kingdom of God is an absolute value, which never fails.”

The scriptures puncture the pomposity of powerful kings, and subversively present Jesus as the one who stands against all that those kings did. This festival provides a unique way of reflecting on the eternal kingship of Jesus. It offers a distinctive way for considering how the kingship bestowed upon David has been understood to last “forever”.

With Love to the World is a daily Bible reading resource, written and produced within the Uniting Church in Australia, following the Revised Common Lectionary. It offers Sunday worshippers the opportunity to prepare for hearing passages of scripture in the week leading to that day of worship. It seeks to foster “an informed faith” amongst the people of God.

You can subscribe on your phone or iPad via an App, for a subscription of $28 per year. Search for With Love to the World on the App Store, or UCA—With Love to the World on Google Play. For the hard copy resource, for just $28 for a year’s subscription, email Trevor at wlwuca@bigpond.com or phone +61 (2) 9747-1369.

I will be a father to him, and he shall be a son to me (2 Sam 7; Advent 4B)

During this season of Advent, the lectionary offers a selection of biblical passages designed to help us in our preparations, building to the climactic moment of Christmas Day, when we remember that “the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth” (John 1:14).

These scripture passages have include a sequence of excerpts from the Hebrew Scriptures—largely from the book of Isaiah—which orient us to the saving work of God, experienced by faithful people in Israel through the ages. These scripture passages inform us as to how God might be understood to be at work in the story of Jesus. For my part, I don’t read these Hebrew Scripture passages as “predictions” pointing to Jesus. Rather, I consider that the prophets and psalmists of ancient times were addressing their own situations, not peering into the distant future.

How I read these passages is not in a simplistic prophecy—fulfilment pattern. That is too crass, and it pays no respect at all to the wisdom of faithful people in ancient Israel. Rather, I read these passages as testimonies to the way that faithful people of old understood and experienced God to be at work in their own times, in their own lives. What they wrote—the word of the Lord for their own time—has been repeated and remembered, retold by word of mouth and written onto scrolls which, over time have become recognised as important, influential, even inspired words of wisdom.

So whilst the Hebrew Scripture passages tell us of how God had been at work in years past, they are retained as relevant words which provide guidance and direction for understanding how God would presumably be at work in later times, in the times of Jesus, and indeed in our own times today. When we read and hear and ponder these ancient words, we are opening our hearts and minds to the guidance of God’s Spirit, instructing us in our lives of faith today.

For the fourth Sunday in Advent, we are offered a well-known passage from 2 Samuel; the message that the prophet Nathan receives from the Lord God, which he is instructed to convey to King David (2 Sam 7:1–11, 16). Curiously, the lectionary omits the final comment of the narrator, “in accordance with all these words and with all this vision, Nathan spoke to David” (2 Sam 7:17).

It is worth understanding where this passage comes in the narrative flow of events, for it occurs at a critical time in the story of the people of Israel. In earlier chapters, the prophet Samuel had (somewhat reluctantly) anointed Saul as king in Israel (1 Sam 10:1). This was done in obedience to a direct word of the Lord to Samuel: “I will send to you a man from the land of Benjamin, and you shall anoint him to be ruler over my people Israel. He shall save my people from the hand of the Philistines; for I have seen the suffering of my people, because their outcry has come to me.” (1 Sam 9:16).

However, in the midst of his battles with the Philistines, Saul eventually kills himself, when he sees how hopeless the situation has become (1 Sam 31). The early chapters of 2 Samuel recount the antagonism and chaos of the ensuing days, as “the people of Judah … anointed David king over the house of Judah” (2 Sam 2:4). However, “there was a long war between the house of Saul and the house of David”; during the course of this war “David grew stronger and stronger, while the we Bw ww c house of Saul and and became weaker and weaker” (2 Sam 3:1).

At this point in the story, David recognises an incongruity: “I am living in a house of cedar, but the ark of God stays in a tent”, he tells Nathan (2 Sam 7:2). The implication is that David is now about to redeploy the carpenters and masons whom King Hiram of Tyre had earlier provided for him to build his own house (2 Sam 5:11), and commission them now to build a house for God to live in (2 Sam 7:5).

So the Lord God directs the prophet Nathan to intervene, reminding him that “I have not lived in a house since the day I brought up the people of Israel from Egypt to this day, but I have been moving about in a tent and a tabernacle” (2 Sam 7:6). Samuel is to inform David that God does not need a house to be built for his residence. Rather, God will create a “house” for David; but that house will not be a cedar lodge of multiple rooms, but a royal dynasty with a lineage of monarchs.

The wordplay on “house” is at the heart of this passage. In Hebrew, the word bayith can equally refer to a structure built for people to live in, or to a collection of people living together as a household or related as a family group. That is the same as the English word “house”, which can refer to a domestic structure or a family group. While David yearns to build a structure to house the Lord God—a temple—the intentions of God for David are rather that he will build a family—a dynasty—which will ensure the security of the nation in future generations.

God promises David that he will make him the first in a line of men to rule over Israel—indeed, God promises that “I will establish the throne of his kingdom forever” (2 Sam 7:13). So confident is the Lord God about this promise that he repays it; “your house and your kingdom shall be made sure forever before me; your throne shall be established forever” (7:16).

I think the thrice-repeated claim “forever” is hyperbolic grandstanding; the united kingdom that David inherited from Saul and bequeathed to Solomon did not last “forever”. In less than a century, the kingdom was divided; in another two centuries, the northern kingdom had been defeated and there were no rulers in the line of David, and within another one-and-a-half centuries the southern kingdom had met the same fate.

Later generations would cling to that promise and interpret it in various ways. The narrator of 1–2 Samuel and 1–2 Kings tells of the continuation of this promise over the centuries. Whoever edited the final version (sometime in the Exile, is the best guess) would have known that the promise did not actually last “forever”; yet they retained that claim in the narrative of 2 Sam 7. The promise had been made; even knowing that it was not carried through in history, that story still was to be told.

Various psalms follow suit, celebrating that God “shows steadfast love to his anointed, to David and his descendants forever” (Ps 18:50), bestowing blessings on David forever (Ps 21:6; 45:2), ensuring that “your throne, O God, endures forever and ever” (Ps 45:6), and offering prayers for the king, “may he be enthroned forever before God” (Ps 61:7), “may his name endure forever” (Ps 72:17).

Similarly, even whilst in exile, the prophet Jeremiah celebrates the promise that “David shall never lack a man to sit on the throne of the house of Israel” (Jer 33:17). However, as the prophet surveys “the towns of Judah and the streets of Jerusalem that are desolate, without inhabitants, human or animals” (Jer 33:10), he considers, at least fleetingly, the consequence that David “would not have a son to reign on his throne” (Jer 33:21).

(Nevertheless, the oracle ends with a reversion to the hope that God “will restore their fortunes, and will have mercy upon them”, v.26; earlier, Jeremiah had spoken of the “righteous Branch” who would “spring up for David”, v.15. Indeed, all the exilic prophets hold strongly to the hope of a restored and renewed kingdom.)

However, the definitive break of the line is clearly envisaged at the same time, during the exile, by one of the psalmists, in Psalm 89. Initially, in this psalm, the psalmist declares that “your steadfast love is established forever” (v.2), notes that God’s “hand shall always remain” with David (v.21), and affirms that “his line shall continue forever” (v.36).

And yet, that psalmist continues, “you have spurned and rejected him; you are full of wrath against your anointed” (v.38), “you have removed the scepter from his hand and hurled his throne to the ground” (v.44). The psalm ends with lament: “Lord, where is your steadfast love of old, which by your faithfulness you swore to David?” (v.49).

Clearly, “forever” did not mean for all time, in some aspects of the developing Jewish understanding. The period of exile was indeed the catalyst for consideration of how a Jewish nation might continue; from this time onwards, many Jews continued to practice their religion in the Diaspora, right through to the present. But their practices and customs changed, developed, adapted. And as the sages of the people grappled with ways to live out their faith in a healthy way in those dispersed contexts, they developed various reassessments of the previously strong links between the king, the covenant, and the Lord God. “Forever” did not mean “forever”.

And yet in Christianity, the promise was seen to be still valid; indeed, the Christian claim is that it was continuing in Jesus. The angel Gabriel tells the pregnant Mary that the child she will bear “will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end” (Luke 1:33). The writer of the letter to the Hebrews quotes Psalm 45:6 and applies it directly to the Son: “your throne, O God, is forever and ever” (Heb 1:8), while the author of Revelation foresees that when the seventh angel blew his trumpet, “there were loud voices in heaven, saying, ‘The kingdom of the world has become the kingdom of our Lord
and of his Messiah, and he will reign forever and ever’” (Rev 11:15).

So the inclusion of this story in the readings for Advent 4 is, no doubt, because of the Christian understanding that Jesus stands in the line of David, as the shepherd of his sheep, and as the one who rules over the house of God in an eternal kingdom that will never end. (Quite uncharacteristically for me, I have here combined ideas from a number of biblical texts into one harmonised theological statement. This is what systematic theology often does.)

David, the shepherd boy, is anointed as King and designated as the head of a house that will provide leaders stretching into the future in a kingdom that will “be made sure forever before me” (2 Sam 7:16). Jesus is claimed to be of the house of David (Luke 1:27; Matt 1:20) and is acclaimed as “Son of David” (Mark 10:47–48; Matt 20:30–31; Luke 18:38–39), a title that is especially emphasised elsewhere in Matthew’s Gospel (Matt 9:27; 12:23; 15:22; 21:9, 15). The title, for Jewish hearers of those early Gospels, signals the belief that God is at work through this person, Jesus, to guide and lead the people of God.

This Hebrew Scripture passage, like others we have read and heard during Advent, thus orients us to the saving work of God, experienced by faithful people in Israel through the ages, which is later claimed by followers of Jesus to have been manifested in his life. For that reason, we hear it during this Advent season; not as a prophecy which was fulfilled by Jesus, but as a testimony to the ways of God which continue from aeons ago into the present time.

Going into the kingdom of God ahead of you (Matt 21; Pentecost 18A)

Two weeks ago, in following along with the excerpts from the Gospel of Matthew which the Revised Common Lectionary has been offering us this year, we heard a parable that threatened that God would torture a person until they forgave a person who owed them a modest debt (18:23–35). Where is the compassion in that? Is this really what we understand God to be like? Should this story really be in our scriptures?

Last week, we heard a parable in which people who laboured in a vineyard for quite different lengths of time were given the same pay at the end of the day (20:1–16). Where is the justice in that? The rationale for this is that “the last will be first, and the first will be last” (20:16)—a saying that Jesus utters on other occasions, as well. Is this really what we understand the kingdom will be like? Does this unjust story really deserve a place in our scriptures?

This week, we will be confronted with a parable in which two sons each say one thing, but do the opposite (21:28–30). Where is the honesty in that? Be a person of your word—do what you say, say what you mean to do! But there is even more, as Jesus continues on after having spoken this parable with words that are even more confronting: “the tax collectors and the prostitutes are going into the kingdom of God ahead of you” (21: 31). Is this really what we have to look forward to? It makes me want to cry out, “Hey! there’s a queue here—just wait your turn!”

Parables, according to Tim Mackie and Jon Collins of the Bible Project, were used by Jesus as “a means of indirect communication to critique and dismantle his listener’s views of the world to show them the true nature of God’s Kingdom.” See https://bibleproject.com/podcast/parables-subversive-critique/

And so that is the case in each of these parables. There’s a good amount of critiquing and dismantling going on; and a fair bit, also, of reconstructing a picture of what that kingdom might well be like. Whilst we might expect—indeed, we might yearn—to have stories which reinforce our view that God is loving, kind, and compassionate to all, the fact is that the parable of the unjust steward—and other sayings of Jesus—insist that God exercises vengeance in the course of ensuring justice.

We might well hope to have stories that communicate that God’s justice means equity and fairness for everyone; yet the parable of the labourers in the vineyard—and other sayings of Jesus—insist that God operates in ways that are counter-cultural and in opposition to the expected norms of fairness in society.

And certainly we might anticipate that Jesus will tell stories that assure us of the claim that a life of faithful obedience and careful adherence to stringent ethical standards will lead to our experiencing the welcoming arms of God, perhaps a prioritised means of entry into the loving embrace of God; yet the conclusion that Jesus offers to the parable of the two sons is completely different, with a shocking declaration that those entering the kingdom ahead of us will be precisely the people that we would expect to be debarred from entry!

What is going on? And in particular, why does Jesus assert that “the tax collectors and the prostitutes are going into the kingdom of God ahead of you” (21:31)?

*****

In the three Synoptic Gospels, Jesus is presented as one who “eats with tax collectors and sinners” (Mark 2:15–16; Matt 9:10–11; Luke 5:30–31). Jesus clearly declares, “I have come to call not the righteous but sinners” (Mark 2:17; Matt 9:13; Luke 5:32). Two of those Gospels also report that he was known as “a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners” (Matt 11:19; Luke 7:34).

Indeed, Matthew, one of the twelve men initially called to be a disciple, was a tax collector (Matt 9:9; 10:3), although in Luke’s narrative he is named as Levi (Luke 5:27). This man, Levi, does not appear amongst the twelve named disciples (Luke 6:13–16; Acts 1:13), and the Matthew named in these Lukan lists is not identified as a tax collector.

In a striking parable reported only by Luke, a tax collector is presented favourably, in contrast to a Pharisee (Luke 18:9–14); that story resonates with the affirmation of tax collectors given at Matt 21:31–32. Soon after that parable is told, Luke reports an encounter that Jesus had with a rich chief tax collector named Zacchaeus (Luke 19:1–10). In this passage, the tax collector acts above and beyond the call,of duty, announcing that “half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much” (Luke 19:8).

By contrast, in a teaching passage found only in Matthew’s Gospel, tax collectors are linked with Gentiles in a declaration that a recalcitrant sinner who refuses to repent after being given multiple opportunities should be considered “as a Gentile and a tax collector” (Matt 18:17), clearly indicating that they are to be expelled from the community.

That statement appears to be in direct contradiction to the later declaration of the Matthean Jesus that we hear in this coming Sunday’s passage—a declaration that “the tax collectors and the prostitutes are going into the kingdom of God” ahead of the (presumably) faithful disciples, because “John came to you in the way of righteousness and you did not believe him, but the tax collectors and the prostitutes believed him; and even after you saw it, you did not change your minds and believe him” (Matt 21:31–32).

These words seem to correlate with the earlier aphorism of Jesus, “the last will be first, and the first will be last” (Matt 20:16), a saying that recurs in other contexts, when Jesus points to a child as a sign of the kingdom (Mark 9:35) and in response to a declaration of fidelity made by Peter (Mark 10:31; Matt 19:30). Indeed, this latter occurrence in Matthew’s Gospel not only concludes a sequence of incidents set in Judea (Matt 19:1–30), but also introduces the parable we heard last Sunday (20:1–16)—a parable which ends with the very same saying.

“The last will be first, and the first will be last” thus bookends that parable, indicating that it has a programmatic significance. And it is that claim from which Jesus then launches, in this coming Sunday’s reading, into the parable that drives home this upside-down character of the coming kingdom, noting that “the tax collectors and the prostitutes are going into the kingdom” ahead of the disciples, which he then drives home the point with intensity: “even after you saw it, you did not change your minds and believe him” (21:32).

That’s fair warning: Jesus is giving plenty of opportunity for his disciples to hear, understand, and respond to his message. And if we don’t, then he won’t pull any punches! Perhaps that’s actually the point of this parable. So it seems we are back to judgement—a motif that I have noted is intensified and amplified in Matthew’s account of Jesus, when compared with the Gospels of either Mark or Luke. See

Darkness, weeping, and gnashing of teeth: the scene of judgement (Matt 22; Pentecost 20A)

A final parable from the book of origins: on sheep and goats, on judgement and righteous-justice (Matt 25; Pentecost 26A)

We have been given fair warning!!

The Kingdom: showing the character of Christ—not a culture of celebrity

I recently watched the SBS documentary entitled The Kingdom. The story that was told in this documentary canvassed recent events relating to Hillsong, and included interviews and visits to other Pentecostal churches in both Australia and the United States of America.

The documentary had a clear thread running throughout, of how a person found acceptance and support within the Pentecostal world. Marc Fennell, who narrates the documentary, offers a very personal testimony of his involvement, throughout his childhood, in Hillsong and “a number of other Pentecostal churches”, until the point, 17 years ago, when he decided that this was no longer for him. He left—the first time he set foot back into a Pentecostal church was during the making of this documentary.

The honesty of the personal angst of Fennell runs through the documentary, giving it authenticity and integrity. He was exploring Hillsong from the vantage point of a person who had known very well what the experiences of worship and participation was like. He made it clear how important to him was the support and friendship of people within the churches he attended, especially since his family situation was apparently rather difficult. Fennell was loved and valued by people at Hillsong and other churches—even though, in his innermost being, he was not able to enter into the intense emotional experience of Pentecostal worship.

There are moments of pathos in the documentary, as Fennell offers personal revelations about his own spirituality. He showed great courage in what he decided to say in this very public national forum. (The documentary was broadcast by SBS and remains able to be viewed on SBS On Demand.)

*****

Woven in and through this personal thread is another, more dominant, thread, which becomes the reason for making the documentary. The failures of Hillsong have become known, piece by piece, over the past four years. Like any church—like any organisation run by, and for, human beings—there will always be problems, brought about by the deficiencies of people involved, and in some cases by the deliberate efforts of some to benefit personally. All human organisations are fallible.

In Hillsong’s case, however, those deficiencies were magnified by the way that key leadership operated. A particular culture was created, which exploited people. It is true that many people have been helped by the ministries of Hillsong, to a greater or lesser degree, over the years. Many (myself included) have enjoyed singing and playing some of their better songs. But many also have been hurt and exploited by leaders in Hillsong in that same period. The culture that was created was toxic and abusive for far too many people.

I was waiting, throughout the documentary, to hear how Fennell would describe the culture that was fostered within Hillsong. He touched on a number of bad elements in the way that Hillsong operated. Abuse of volunteers was canvassed early on. The “Prosperity Gospel” push to encourage participants to tithe—and to give beyond that tithing so that it hurt them financially—was examined. Accusations of fraud perpetrated by those with access to the finances of the organisation was discussed, including money laundering and tax evasion.

Eventually, the documentary came to identify the issue that had most strongly been reported by mainstream media: various sexual encounters by people in leadership, and the infidelity of key leaders, both in Sydney and elsewhere around the world. (Hillsong is a “global phenomenon”.) The paedophilic abuse perpetrated by Frank Houston, the founder of Hillsong (in the days when it was known as the Christian Life Centre) was also reported, and there is a court case involving his son, Brian, that is ongoing.

So the documentary gave some hints to what I consider to be the key to all of this: the culture of celebrity which permeated the organisation, from the onstage worship leaders, musicians, and preachers, through the pastoral workers, even to some the financial and administrative workers.

All that the leadership of Hillsong seemed concerned about was to focus on ensuring that “the experience” of Hillsong was fabulous, and that it grew month by month and year by year. Growth in numbers was the key metric, indeed (so it seems) the only metric. The way to ensure that growth was by providing ever-increasing endorphin hits of pleasure. And celebrity was the way to generate enthusiasm and maintain the growth trajectory. So a culture of celebrity was nurtured.

All of this, of course, is contradictory to the Gospel that Jesus preached and lived. He advocated humility; “blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth”, not “build up your leaders to be seen as grand and exciting figures”. He instructed people not to store up wealth on earth; “sell all that you own and distribute the money to the poor”, not “call for tithes and more to fund an increasingly extravagant lifestyle of the leaders”.

Jesus encouraged his disciples by saying “whoever welcomes a child in my name welcomes me”, not “see children as potential targets for grooming and sexual abuse”. This is the character of Christ that we know from the Gospels. This is the culture that churches should seek to emulate.

*****

The documentary is being widely applauded as being “a pretty fair treatment”, as “balanced” in how it reports on Hillsong. I have seen it described as “thoughtful”, which it was; as “honest”, which I agree it was. But my sense is that it lacks a critical lense on the whole phenomenon, from the point of view of faith (and by this, I mean faith as Jesus taught and lived it, not how Hillsong portrayed it).

A critical theological assessment is really needed—and Marc Fennell is not able to provide this, because he is explicitly NOT a believer and certainly does not have theological training.

So my sense is that the title, The Kingdom, invites people of faith to reflect further. Whose Kingdom? Fennell posed this question in terms of “who inherits the Hillsong mantle?” What Pentecostal churches are manoeuvring to fill the gap that is opening up, as people leave Hillsong? Whilst that’s a worthwhile question to explore, that’s not what The Kingdom implies to me.

The Kingdom was what Jesus proclaimed. The Kingdom was what he taught in his parables. The Kingdom coming near was the message that he gave to his disciples, for them to spread far and wide. And what was that Kingdom? A realm in which God’s compassion and justice would be known and experienced and lived.

In this realm, outsiders are to be welcomed—children, those marginalised, those challenged by life, and people identifying somewhere within the LGBTIQA+ spectrum, and placed them at the centre. A place and a time where relationships would be genuine, empathic, and nourishing. A place and a time marked by the characteristics of Christ.

It’s in relation to this final observation that I have one more comment. Nothing in the documentary indicated the discriminatory way that Hillsong has dealt with LGBTIQA+ people. There have been high profile instances of such people being removed from leadership positions. The church is not “gay-friendly”. I can only presume that there are other instances of discriminatory behaviour directed towards LGBTIQA+ people which have not received publicity. Omitting mention of this is a deficiency in how Hillsong was presented in the documentary.

All in all, I join my voice with others who have said, about the documentary, The Kingdom: yes, watch this. It is worth devoting time to see it. But watch it with critical eyes. Watch it with the knowledge of who God is, how Jesus speaks about God, and what God’s Kingdom is like.

Watch it, and weep. Weep for those abused and ostracised. Weep for those conned by the culture of celebrity. Weep for those struggling to rebuild lives and faith after traumatic experiences. Watch it with eyes wide open, hearts reaching out, and faith in the Kingdom into which Jesus invites us all to share. For this Kingdom will exude the character of Christ.

Darkness, weeping, and gnashing of teeth: the scene of judgement (Matt 22; Pentecost 20A)

Come to the banquet, there’s a place for you … sit you down, be fed and blessed … in your strength or in your weakness, you are welcome: come!

I always enjoyed singing that song, back in the days when we were able to sing when we gathered together for worship. It came to mind as I thought about the parable of the banquet that appears in the Lectionary, as the Gospel reading, this coming Sunday (Matt 22:1-14).

And the story that Jesus tells has wonderful moments of blessing–especially for those who didn’t receive an invitation to the banquet in the initial round of invitations. These people, “both good and bad”, invited in to the banquet hall direct from their business on the streets, were able to share in the largesse of the king (22:9-10). Is it a parable that points to the gracious welcome of God, as all manner of people come into the kingdom?

The very fact that there were, not one, not even two, but three rounds of invitations, underlines this point, surely? The king (presumably a symbol for God) really wants people to take part in this celebratory feast! And even the behaviour of those who decline the invitation might be explained in some reasonable way–the farm needs attending to, the business won’t look after itself (22:5), so their declining the invitation is understandable.

Although, it might be noted that declining the invitation was a breach of the honour-shame code which was dominant in the culture of the time. Reciprocity in relationships and dependence on a wealthy patron would surely have mandated accepting the invitation, one would have thought.

Indeed, the story that Jesus tells doesn’t necessarily lead to the result of blessing for all who come. Indeed, this parable is wracked by tragedy: as many in the first two rounds of people invited to the banquet decline the invitation, some of them mistreat and kill the messengers (22:6). This provokes a murderous retribution by the unhappy king, as he orders his troops to “destroy those murders and burn their city” (22:7). It sounds like yet another parable of judgement. (Matthew has quite a number of these parables–in case you hadn’t noticed!)

And, even when the guests are all present in the banquet hall, the king remains unhappy. Displeased at the lack of appropriate attire seen on one person, he gives the unfortunate guest a tongue lashing (22:12), and orders that a vicious punishment be enacted (22:13).

The parable and ancient customs

It had started off in the typical life-like setting of many of the parables: a scene known to the people to whom Jesus was speaking–or, at least, envisaged in realistic ways by them, even if they had not personally experienced such a scene. It sounded plausible, like it really could be happening.

There’s a wealthy king, a fine banquet, a hall filled with guests, tables laden with an abundance of food. A scene that the more wealthy would have experienced, and that the poorer would perhaps often have dreamed of. Jesus was a master at telling such tales; he knew how to draw people in and engage them fully in the scene.

In many ways, this parables reflects the code of behaviour ingrained in the culture. Meals were locations of intricate and complex rituals which set the patterns of behaviour required. There were expectations of rituals to be followed at the door, as guests arrive and wash their feet (see Gen 18:4, 19:1-2, 24:32; Luke 7:38).

There were rituals in greeting one another, following the prescribed sequence of blessing appropriate for the occasion and for the status of the people involved (amongst numerous examples in Hebrew Scripture, see Gen 18:2, 29:13, 43:27; Ruth 2:4).

There were rituals relating to the seating arrangements, which followed very strictly the hierarchy of status amongst those present (as Gen 43:33 and Prov 25:6-7 each indicate). Once seated, there were rituals relating to the food that was to be served and the order by which it was served to people, once again following the status hierarchy.

And, it would seem, there were rituals relating to the desired form of dress when attending a celebratory wedding banquet (perhaps Eccles. 9:8 is relevant; and maybe Rev 3:5 offers a glimpse of this?). Such rituals were expected to be kept with scrupulous care.

But one guest has breached protocol (22:11). It is precisely when the king pronounces the sentence on the guest who had not donned the prescribed wedding robe (22:12-14), that the parable blurs. The very end of the parable snaps out of the “realistic imaginary scene” that had been painted up to this point. The guest is not wearing his white robe. The guest is not “clothed with righteousness”.

The parable and aspects of judgement

The carnage from the aggressive interaction between the king, his messengers, the reluctant people of the town, and the murderous troops sent by the king (22:3-7), is bad enough. That might well be connected with the behaviour of arrogant, powerful men, who then (as now) ruled the world through the power of their armies; who even ordered the destruction of cities in enemy territory. That still has a ring of realism about it.

However, right at the end of the parable, the words of judgement and punishment that come from the mouth of the king plunges the story right into the midst of the hell-fire and brimstone, judgement and punishment rhetoric, that characterises the distinctive figure of Jesus who is centre-stage in the book of origins, the account of Jesus that we attribute to Matthew.

We have stepped out of the “parable scene”, and into the world of “eternal judgement”. We are no longer listening to Jesus the teller of enticing tales, but Jesus the fiery preacher of apocalyptic doom.

The instruction to “throw him into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth” (22:14), recalls earlier pronouncements by Jesus in this book of origins: in his words of judgement spoken in Capernaum, where he encounters a distressed centurion (8:12), in his explanation of the parable of the weeds and the wheat (13:42), in the parable of the good and bad fish (13:50).

It is found also in subsequent pronouncements: to his disciples during his final apocalyptic teachings (24:51), and in the climactic parable of the sheep and the goats (25:30). In each case, darkness, weeping, and gnashing of teeth are threatened.

The vision that is depicted in this parable of Jesus is hardly an irenic, thoroughly enjoyable scenario. This is the way that “the heavenly banquet” is often depicted in Hebrew Scriptures–see Isaiah 25:6-7, 55:1-5, 65:17-25; Psalm 36:7-9; Proverbs 9:1-6. Not so, however, in this parable.

Along with those entering the kingdom in joy, there are those debarred from the kingdom, excluded with wrath, destined to endure severe punishment. The king who reigns in this realm exercises definitive judgement and imposes a decisive punishment (Matt 22:13). This is fear-inducing stuff.

Signs of Matthew’s hand in the parable

There are clear signs that Matthew’s hand has been at work throughout this parable, reshaping the story which Jesus told. The phrases found in the ending are one clear sign. Another sign comes from the kind of comparative analysis that we can do, when we compare this version of the parable with two other versions, known to us in literature of the time.

The Gospel of Luke reports that Jesus told this parable (Luke 14:15-24); this version is located in quite a different context, where the focus is on “seeking the lost” (Luke 14:12-14 and 15:1-32). In Matthew, the context is one of judgement and punishment, as is clear in the way the preceding parable ends (Matt 21:42-46). And the Gospel of Thomas also has a version of this parable, one of the teachings of Jesus found in that work (Gos. Thomas 64). Of course, in the Gospel of Thomas, there is no narrative context; the work is comprised of a long string of independent sayings of Jesus.

The host of the banquet in both those alternative versions (Luke and Thomas) was simply “a man”, not a king. That man had “a servant”, not a whole collection of slaves. The invitation was simply to “a dinner” (Thomas) or “a great dinner” (Luke), rather than to “a wedding banquet for his son”. Matthew has really ramped up the setting, placing the story in a very regal setting.

Whilst those unable to attend sent explanations (they are the same in Luke and Thomas), in Matthew’s version “they made light of it”. And the murderous rampage by the king is not found in either alternate version (Luke or Thomas). The whole scene has been ramped up to the highest possible level in Matthew’s version. Everything hangs on what transpires in the story. While the parable in Luke ends with a scene of inclusive celebration, in Matthew the parable ends with savage judgement.

Back to the theme of judgement in Matthew’s Gospel

This outcome of judgement is a recurring theme in the Gospel of Matthew. And this is the challenge for us, today, as we reflect on the version of the parable found in this Gospel. What do we make of a story that points to the inevitable judgement that God will exercise?

It is clear that the function of judgement belongs to God (7:1-2; 10:15; 11:21-24; 12:36). Jesus sets this into the eschatological framework of “the end of time”, when the Son of Man will implement this judgement (13:41; 16:27-28; 19:28; 24:29-31; 25:31).

This judgement is described in graphic terms in the final parable of Jesus in this Gospel (25:31-46). The division of people, at this moment of judgement, into “good and bad”, “sheep and goats”, is made abundantly clear. Those failing to show compassion to “the least” are clearly differentiated from those who are called “the righteous”.

That division has run through the Gospel. We see people distinguished as “evil and good” (5:45; 12:35; 22:10), we see “good trees” and “bad trees” (7:15-19; 12:33), “good seed” and “weeds” (13:24-25, 37-38), “good fish” and “bad fish” (13:47-48).

The Jesus who is presented in this Gospel is a fearful and demanding figure. In his capacity as God’s Messiah, he frequently promises (or threatens) judgement (5:21–26; 7:1–2; 10:15; 11:21–24; 12:36–37; 19:28–30; 21:33–44; 22:1–14; 24:29–31, 36-44, 45–51; 25:1–13, 14–30, 31–46; 26:64). Many of these declarations occur in eschatological contexts, where Jesus is warning about the punishment that is to come unless righteousness is followed in the present.

So the kingdom of heaven will be established “at the end of the age”, when the final judgement of righteous and unrighteous will take place (13:39–40, 49; 24:3). The key connection here must be with the demand for righteous-justice, which has been the central demand of the message preached by Jesus throughout this Gospel, from the early affirmations (3:15; 5:6, 10; 5:20; 6:33), through the parables in chapter 13 (see 13:17, 43, 49), through to the climactic final parable (25:37, 46). See https://johntsquires.com/2020/02/06/an-excess-of-righteous-justice-matt-5/

Judgement is linked to doing what makes for righteous-justice. Here is the key criteria for divine assessment. The man cast out of the wedding banquet was rejected because he was not “clothed in righteous-justice”.

Here is the central call for ethical living from the lips of Jesus, which strengthened and intensified throughout Matthew’s account. Here is the fundamental worldview of the fierce apocalyptic prophet, who comes from Nazareth onto the world stage, to effect judgement.

Now that is a challenge to preach today!!

Parables: the craft of storytelling in the book of origins (Matt 13; Pentecost 7A)

This week, the Gospel passage comes from the book of origins, whose account of Jesus we have been following for much of this current year. The chapter we are reading contains the first of seven parables that Jesus tells. The parable of the seeds and the sower is told in Matt 13:3-9 and an interpretation is then offered at 13:18-23. This interpretation shapes and orients our understanding of what “the seed” means; it directs us to interpret “the seed” as “the word of the kingdom” (13:19).

This is the first of seven parables in this chapter, and one of twenty-four parables in the book of origins. Many of those parables are explicitly identified as parables of the kingdom. After all, the kingdom was the focus of the preaching of Jesus, as is signalled in his opening public proclamation earlier in the book (4:17). (See https://johntsquires.com/2020/01/23/repentance-for-the-kingdom-matt-4/)

The kingdom features in the Beatitudes (5:3, 10), the Sermon on the Mount (5:19-20, 6:10, 33, 7:21), and then in many of the teachings of Jesus (such as 8:11-12, 18:3-4, 19:14, 23-24).

Preaching the kingdom was central to the activities of Jesus (9:35) and his followers (10:7) and will remain a key focus until the time when “the end will come” (24:14). And parables formed an important contribution to the ways that Jesus spoke about the kingdom in his teachings.

In this chapter, after the parable of the seeds and the sower, we find another six parables: the weeds among the wheat (13:24-30), the mustard seed (13:31-32), the yeast in the flour (13:33), hidden treasure (13:44), a pearl of great value (13:45-46), and the net that caught fish (13:47-48). Interestingly, every key item in these seven parables is a small, even seemingly insignificant, item: seeds, seeds, yeast, a pearl, and fish.

Later in the Gospel, there are further parables of the kingdom: the labourers in the vineyard (20:1-16), the two sons (21:28-32), the wicked tenants (21:33-44), and the wedding banquet (22:2-14). In the final section of Jesus’s teaching the disciples, he tells three further parables of the kingdom: the ten bridesmaids (25:1-13), the talents (25:14-30), and the sheep and the goats (25:31-46).

1 Understanding Parables

What are we to make of these many parables? Parables were quite widespread in the society of Jesus’ day. They were evocative and effective means for telling stories. The most common means of entertainment in the ancient world was telling stories. This was done by word of mouth, from one person to another, or in small groups gathered in market places, courtyards or houses. Education also relied on the voice.

Written materials were costly and only a small percentage of the population was literate. The natural tendency to tell stories was widely accepted, so that the most familiar pattern was that learning took place through the passing on of stories. So oral story telling was commonplace in the synagogues where Jews gathered for worship and instruction.

We can see the dominance of the oral medium most clearly in the literature which tells about the rabbis of Judaism. The story was the foundational building block for all the rabbis’ teaching activities. Beyond Judaism, we see it in the popularity of written biographies, romances, histories and adventure stories, throughout the ancient world. Indeed, a second century Christian (Papias, the Bishop of Hierapolis) is reported as having stated that stories spoken by teachers are to be preferred as more reliable than written works (such as the Gospels)—an attitude that sounds incredible to our modern ears!

A parable is an important type of story-telling. A parable is a story told in a specific way to make a single clear point. Parables are found in Jewish literature; the most famous examples in the Hebrew Bible are Samuel’s parable comparing David with a callous rich herdsman in 2 Samuel 12 and the prophet’s parable comparing Israel with an unfruitful vineyard in Isaiah 5.

Rabbis at the time of Jesus, and later, have used parables to make their point in their teachings. The Hebrew word for this form was mashal, a word meaning “to be like” or “a comparison”. Parables were told to make a point about something that may not be easily understood, by drawing a comparison with something else that was well-known or easily understood.

The mashal also opens up the possibility of a more developed form of comparison, the similitude, of which the best example is Nathan’s parable to David concerning the stolen lamb (2 Sam 12:1–4). This form flourishes in later Judaism, both in rabbinic literature, and in the Gospel accounts of Jesus’ parables (“the kingdom of heaven is like…”). In fact, the parables told by Jesus follow the patterns and customs of the rabbinic mashal.

2 Understanding the Parable of the Seeds and the Sower

The specific parable that we hear in worship this Sunday, the parable of the seeds and the sower, is a particularly provocative parable. It leaves us with various questions. Why was the sower so extravagant in broadcasting the seeds, casting them not only onto fertile ground but also onto rocky ground and into the midst of thorns? Why did the sower not adopt good agricultural practice, culling the thorny plants as they grew, to enable the seeds to grow into healthy plants?

Other questions arise, as well, if we read the parable (13:3-9) without including the interpretation that is offered (13:18-23). That interpretation guides us to see the seeds as representing “the word of the kingdom”, and that understanding seems reasonably evident from the parable in its own right. But what does the path represent? And what about the thorns? And the rocky ground? Or the sun—is it a symbol of something?

The interpretation included in Matthew 13 closes down these questions. Many scholars believe that the interpretation did not actually come from the lips of Jesus, but, rather, was added by the author of the Gospel, drawing on interpretations that had developed over the intervening decades after the lifetime of Jesus. (This assumes, quite reasonably, that the Gospel was written some 30-50 years after the death of Jesus; and also, more controversially, perhaps, that the author was somewhat creative in reporting the actions and words of Jesus.)

One of the reasons for this view is that the interpretation really treats the parable as an allegory, rather than as a mashal-like parable. In an allegory, each and every character and event in the story is regarded as being a symbol for something else beyond the story.

Allegory literally means, “to say something other”; it comes from two Greek words, the verb agoreuo (to speak in the assembly), and the prefix allos (other). Allegories are found in ancient literature; in Greek, from the earliest literature, that of Homer, through to Plato, and on into the writings of people centuries after the time of Jesus. They were commonplace across Greek and Latin literature.

But not so, in Hebrew Scriptures, the tradition from which Jesus regularly drew. Here, there are more often parables, only rarely any fully-developed allegory. And parables are not allegories. A parable is a mashal—a story told in a specific way to make a single clear point. And the single point of a parable is given in its punchline: which, in this case, is the enigmatic, “let anyone with ears, hear!” (13:9). If the seed is the word, the demand of this parable is clear: listen!

And yet, as the verses that follow make clear (13:10-17), understanding a parable is a tricky business. Its meaning is not self-evident. As Jesus speaks in parables, “seeing, they do not perceive, and hearing, they do not listen” (13:13, quoting directly from Isaiah 6:9-10). Parables are conundrums. They contain unresolved tensions. They invite multiple understandings. They press for exploration and investigation.

The technique of a parable is not to lay everything out in plain form, in straight-forward propositions—but rather to weave a story, to draw the listeners into the story, to invite wondering, to foster creative thinking and thoughtful grappling within the story. Nothing is set in stone. All sorts of possibilities arise, from the narrative of a story that is well-crafted and persuasively-presented. As we imagine that Jesus did in creating and telling his stories in parable form.

3 The Parable of the Seeds and the Sower in the Revised Common Lectionary

So the offering of the interpretation (13:18-23) immediately after the telling of the parable (13:1-9) that the Revised Common Lectionary offers (and that the author of the book of origins includes in this chapter) skews our approach to the parable. It closes off the possibilities of understanding. It limits the range of options for clearly comprehending what Jesus was offering. In my mind, it’s something of a menace.

So here’s the challenge: this Sunday, why not simply read the parable (13:1-9)—and then, STOP. Don’t read the interpretation (13:18-23). Let the parable stand in its own right. Invite your audience to imagine, explore, interpret. Encourage them with the sense that there is “no right answer”, or “no one interpretation”. Invite people to engage in the process that the very first followers of Jesus took part in: “let anyone with ears, listen!” And then invite them to respond. And rejoice in the richness and diversity of understandings that arise!

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This blog draws on material in MESSIAH, MOUNTAINS, AND MISSION: an exploration of the Gospel for Year A, by Elizabeth Raine and John Squires (self-published 2012).

For a gentle, poetic retelling of the parable from Sarah Agnew, see https://praythestory.blogspot.com/2020/07/falling-seeds.html?m=1

Consideration of issues raised in this blog continues in https://johntsquires.com/2020/07/14/let-anyone-with-ears-hear-matt-13/