Kingdom Citizen - Luke 6:17-26

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I recently started reading a little devotional book called Shepherding the Shepherd by Lee Eclov. He writes this: 

I imagine a pastor being like an elderly uncle of refugee children. He often gathers them to himself and tells them stories of the homeland they have never seen. The homeless children listen wide-eyed as he tells them that their homeland is a Kingdom bright and righteous, where life runs in the rivers and grows on trees. The elderly uncle tells these stories again and again, because if he doesn't, the children will forget who they are and put down stakes in Babylon. The challenge for the uncle is not how to get them home. The King will take care of that. The uncle's challenge is that he cannot let the King's children forget their home... Pastors grace God's people with the stories of what is to come. We keep their chins up, looking for Christ's return, and in this clinging and cloying world, we urge them not to put down roots. 

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These days, I have to say that personally... I'm not finding Babylon all that tempting. This is not a place where I am really, really tempted to put down roots. Particularly being Canadian. Particularly being a pastor.  

I'm having conversations with people who are in ‘fight or flight’ mode all the time. People who feel under pressure, even under threat, from a former friend and ally. They feel like a pawn in a political game that that to them doesn't make any sense.  

I'm talking to people who are worried about jobs, worried about pensions, worried about their kids, worried about their grandkids.  

If there is a silver lining to all of this I suppose it might be that we find fresh insight into the struggles that other peoples in other nations have been dealing with for a long time: looking at their borders with a knot in their stomach.  

That's not much of a silver lining. Especially when as Christians we hear news reports of people in power supposedly quoting Jesus. Saying things that leave us either scratching our heads or shaking them. Saying things like, “empathy is a sin” or “Jesus wants us to love people like us more than we love anybody else.” 

Between the political tensions,the economic uncertainty, and the religious and civic leaders, frankly, twisting scripture to justify their ambitions, this is not a world where I am tempted to put down roots.  

But it is the world where I live. So, you know what? I'm worried. I'm angry. I have a new personal appreciation for the psalms of lament, where the writers cry out to the skies for justice and maybe even, if I'm honest, for revenge. Because I'm having conversations with people who say that they're looking forward to the downfall of those who threaten us. The downfall of people who are undermining generations of good. The downfall of people who threaten to harm our future.  

If you're angry, I get it. If you're worried, I get it. If you're even resentful or bitter, I get it. Disappointed? Me, too. Puzzled? Me, too. But “pastors grace God's people with the stories of what is yet to come.” Pastors also remind people of what has been. Of what has been put in place long before today, so that we might have the tools to navigate well these difficult times.  

Today we're looking at one of the first stories from Jesus’ ministry on earth: once in the world, there was a Rabbi.... 

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Jesus found an open space where people could hear and see Him. He sat down, like a Rabbi would to teach. He raised His eyes to get the attention of people gathered around Him. And He told them who they were.  

Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the Kingdom of God.

• That morning on that mountain, Jesus was talking to people who knew about being poor, who felt economic pressures, who first paid their taxes at sword point, and then went to buy groceries.  

Jesus was also talking to people who are poor in spirit, people who understand their deepest poverty: their inability to save themselves. People who are desperate for the truth, and helpless to rescue themselves. 

To them and to us, Jesus says... ‘Yours is the Kingdom of God. If Christ is your King, His Kingdom is yours.’  

Blessed are you who hunger now, for you will be filled.

• That morning, Jesus was talking to people who probably hadn't had breakfast yet. They’d followed Him into the wilderness, and up the mountain. We know from other stories that they didn't always plan ahead for meals. Jesus probably hadn't had breakfast yet either.  

Jesus was also speaking to people who were hungry for truth, hungry for justice, hungry to see the world start to make sense, hungry for the presence of the Spirit, hungry to see God do something.  

To them and to us, Jesus says... ‘If I am your King, your hunger will be satisfied.’  

Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh.

• That morning, Jesus was talking to people who had wept for their nation. They were defeated and oppressed, daily under threat from people with more and better weapons. They feared for their children, for their faith, and their future.  

Jesus was also talking to us, especially those of us who know what it is to weep for our own failures. For the ways in which we have done wrong to other people. He was talking to me, when I weep for the ways in which I have betrayed, or belittled, or taken advantage.  

To them and to us, Jesus says... ‘One day that weeping will end. One day you will laugh. You won’t be laughing at a failed enemy... but laughing with delight. With joy. With the discovery that, as JRR Tolkien wrote, “Everything sad [has] become untrue, and a great shadow has departed.”’ 

Blessed are you when people hate you, when they exclude you, when they insult you, when they reject your name as evil because of the Son of Man. Rejoice in that day, leap for joy on that day because great is your reward in heaven.  

• That morning Jesus was talking to people who were hated—despised because of who they were. They had fought and lost the battle. He was also talking to people who were insulted and rejected because of their faith in the covenant promises of Yahweh God. Israel was trying to be a faithful nation to Yahweh God while facing nothing but struggle. 

To them and to us, Jesus says, ‘One day you will know you truly are embraced and included. Because even today you are included. You are part of the work Yahweh God is doing in the world. You are part of His story of the redemption and restoration of this poor, sad planet. And someday, when it's all wrapped up, you are going to hear Him say, “Well done.”’  

When you are poor in spirit, when you are hungry for truth, when you are weeping rightly for the things that we ought to grieve, when you are belittled and excluded by unbelievers... as a citizen of God's Kingdom you can, today, take a deep breath knowing that you're on the right track. 

But. 

I can picture Jesus kind of thinking, ‘Yeah, they're not going to like this bit.’ 

But to those of you who will listen... Love your enemies. Do good to those who hate you. Bless those who curse you. Pray for those who mistreat you.  

Jesus always calls us to live lives of love and He always starts with... the enemy.  

God's agape love is a love that chooses to love. Even when—especially when—it's not deserved.  

I avoid preaching politics, but when a politician starts tossing around theology and then telling people to “google it,” he has wandered into my wheelhouse and I will respond.  

You may have heard somebody recently using the term ordo amoris (a Latin term meaning rightly ordered love). That person is mistaken in their understanding of the term.  

Reputable theologians like C. S. Lewis, St. Augustine, and Pope Francis define the term this way: love that begins with our love of God. We begin by first loving God, then we share His love with other people: like, in no particular order, friends and strangers, family and foreigners, allies and enemies.

It does not mean we love people like us more than we love everybody else.  

Pope Francis wrote a letter this week to the bishops of the United States, and I encourage you to look that up on the Vatican's official web page. Part of what he said is: 

...Christian love is not a concentric expansion of interest that little by little extends to other persons and groups. The true ordo amoris that must be promoted is a love that... builds a fraternity open to all, without exception.  

Rightly ordered love is what we extend to the people who make us poor.  

To the people who make us hungry. 

To the people who make us weep. 

To the people who despise us, and reject us. 

To the people who (and this is me talking to myself) twist scripture for their own ends. I am commanded—I am required—to love even them, with a love that opens doors. That breaks down walls. That prays God's true blessing on them. That extends the invitation that Jesus extended to us that day, even when—especially when—we don't deserve it.  

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So, Canadians, here we are. Living a chapter in our nation's story that none of us would have chosen.  

And here we are, Christians, living on the front lines of a cosmic battle. Carrying forward the flag of the Man who died to give us the power to love people who hate us.  

In all that, how do Kingdom citizens live?  

We have days and seasons yet to navigate. We're afraid of what could happen, but we don't know what that will be. We have a long walk ahead. Heavy loads to carry. We will have unanswered prayers. 

But brothers and sisters, we will navigate these days as Kingdom citizens.  

We will live these days with courage. Even as our poverty may remind us that we are powerless to save ourselves, may it remind us also that we are filled with Holy Spirit power to share the richness that we've been given: the peace of Christ, and His work to do in blessing other people.  

We will live these days with gratitude. Even as our hunger may leave us feeling the hollow left behind by what we've lost, may it also remind us of how blessed we have been, of how much we still have, and of all the things that cannot be taken away.  

We will live these days with joy. Even as our weeping may rise as we grieve over things we thought we could take for granted—from cheap orange juice to relationships we cherished—may it also birth in us a new appreciation for the moments of laughter. For new and renewed friendships. For opportunities to get it right, and to care for each other.  

That is our Kingdom citizenship.  

Yes, poor. Yes, hungry. Yes, weeping. Yes, despised.  

But filled to overflowing with Christ. His Spirit, power, joy, and richness.  

Because that is the story of our homeland. That is the story that we are living today. The story that we are writing today. 

That is the story that those who come after us will read.  

They will read our story. And we will teach them how to live as Kingdom citizens.  

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