The Kin-dom of God

sermon by Torin Eikler
Easter 2
Psalm 133 Acts 4:32-35

This is one of my favorite Psalms. It’s short and sweet, and it speaks to a theme that is close to my heart. And, while it has only inspired one hymn directly (which we have juts sung), the idea of unity in the body of believers is at the heart of many of the hymns I enjoy singing. In some sense, it speaks directly to the idea behind the name of the Church of the Brethren – brotherhood … or in a more modern, non-gender-linked expression – community.

The imagery leaves something to be desired – at least for me. I do like to imagine the dew falling on the mountain in the middle of a dry land, baptizing the world with God promise of everlasting life. But, the impression of oil poured on one’s head is a little iffy. Especially if it’s enough oil to soak though my hair, run down over my face (and my beard when I have one), and drip onto whatever I happen to be wearing at the time. It just doesn’t give me the feeling of well-being that the rest of the Psalm speaks about – (in fact it gives me just a touch of the willies).

But I was saved from that this week when I read a colleagues paraphrase – really a whole reinterpretation – of the Psalm. As Jim Taylor rewrites it, it goes like this:
How good it feels to have the human family gathered together
for this sumptuous feast.
Here we rejoice in the rich repast of fruit and tree and vine.
Apples and oranges, grapes and cherries, yield their joyous juices to our lusting mouths.
Drops of surplus pleasure trickle down our chins.
We dab them unselfconsciously with rumpled napkins.
This gathering refreshes like a sweet morning in the mountains,
like a prairie sky polished bright by gentle breezes.
Surely this is what the Lord intended when God created life.

Now those are images that I can really get my teeth into. But, while I welcome the shift from an oily mess into a sticky feast, this version lets an important point go.

For the Psalmist, Mount Hermon was a very significant place. It was about fifty miles north of Jerusalem and the Temple on Mt. Zion, and it became the center of faithful worship for the Northern Kingdom when Israel split in two after the Babylonian exile. By pairing it with Mt. Zion in the final verse of the Psalm, the author of this poetic hymn pulled the whole of Israel into the picture, giving all of the chosen people a part in the blessings of God. In essence, the Psalmist was claiming that no matter how far divided by space, class, or tradition, all those who dwelt in Israel were part of the Kingdom of God – for Israel was that Kingdom at the time. And that larger sense of community – that recognition of kinship among the chosen people, I think, is at the heart of this psalm.

But, as lovely as the image of the chosen people living together in harmony is, it was as much a dream for the Psalmist as it is for us today. The people of Israel, of course, were not a harmonious lot. They had their own haves and have-nots despite the injunctions in the scriptures to take care of one another. They had their own struggles for power with winners and losers. They had their own jealousies, their own divisions, their own griefs, and there own feuds. Even in times when their safety as a people was threatened, they failed to come together as one body. Basically, they were just like everyone else – just like us.

There is one really big difference, though, between us and the Israelites. They were a people linked by history, culture, and faith and defined by living within the borders of the Promised Land. At one level, we too are linked to others by history and culture, and we identify ourselves by political boundaries. We are Westerners. We are Americans. We are West Virginians and Pennsylvanians. But, at a deeper level, those bindings don’t make sense for us because we are followers of Christ. We are a chosen people, but our faith and our savior redefine what that means.

Jesus reached out to people beyond boundaries to minister to all people in need. He crossed the lines of nationalism to care for Samaritans and Roman Officials. He was unfazed by religious prohibitions when he touched the unclean and raised the dead. He bridged the cultural feud between Jews and Samaritans to offer the promise of living water to any who would listen. And he even redefined the basic unit of society – the family – for those who would follow him.

The power of these profound changes is obvious. Christianity quickly moved beyond political borders, birthing new communities of faith in the near east, northern Africa, Greece, Rome, and reaching even to the coasts of France the British Isles. It moved beyond religious boundaries, opening the way for gentiles of all flavors to take part in the blessing and the promise of Christ. And as we see in the record of Acts, it broke free from cultural and relational patterns to create an egalitarian family of believers from masters, slaves, poor, and rich.

The Kingdom of God proclaimed by Christ was not really a kingdom as the world knows them. It was a new way of living in community based on the assurance that all those who followed Christ were adopted into the family of God. The people of that early church were transformed. They left behind their old identities and forged new connections as brothers and sisters together as a part of Christ. It’s an idea, an image, a way of life that I have heard summed up in a neat play on words - the Kingdom of God as the “Kin-dom” of God.

And we are as much a part of that Kin-dom as the early believers were. In coming to Christ, we too are transformed. Our bindings to the divisions of this world are loosed as surely as theirs were. We, too, have become – are becoming – a part of a larger, truer family as brothers and sisters in Christ. And, as much as that family of faith suffers from differences in interpretation and tradition, we are profoundly connected to all believers around the world and to all of God’s children beyond the bounds of the Church.

It’s a wonderful image, inspiring and heart-warming. But, I have to ask myself, “What does that mean?” What does it mean that we are all one big, loving family? Does it change how I live or how I relate to others – non-Christians as well as Christians? I have to ask, because if it doesn’t change anything than it’s probably just as fleeting and unreal as the Psalmist’s dream of unity among the Israelites. When I think about that, I realize that I don’t want this to be just a dream, and I don’t think it has to be.

The early church of Acts found a way to make this really real in their everyday lives. They ate together daily (I suppose they weren’t all at the table every time, though they may have been). They shared the struggles of their lives and the triumphs with each other and offered thanks in worship for the love and blessings of God they experienced in their new community. When some among them had needs, others provided for them and were provided for in their turn. They took pleasure in sharing with one another and with others members of the Kin-dom who lived far away. And, though they suffered, they suffered together, living with a joy and a hope that seems to be lacking from some many of our lives.

How can we bring that joy into our lives? Are there ways that we can return to a deeper sense of kinship with our brothers and sisters? Can we reclaim our identity as a people of hope chosen and blessed by God? I want to believe that we can though I don’t know the way forward.

I think we could start by reaching across the little hedges that we have built around our lives to separate us from one another. When we come together, we share some of the big things that weigh us down and some of the joys we have experienced each week. Yet, we hold back so many things. Sometimes we don’t want to bother others with our struggles. Sometimes we don’t want to belittle the struggles of others with our excitement and our triumphs. Much of the time, I think, we just don’t feel comfortable sharing things because we have been taught that they should be private, that they are somehow taboo. So, we don’t talk about our financial struggles. We don’t talk about our intimate relationships. We don’t talk about the pain we feel when we can’t share all of who we are for fear of finding judgment and indifference instead of acceptance and empathy. We don’t talk about our doubts and our fears because we are supposed to be confident in our faith and self-sufficient.

But, the family of Christ reaches beyond and beneath those things. Our connection is deeper and stronger than those fears or the restraints put on us by cultural expectations. It can and should free us from the limitations that hold us back. It can and should welcome us into a caring community that we can trust to hold all of who are and all of what we experience with compassion. It can and should be a place we can bring all of our fears and failing for comfort and gentle guidance. It can and should be a place we can share our happiness, our hope, and our joy with abandon and find it all shared and returned as a hymn of gratitude to God for all that life can be.

There have been times in my life – and I hope in all of our lives – when we have found that kind of openness, that kind of community … that kind of freedom with kindred spirits. And, in those times, we have tasted the sumptuous feast of life that leaves sweet juices dripping down our chins. In those times, we have proclaimed in some part of ourselves “how good and pleasant it is when kindred live together in unity!” In those moments lies the promise that the Kin-dom of God is near and can be a reality among us if we seek it together.

And if none of us knows the way, that’s okay. Our journey together is a journey of faith. We none of us knows the path we will follow when we take the first step … or the hundredth step … or the thousandth step. Yet, we keep walking with hope in the faith that the Spirit of Christ, in whom we are become one, will lead us forward. And it is the Spirit of Christ – Emmanuel, God with us – who will remake us – who longs to remake us – into the family of God. We must only stand open to guidance, ready to trust each other and the power that holds us.

“Sisters and brothers,” I often say. Can we find the way to become just that – to become sisters and brothers in Christ in truth and in love? Can we open ourselves to the Spirit of Christ and to one another so that the dream becomes a reality among us? The Kin-dom of God is near. My prayer is that we will claim it as our own. May it be so.