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The Maranatha Empire
There is a prayer so holy that it should burn the tongue of every empire that tries to speak it.
#anabaptist #antiImperialTheology #breadAndCup #ChristianEthics #ChristianNationalism #ChristianWitness #Church #churchAndEmpire #comeLordJesus #cruciformFaith #Discipleship #domination #Empire #empireCritique #Faithfulness #FootWashing #Humility #Jesus #kingdomOfGod #LambOfGod #Maranatha #MaranathaEmpire #Nonviolence #peaceTheology #Peacemaking #Power #propheticChristianity #PropheticEssay #religiousPower #Revelation #SpiritualReflection #Theology
Maranatha.
Come, Lord.
It is the cry of the small church under pressure. The cry of the persecuted and the patient. The cry of those who have no armies to summon, no throne to defend, no voting bloc sufficient to save them, no market share large enough to secure their future. It is the cry of those who wait because they know they are not God.
But in every age, there are those who take this prayer of waiting and turn it into a banner of possession.
They say, “Come, Lord,” but what they mean is, “Give us control.”
They say, “Thy kingdom come,” but what they mean is, “Let our faction rule.”
They say, “Prepare the way of the Lord,” but what they build are prisons, borders, propaganda machines, religious celebrity platforms, and monuments to their own fear.
This is the Maranatha Empire.
It is not one nation only, though nations may become its servants. It is not one denomination only, though denominations may become its chapels. It is not merely Rome, nor Geneva, nor Washington, nor Moscow, nor any other city that has mistaken power for providence. The Maranatha Empire is the recurring temptation of the religious heart: to stop waiting for Christ and begin replacing him.
It begins quietly.
It begins with concern.
The world is dangerous. The children are vulnerable. The church is shrinking. The enemies are multiplying. The culture is changing. The old certainties are crumbling. The people are afraid.
Fear, when baptized, often calls itself faithfulness.
So the frightened church begins to reach for tools Jesus refused.
A throne.
A sword.
A spectacle.
A scapegoat.
A strongman.
A law that can accomplish what love has not yet persuaded.
A state that can enforce what the Spirit has not yet formed.
A leader who promises to defend Christ, as though Christ ever asked Peter to keep swinging after Gethsemane.
This is how the prayer becomes an empire.
The early church cried, “Come, Lord Jesus,” because it knew that Caesar was not Lord. The Maranatha Empire cries, “Come, Lord Jesus,” because it wants Caesar to become useful.
The early church broke bread in homes. The Maranatha Empire builds platforms and calls them altars.
The early church welcomed the stranger. The Maranatha Empire sees the stranger as a threat.
The early church died rather than kill. The Maranatha Empire kills and calls the dead collateral damage in the defense of righteousness.
The early church believed the Lamb had conquered. The Maranatha Empire keeps looking for a beast strong enough to protect the Lamb.
And there is the blasphemy.
Not that empire rejects Christ outright. That would be too honest. The Maranatha Empire does something more dangerous. It uses Christ as decoration for a power that is fundamentally afraid of the cross.
It sings of the Lamb while trusting the dragon.
It preaches resurrection while organizing itself around survival.
It displays the cross while despising weakness.
It quotes Jesus while ignoring the people Jesus told us to notice: the poor, the imprisoned, the hungry, the foreigner, the enemy, the child, the wounded man beside the road.
The Maranatha Empire is not built by atheists. It is built by believers who have lost patience with the way of Jesus.
For the way of Jesus is slow.
It is seed, yeast, salt, light.
It is foot-washing.
It is forgiveness seventy times seven.
It is refusing the shortcut of domination even when domination appears efficient.
It is telling Peter to put away the sword when everything in Peter’s body screams that this is the moment for holy violence.
It is standing before Pilate and saying, “My kingdom is not from this world,” not because the kingdom has nothing to do with the world, but because it does not come by the world’s methods.
The Maranatha Empire cannot tolerate this.
It cannot tolerate a Messiah who will not seize power.
It cannot tolerate a church that would rather be faithful than influential.
It cannot tolerate a people whose politics begin at the basin and towel.
It cannot tolerate enemy-love, because enemy-love ruins the machinery. Empire requires enemies. It needs them. It feeds on them. Without enemies, the crowd might look too closely at the throne.
So, the Maranatha Empire manufactures urgency.
There is no time to love.
No time to listen.
No time to discern.
No time for reconciliation.
No time for peacemaking.
No time to ask whether the means resemble the Christ we claim to serve.
The hour is late, they say. The danger is great. The stakes are too high. We must act now. We must take control now. We must win now.
And somewhere beneath all that urgency is a terrible confession:
They do not actually believe the Lord is coming.
Or, if he is coming, they do not trust him to arrive in the right way.
So they build him an empire to inherit.
But Christ does not inherit empires.
He judges them.
He walks in alleyways, not palaces. He asks whether the churches have kept their first love. He warns those who are rich and comfortable and self-satisfied that they may be poor, blind, and naked. He stands at the door and knocks, not because he has been defeated by secularism, but because religious people have locked him outside while holding meetings in his name.
The Maranatha Empire is always shocked when Jesus is found outside the gate.
Outside the camp.
Outside respectability.
Outside the approved narrative.
Outside the walls with the crucified, the excluded, the unclean, the inconvenient, and the condemned.
The empire expected him in the capital.
But he is with the refugees.
The empire expected him in the cathedral of victory.
But he is with the mother of the disappeared.
The empire expected him on the reviewing stand.
But he is washing feet in the basement.
The empire expected him to bless the troops.
But he is asking why his followers are still carrying swords.
This is why Maranatha must remain a dangerous prayer.
It must never be allowed to become a slogan for conquest. It must never be printed on the banners of those who are unwilling to be converted by the One they summon. To pray “Come, Lord” is not to invite divine endorsement of our projects. It is to invite judgment upon them.
Come, Lord, and judge our churches.
Come, Lord, and judge our flags.
Come, Lord, and judge our markets.
Come, Lord, and judge our weapons.
Come, Lord, and judge our sermons.
Come, Lord, and judge our secret hatreds.
Come, Lord, and judge the ways we have used your name to avoid your way.
This is the prayer empire cannot honestly pray.
Because if the Lord comes, the first thing to fall may not be our enemies.
It may be our idols.
The algorithm.
The nation.
The party.
The brand.
The gun.
The strongman.
The myth of innocence.
The lie that we can harm others for a righteous cause and remain untouched by the harm.
The Maranatha Empire teaches us to fear the collapse of Christian influence.
Jesus teaches us to fear gaining the world and losing our soul.
The Maranatha Empire asks, “How do we take back the culture?”
Jesus asks, “Can you drink the cup that I drink?”
The Maranatha Empire says, “Blessed are the winners.”
Jesus says, “Blessed are the meek.”
The Maranatha Empire says, “Blessed are the forceful, for they shall secure the future.”
Jesus says, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.”
And perhaps this is the word for us now:
The church does not need to become more powerful.
The church needs to become more faithful.
Not passive. Not silent. Not withdrawn into pious irrelevance. But faithful in the particular, cruciform, stubborn way of Jesus. Faithful enough to resist evil without becoming its mirror. Faithful enough to tell the truth without hatred. Faithful enough to protect the vulnerable without worshiping violence. Faithful enough to build communities of economic sharing, hospitality, forgiveness, courage, and joy. Faithful enough to be a people who can live without controlling the outcome.
That is the hard part.
Empire is attractive because it promises control.
Jesus offers communion.
Empire promises security.
Jesus offers peace.
Empire promises victory over enemies.
Jesus offers reconciliation that may begin with our repentance.
Empire promises to make us great.
Jesus invites us to become small enough to enter the kingdom.
So, let the Maranatha Empire fall.
Let it fall first in us.
Let it fall in every place where we have confused anxiety with zeal. Let it fall where we have preferred dominance to witness. Let it fall where we have wanted laws to do what discipleship would not. Let it fall where we have used the suffering of others as fuel for our own righteousness. Let it fall where we have asked Jesus to come only after we have arranged the throne to our liking.
And when it falls, may something older and more beautiful remain.
A table.
A basin.
A towel.
A loaf.
A cup.
A people gathered without illusion, without empire, without the need to be impressive, whispering the ancient prayer not as conquerors but as witnesses:
Maranatha.
Come, Lord Jesus.
Come not to crown our domination, but to free us from it.
Come not to baptize our fear, but to cast it out.
Come not to make our empire holy, but to teach us again that your kingdom comes like a seed, like yeast, like mercy, like a Lamb who was slain and yet lives.
And until you come, make us faithful.
Not imperial.
Not triumphant.
Not afraid.
Faithful. -
The Maranatha Empire
There is a prayer so holy that it should burn the tongue of every empire that tries to speak it.
#anabaptist #antiImperialTheology #breadAndCup #ChristianEthics #ChristianNationalism #ChristianWitness #Church #churchAndEmpire #comeLordJesus #cruciformFaith #Discipleship #domination #Empire #empireCritique #Faithfulness #FootWashing #Humility #Jesus #kingdomOfGod #LambOfGod #Maranatha #MaranathaEmpire #Nonviolence #peaceTheology #Peacemaking #Power #propheticChristianity #PropheticEssay #religiousPower #Revelation #SpiritualReflection #Theology
Maranatha.
Come, Lord.
It is the cry of the small church under pressure. The cry of the persecuted and the patient. The cry of those who have no armies to summon, no throne to defend, no voting bloc sufficient to save them, no market share large enough to secure their future. It is the cry of those who wait because they know they are not God.
But in every age, there are those who take this prayer of waiting and turn it into a banner of possession.
They say, “Come, Lord,” but what they mean is, “Give us control.”
They say, “Thy kingdom come,” but what they mean is, “Let our faction rule.”
They say, “Prepare the way of the Lord,” but what they build are prisons, borders, propaganda machines, religious celebrity platforms, and monuments to their own fear.
This is the Maranatha Empire.
It is not one nation only, though nations may become its servants. It is not one denomination only, though denominations may become its chapels. It is not merely Rome, nor Geneva, nor Washington, nor Moscow, nor any other city that has mistaken power for providence. The Maranatha Empire is the recurring temptation of the religious heart: to stop waiting for Christ and begin replacing him.
It begins quietly.
It begins with concern.
The world is dangerous. The children are vulnerable. The church is shrinking. The enemies are multiplying. The culture is changing. The old certainties are crumbling. The people are afraid.
Fear, when baptized, often calls itself faithfulness.
So the frightened church begins to reach for tools Jesus refused.
A throne.
A sword.
A spectacle.
A scapegoat.
A strongman.
A law that can accomplish what love has not yet persuaded.
A state that can enforce what the Spirit has not yet formed.
A leader who promises to defend Christ, as though Christ ever asked Peter to keep swinging after Gethsemane.
This is how the prayer becomes an empire.
The early church cried, “Come, Lord Jesus,” because it knew that Caesar was not Lord. The Maranatha Empire cries, “Come, Lord Jesus,” because it wants Caesar to become useful.
The early church broke bread in homes. The Maranatha Empire builds platforms and calls them altars.
The early church welcomed the stranger. The Maranatha Empire sees the stranger as a threat.
The early church died rather than kill. The Maranatha Empire kills and calls the dead collateral damage in the defense of righteousness.
The early church believed the Lamb had conquered. The Maranatha Empire keeps looking for a beast strong enough to protect the Lamb.
And there is the blasphemy.
Not that empire rejects Christ outright. That would be too honest. The Maranatha Empire does something more dangerous. It uses Christ as decoration for a power that is fundamentally afraid of the cross.
It sings of the Lamb while trusting the dragon.
It preaches resurrection while organizing itself around survival.
It displays the cross while despising weakness.
It quotes Jesus while ignoring the people Jesus told us to notice: the poor, the imprisoned, the hungry, the foreigner, the enemy, the child, the wounded man beside the road.
The Maranatha Empire is not built by atheists. It is built by believers who have lost patience with the way of Jesus.
For the way of Jesus is slow.
It is seed, yeast, salt, light.
It is foot-washing.
It is forgiveness seventy times seven.
It is refusing the shortcut of domination even when domination appears efficient.
It is telling Peter to put away the sword when everything in Peter’s body screams that this is the moment for holy violence.
It is standing before Pilate and saying, “My kingdom is not from this world,” not because the kingdom has nothing to do with the world, but because it does not come by the world’s methods.
The Maranatha Empire cannot tolerate this.
It cannot tolerate a Messiah who will not seize power.
It cannot tolerate a church that would rather be faithful than influential.
It cannot tolerate a people whose politics begin at the basin and towel.
It cannot tolerate enemy-love, because enemy-love ruins the machinery. Empire requires enemies. It needs them. It feeds on them. Without enemies, the crowd might look too closely at the throne.
So, the Maranatha Empire manufactures urgency.
There is no time to love.
No time to listen.
No time to discern.
No time for reconciliation.
No time for peacemaking.
No time to ask whether the means resemble the Christ we claim to serve.
The hour is late, they say. The danger is great. The stakes are too high. We must act now. We must take control now. We must win now.
And somewhere beneath all that urgency is a terrible confession:
They do not actually believe the Lord is coming.
Or, if he is coming, they do not trust him to arrive in the right way.
So they build him an empire to inherit.
But Christ does not inherit empires.
He judges them.
He walks in alleyways, not palaces. He asks whether the churches have kept their first love. He warns those who are rich and comfortable and self-satisfied that they may be poor, blind, and naked. He stands at the door and knocks, not because he has been defeated by secularism, but because religious people have locked him outside while holding meetings in his name.
The Maranatha Empire is always shocked when Jesus is found outside the gate.
Outside the camp.
Outside respectability.
Outside the approved narrative.
Outside the walls with the crucified, the excluded, the unclean, the inconvenient, and the condemned.
The empire expected him in the capital.
But he is with the refugees.
The empire expected him in the cathedral of victory.
But he is with the mother of the disappeared.
The empire expected him on the reviewing stand.
But he is washing feet in the basement.
The empire expected him to bless the troops.
But he is asking why his followers are still carrying swords.
This is why Maranatha must remain a dangerous prayer.
It must never be allowed to become a slogan for conquest. It must never be printed on the banners of those who are unwilling to be converted by the One they summon. To pray “Come, Lord” is not to invite divine endorsement of our projects. It is to invite judgment upon them.
Come, Lord, and judge our churches.
Come, Lord, and judge our flags.
Come, Lord, and judge our markets.
Come, Lord, and judge our weapons.
Come, Lord, and judge our sermons.
Come, Lord, and judge our secret hatreds.
Come, Lord, and judge the ways we have used your name to avoid your way.
This is the prayer empire cannot honestly pray.
Because if the Lord comes, the first thing to fall may not be our enemies.
It may be our idols.
The algorithm.
The nation.
The party.
The brand.
The gun.
The strongman.
The myth of innocence.
The lie that we can harm others for a righteous cause and remain untouched by the harm.
The Maranatha Empire teaches us to fear the collapse of Christian influence.
Jesus teaches us to fear gaining the world and losing our soul.
The Maranatha Empire asks, “How do we take back the culture?”
Jesus asks, “Can you drink the cup that I drink?”
The Maranatha Empire says, “Blessed are the winners.”
Jesus says, “Blessed are the meek.”
The Maranatha Empire says, “Blessed are the forceful, for they shall secure the future.”
Jesus says, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.”
And perhaps this is the word for us now:
The church does not need to become more powerful.
The church needs to become more faithful.
Not passive. Not silent. Not withdrawn into pious irrelevance. But faithful in the particular, cruciform, stubborn way of Jesus. Faithful enough to resist evil without becoming its mirror. Faithful enough to tell the truth without hatred. Faithful enough to protect the vulnerable without worshiping violence. Faithful enough to build communities of economic sharing, hospitality, forgiveness, courage, and joy. Faithful enough to be a people who can live without controlling the outcome.
That is the hard part.
Empire is attractive because it promises control.
Jesus offers communion.
Empire promises security.
Jesus offers peace.
Empire promises victory over enemies.
Jesus offers reconciliation that may begin with our repentance.
Empire promises to make us great.
Jesus invites us to become small enough to enter the kingdom.
So, let the Maranatha Empire fall.
Let it fall first in us.
Let it fall in every place where we have confused anxiety with zeal. Let it fall where we have preferred dominance to witness. Let it fall where we have wanted laws to do what discipleship would not. Let it fall where we have used the suffering of others as fuel for our own righteousness. Let it fall where we have asked Jesus to come only after we have arranged the throne to our liking.
And when it falls, may something older and more beautiful remain.
A table.
A basin.
A towel.
A loaf.
A cup.
A people gathered without illusion, without empire, without the need to be impressive, whispering the ancient prayer not as conquerors but as witnesses:
Maranatha.
Come, Lord Jesus.
Come not to crown our domination, but to free us from it.
Come not to baptize our fear, but to cast it out.
Come not to make our empire holy, but to teach us again that your kingdom comes like a seed, like yeast, like mercy, like a Lamb who was slain and yet lives.
And until you come, make us faithful.
Not imperial.
Not triumphant.
Not afraid.
Faithful. -
The Maranatha Empire
There is a prayer so holy that it should burn the tongue of every empire that tries to speak it.
#anabaptist #antiImperialTheology #breadAndCup #ChristianEthics #ChristianNationalism #ChristianWitness #Church #churchAndEmpire #comeLordJesus #cruciformFaith #Discipleship #domination #Empire #empireCritique #Faithfulness #FootWashing #Humility #Jesus #kingdomOfGod #LambOfGod #Maranatha #MaranathaEmpire #Nonviolence #peaceTheology #Peacemaking #Power #propheticChristianity #PropheticEssay #religiousPower #Revelation #SpiritualReflection #Theology
Maranatha.
Come, Lord.
It is the cry of the small church under pressure. The cry of the persecuted and the patient. The cry of those who have no armies to summon, no throne to defend, no voting bloc sufficient to save them, no market share large enough to secure their future. It is the cry of those who wait because they know they are not God.
But in every age, there are those who take this prayer of waiting and turn it into a banner of possession.
They say, “Come, Lord,” but what they mean is, “Give us control.”
They say, “Thy kingdom come,” but what they mean is, “Let our faction rule.”
They say, “Prepare the way of the Lord,” but what they build are prisons, borders, propaganda machines, religious celebrity platforms, and monuments to their own fear.
This is the Maranatha Empire.
It is not one nation only, though nations may become its servants. It is not one denomination only, though denominations may become its chapels. It is not merely Rome, nor Geneva, nor Washington, nor Moscow, nor any other city that has mistaken power for providence. The Maranatha Empire is the recurring temptation of the religious heart: to stop waiting for Christ and begin replacing him.
It begins quietly.
It begins with concern.
The world is dangerous. The children are vulnerable. The church is shrinking. The enemies are multiplying. The culture is changing. The old certainties are crumbling. The people are afraid.
Fear, when baptized, often calls itself faithfulness.
So the frightened church begins to reach for tools Jesus refused.
A throne.
A sword.
A spectacle.
A scapegoat.
A strongman.
A law that can accomplish what love has not yet persuaded.
A state that can enforce what the Spirit has not yet formed.
A leader who promises to defend Christ, as though Christ ever asked Peter to keep swinging after Gethsemane.
This is how the prayer becomes an empire.
The early church cried, “Come, Lord Jesus,” because it knew that Caesar was not Lord. The Maranatha Empire cries, “Come, Lord Jesus,” because it wants Caesar to become useful.
The early church broke bread in homes. The Maranatha Empire builds platforms and calls them altars.
The early church welcomed the stranger. The Maranatha Empire sees the stranger as a threat.
The early church died rather than kill. The Maranatha Empire kills and calls the dead collateral damage in the defense of righteousness.
The early church believed the Lamb had conquered. The Maranatha Empire keeps looking for a beast strong enough to protect the Lamb.
And there is the blasphemy.
Not that empire rejects Christ outright. That would be too honest. The Maranatha Empire does something more dangerous. It uses Christ as decoration for a power that is fundamentally afraid of the cross.
It sings of the Lamb while trusting the dragon.
It preaches resurrection while organizing itself around survival.
It displays the cross while despising weakness.
It quotes Jesus while ignoring the people Jesus told us to notice: the poor, the imprisoned, the hungry, the foreigner, the enemy, the child, the wounded man beside the road.
The Maranatha Empire is not built by atheists. It is built by believers who have lost patience with the way of Jesus.
For the way of Jesus is slow.
It is seed, yeast, salt, light.
It is foot-washing.
It is forgiveness seventy times seven.
It is refusing the shortcut of domination even when domination appears efficient.
It is telling Peter to put away the sword when everything in Peter’s body screams that this is the moment for holy violence.
It is standing before Pilate and saying, “My kingdom is not from this world,” not because the kingdom has nothing to do with the world, but because it does not come by the world’s methods.
The Maranatha Empire cannot tolerate this.
It cannot tolerate a Messiah who will not seize power.
It cannot tolerate a church that would rather be faithful than influential.
It cannot tolerate a people whose politics begin at the basin and towel.
It cannot tolerate enemy-love, because enemy-love ruins the machinery. Empire requires enemies. It needs them. It feeds on them. Without enemies, the crowd might look too closely at the throne.
So, the Maranatha Empire manufactures urgency.
There is no time to love.
No time to listen.
No time to discern.
No time for reconciliation.
No time for peacemaking.
No time to ask whether the means resemble the Christ we claim to serve.
The hour is late, they say. The danger is great. The stakes are too high. We must act now. We must take control now. We must win now.
And somewhere beneath all that urgency is a terrible confession:
They do not actually believe the Lord is coming.
Or, if he is coming, they do not trust him to arrive in the right way.
So they build him an empire to inherit.
But Christ does not inherit empires.
He judges them.
He walks in alleyways, not palaces. He asks whether the churches have kept their first love. He warns those who are rich and comfortable and self-satisfied that they may be poor, blind, and naked. He stands at the door and knocks, not because he has been defeated by secularism, but because religious people have locked him outside while holding meetings in his name.
The Maranatha Empire is always shocked when Jesus is found outside the gate.
Outside the camp.
Outside respectability.
Outside the approved narrative.
Outside the walls with the crucified, the excluded, the unclean, the inconvenient, and the condemned.
The empire expected him in the capital.
But he is with the refugees.
The empire expected him in the cathedral of victory.
But he is with the mother of the disappeared.
The empire expected him on the reviewing stand.
But he is washing feet in the basement.
The empire expected him to bless the troops.
But he is asking why his followers are still carrying swords.
This is why Maranatha must remain a dangerous prayer.
It must never be allowed to become a slogan for conquest. It must never be printed on the banners of those who are unwilling to be converted by the One they summon. To pray “Come, Lord” is not to invite divine endorsement of our projects. It is to invite judgment upon them.
Come, Lord, and judge our churches.
Come, Lord, and judge our flags.
Come, Lord, and judge our markets.
Come, Lord, and judge our weapons.
Come, Lord, and judge our sermons.
Come, Lord, and judge our secret hatreds.
Come, Lord, and judge the ways we have used your name to avoid your way.
This is the prayer empire cannot honestly pray.
Because if the Lord comes, the first thing to fall may not be our enemies.
It may be our idols.
The algorithm.
The nation.
The party.
The brand.
The gun.
The strongman.
The myth of innocence.
The lie that we can harm others for a righteous cause and remain untouched by the harm.
The Maranatha Empire teaches us to fear the collapse of Christian influence.
Jesus teaches us to fear gaining the world and losing our soul.
The Maranatha Empire asks, “How do we take back the culture?”
Jesus asks, “Can you drink the cup that I drink?”
The Maranatha Empire says, “Blessed are the winners.”
Jesus says, “Blessed are the meek.”
The Maranatha Empire says, “Blessed are the forceful, for they shall secure the future.”
Jesus says, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.”
And perhaps this is the word for us now:
The church does not need to become more powerful.
The church needs to become more faithful.
Not passive. Not silent. Not withdrawn into pious irrelevance. But faithful in the particular, cruciform, stubborn way of Jesus. Faithful enough to resist evil without becoming its mirror. Faithful enough to tell the truth without hatred. Faithful enough to protect the vulnerable without worshiping violence. Faithful enough to build communities of economic sharing, hospitality, forgiveness, courage, and joy. Faithful enough to be a people who can live without controlling the outcome.
That is the hard part.
Empire is attractive because it promises control.
Jesus offers communion.
Empire promises security.
Jesus offers peace.
Empire promises victory over enemies.
Jesus offers reconciliation that may begin with our repentance.
Empire promises to make us great.
Jesus invites us to become small enough to enter the kingdom.
So, let the Maranatha Empire fall.
Let it fall first in us.
Let it fall in every place where we have confused anxiety with zeal. Let it fall where we have preferred dominance to witness. Let it fall where we have wanted laws to do what discipleship would not. Let it fall where we have used the suffering of others as fuel for our own righteousness. Let it fall where we have asked Jesus to come only after we have arranged the throne to our liking.
And when it falls, may something older and more beautiful remain.
A table.
A basin.
A towel.
A loaf.
A cup.
A people gathered without illusion, without empire, without the need to be impressive, whispering the ancient prayer not as conquerors but as witnesses:
Maranatha.
Come, Lord Jesus.
Come not to crown our domination, but to free us from it.
Come not to baptize our fear, but to cast it out.
Come not to make our empire holy, but to teach us again that your kingdom comes like a seed, like yeast, like mercy, like a Lamb who was slain and yet lives.
And until you come, make us faithful.
Not imperial.
Not triumphant.
Not afraid.
Faithful. -
The Maranatha Empire
There is a prayer so holy that it should burn the tongue of every empire that tries to speak it.
#anabaptist #antiImperialTheology #breadAndCup #ChristianEthics #ChristianNationalism #ChristianWitness #Church #churchAndEmpire #comeLordJesus #cruciformFaith #Discipleship #domination #Empire #empireCritique #Faithfulness #FootWashing #Humility #Jesus #kingdomOfGod #LambOfGod #Maranatha #MaranathaEmpire #Nonviolence #peaceTheology #Peacemaking #Power #propheticChristianity #PropheticEssay #religiousPower #Revelation #SpiritualReflection #Theology
Maranatha.
Come, Lord.
It is the cry of the small church under pressure. The cry of the persecuted and the patient. The cry of those who have no armies to summon, no throne to defend, no voting bloc sufficient to save them, no market share large enough to secure their future. It is the cry of those who wait because they know they are not God.
But in every age, there are those who take this prayer of waiting and turn it into a banner of possession.
They say, “Come, Lord,” but what they mean is, “Give us control.”
They say, “Thy kingdom come,” but what they mean is, “Let our faction rule.”
They say, “Prepare the way of the Lord,” but what they build are prisons, borders, propaganda machines, religious celebrity platforms, and monuments to their own fear.
This is the Maranatha Empire.
It is not one nation only, though nations may become its servants. It is not one denomination only, though denominations may become its chapels. It is not merely Rome, nor Geneva, nor Washington, nor Moscow, nor any other city that has mistaken power for providence. The Maranatha Empire is the recurring temptation of the religious heart: to stop waiting for Christ and begin replacing him.
It begins quietly.
It begins with concern.
The world is dangerous. The children are vulnerable. The church is shrinking. The enemies are multiplying. The culture is changing. The old certainties are crumbling. The people are afraid.
Fear, when baptized, often calls itself faithfulness.
So the frightened church begins to reach for tools Jesus refused.
A throne.
A sword.
A spectacle.
A scapegoat.
A strongman.
A law that can accomplish what love has not yet persuaded.
A state that can enforce what the Spirit has not yet formed.
A leader who promises to defend Christ, as though Christ ever asked Peter to keep swinging after Gethsemane.
This is how the prayer becomes an empire.
The early church cried, “Come, Lord Jesus,” because it knew that Caesar was not Lord. The Maranatha Empire cries, “Come, Lord Jesus,” because it wants Caesar to become useful.
The early church broke bread in homes. The Maranatha Empire builds platforms and calls them altars.
The early church welcomed the stranger. The Maranatha Empire sees the stranger as a threat.
The early church died rather than kill. The Maranatha Empire kills and calls the dead collateral damage in the defense of righteousness.
The early church believed the Lamb had conquered. The Maranatha Empire keeps looking for a beast strong enough to protect the Lamb.
And there is the blasphemy.
Not that empire rejects Christ outright. That would be too honest. The Maranatha Empire does something more dangerous. It uses Christ as decoration for a power that is fundamentally afraid of the cross.
It sings of the Lamb while trusting the dragon.
It preaches resurrection while organizing itself around survival.
It displays the cross while despising weakness.
It quotes Jesus while ignoring the people Jesus told us to notice: the poor, the imprisoned, the hungry, the foreigner, the enemy, the child, the wounded man beside the road.
The Maranatha Empire is not built by atheists. It is built by believers who have lost patience with the way of Jesus.
For the way of Jesus is slow.
It is seed, yeast, salt, light.
It is foot-washing.
It is forgiveness seventy times seven.
It is refusing the shortcut of domination even when domination appears efficient.
It is telling Peter to put away the sword when everything in Peter’s body screams that this is the moment for holy violence.
It is standing before Pilate and saying, “My kingdom is not from this world,” not because the kingdom has nothing to do with the world, but because it does not come by the world’s methods.
The Maranatha Empire cannot tolerate this.
It cannot tolerate a Messiah who will not seize power.
It cannot tolerate a church that would rather be faithful than influential.
It cannot tolerate a people whose politics begin at the basin and towel.
It cannot tolerate enemy-love, because enemy-love ruins the machinery. Empire requires enemies. It needs them. It feeds on them. Without enemies, the crowd might look too closely at the throne.
So, the Maranatha Empire manufactures urgency.
There is no time to love.
No time to listen.
No time to discern.
No time for reconciliation.
No time for peacemaking.
No time to ask whether the means resemble the Christ we claim to serve.
The hour is late, they say. The danger is great. The stakes are too high. We must act now. We must take control now. We must win now.
And somewhere beneath all that urgency is a terrible confession:
They do not actually believe the Lord is coming.
Or, if he is coming, they do not trust him to arrive in the right way.
So they build him an empire to inherit.
But Christ does not inherit empires.
He judges them.
He walks in alleyways, not palaces. He asks whether the churches have kept their first love. He warns those who are rich and comfortable and self-satisfied that they may be poor, blind, and naked. He stands at the door and knocks, not because he has been defeated by secularism, but because religious people have locked him outside while holding meetings in his name.
The Maranatha Empire is always shocked when Jesus is found outside the gate.
Outside the camp.
Outside respectability.
Outside the approved narrative.
Outside the walls with the crucified, the excluded, the unclean, the inconvenient, and the condemned.
The empire expected him in the capital.
But he is with the refugees.
The empire expected him in the cathedral of victory.
But he is with the mother of the disappeared.
The empire expected him on the reviewing stand.
But he is washing feet in the basement.
The empire expected him to bless the troops.
But he is asking why his followers are still carrying swords.
This is why Maranatha must remain a dangerous prayer.
It must never be allowed to become a slogan for conquest. It must never be printed on the banners of those who are unwilling to be converted by the One they summon. To pray “Come, Lord” is not to invite divine endorsement of our projects. It is to invite judgment upon them.
Come, Lord, and judge our churches.
Come, Lord, and judge our flags.
Come, Lord, and judge our markets.
Come, Lord, and judge our weapons.
Come, Lord, and judge our sermons.
Come, Lord, and judge our secret hatreds.
Come, Lord, and judge the ways we have used your name to avoid your way.
This is the prayer empire cannot honestly pray.
Because if the Lord comes, the first thing to fall may not be our enemies.
It may be our idols.
The algorithm.
The nation.
The party.
The brand.
The gun.
The strongman.
The myth of innocence.
The lie that we can harm others for a righteous cause and remain untouched by the harm.
The Maranatha Empire teaches us to fear the collapse of Christian influence.
Jesus teaches us to fear gaining the world and losing our soul.
The Maranatha Empire asks, “How do we take back the culture?”
Jesus asks, “Can you drink the cup that I drink?”
The Maranatha Empire says, “Blessed are the winners.”
Jesus says, “Blessed are the meek.”
The Maranatha Empire says, “Blessed are the forceful, for they shall secure the future.”
Jesus says, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.”
And perhaps this is the word for us now:
The church does not need to become more powerful.
The church needs to become more faithful.
Not passive. Not silent. Not withdrawn into pious irrelevance. But faithful in the particular, cruciform, stubborn way of Jesus. Faithful enough to resist evil without becoming its mirror. Faithful enough to tell the truth without hatred. Faithful enough to protect the vulnerable without worshiping violence. Faithful enough to build communities of economic sharing, hospitality, forgiveness, courage, and joy. Faithful enough to be a people who can live without controlling the outcome.
That is the hard part.
Empire is attractive because it promises control.
Jesus offers communion.
Empire promises security.
Jesus offers peace.
Empire promises victory over enemies.
Jesus offers reconciliation that may begin with our repentance.
Empire promises to make us great.
Jesus invites us to become small enough to enter the kingdom.
So, let the Maranatha Empire fall.
Let it fall first in us.
Let it fall in every place where we have confused anxiety with zeal. Let it fall where we have preferred dominance to witness. Let it fall where we have wanted laws to do what discipleship would not. Let it fall where we have used the suffering of others as fuel for our own righteousness. Let it fall where we have asked Jesus to come only after we have arranged the throne to our liking.
And when it falls, may something older and more beautiful remain.
A table.
A basin.
A towel.
A loaf.
A cup.
A people gathered without illusion, without empire, without the need to be impressive, whispering the ancient prayer not as conquerors but as witnesses:
Maranatha.
Come, Lord Jesus.
Come not to crown our domination, but to free us from it.
Come not to baptize our fear, but to cast it out.
Come not to make our empire holy, but to teach us again that your kingdom comes like a seed, like yeast, like mercy, like a Lamb who was slain and yet lives.
And until you come, make us faithful.
Not imperial.
Not triumphant.
Not afraid.
Faithful. -
The Maranatha Empire
There is a prayer so holy that it should burn the tongue of every empire that tries to speak it.
#anabaptist #antiImperialTheology #breadAndCup #ChristianEthics #ChristianNationalism #ChristianWitness #Church #churchAndEmpire #comeLordJesus #cruciformFaith #Discipleship #domination #Empire #empireCritique #Faithfulness #FootWashing #Humility #Jesus #kingdomOfGod #LambOfGod #Maranatha #MaranathaEmpire #Nonviolence #peaceTheology #Peacemaking #Power #propheticChristianity #PropheticEssay #religiousPower #Revelation #SpiritualReflection #Theology
Maranatha.
Come, Lord.
It is the cry of the small church under pressure. The cry of the persecuted and the patient. The cry of those who have no armies to summon, no throne to defend, no voting bloc sufficient to save them, no market share large enough to secure their future. It is the cry of those who wait because they know they are not God.
But in every age, there are those who take this prayer of waiting and turn it into a banner of possession.
They say, “Come, Lord,” but what they mean is, “Give us control.”
They say, “Thy kingdom come,” but what they mean is, “Let our faction rule.”
They say, “Prepare the way of the Lord,” but what they build are prisons, borders, propaganda machines, religious celebrity platforms, and monuments to their own fear.
This is the Maranatha Empire.
It is not one nation only, though nations may become its servants. It is not one denomination only, though denominations may become its chapels. It is not merely Rome, nor Geneva, nor Washington, nor Moscow, nor any other city that has mistaken power for providence. The Maranatha Empire is the recurring temptation of the religious heart: to stop waiting for Christ and begin replacing him.
It begins quietly.
It begins with concern.
The world is dangerous. The children are vulnerable. The church is shrinking. The enemies are multiplying. The culture is changing. The old certainties are crumbling. The people are afraid.
Fear, when baptized, often calls itself faithfulness.
So the frightened church begins to reach for tools Jesus refused.
A throne.
A sword.
A spectacle.
A scapegoat.
A strongman.
A law that can accomplish what love has not yet persuaded.
A state that can enforce what the Spirit has not yet formed.
A leader who promises to defend Christ, as though Christ ever asked Peter to keep swinging after Gethsemane.
This is how the prayer becomes an empire.
The early church cried, “Come, Lord Jesus,” because it knew that Caesar was not Lord. The Maranatha Empire cries, “Come, Lord Jesus,” because it wants Caesar to become useful.
The early church broke bread in homes. The Maranatha Empire builds platforms and calls them altars.
The early church welcomed the stranger. The Maranatha Empire sees the stranger as a threat.
The early church died rather than kill. The Maranatha Empire kills and calls the dead collateral damage in the defense of righteousness.
The early church believed the Lamb had conquered. The Maranatha Empire keeps looking for a beast strong enough to protect the Lamb.
And there is the blasphemy.
Not that empire rejects Christ outright. That would be too honest. The Maranatha Empire does something more dangerous. It uses Christ as decoration for a power that is fundamentally afraid of the cross.
It sings of the Lamb while trusting the dragon.
It preaches resurrection while organizing itself around survival.
It displays the cross while despising weakness.
It quotes Jesus while ignoring the people Jesus told us to notice: the poor, the imprisoned, the hungry, the foreigner, the enemy, the child, the wounded man beside the road.
The Maranatha Empire is not built by atheists. It is built by believers who have lost patience with the way of Jesus.
For the way of Jesus is slow.
It is seed, yeast, salt, light.
It is foot-washing.
It is forgiveness seventy times seven.
It is refusing the shortcut of domination even when domination appears efficient.
It is telling Peter to put away the sword when everything in Peter’s body screams that this is the moment for holy violence.
It is standing before Pilate and saying, “My kingdom is not from this world,” not because the kingdom has nothing to do with the world, but because it does not come by the world’s methods.
The Maranatha Empire cannot tolerate this.
It cannot tolerate a Messiah who will not seize power.
It cannot tolerate a church that would rather be faithful than influential.
It cannot tolerate a people whose politics begin at the basin and towel.
It cannot tolerate enemy-love, because enemy-love ruins the machinery. Empire requires enemies. It needs them. It feeds on them. Without enemies, the crowd might look too closely at the throne.
So, the Maranatha Empire manufactures urgency.
There is no time to love.
No time to listen.
No time to discern.
No time for reconciliation.
No time for peacemaking.
No time to ask whether the means resemble the Christ we claim to serve.
The hour is late, they say. The danger is great. The stakes are too high. We must act now. We must take control now. We must win now.
And somewhere beneath all that urgency is a terrible confession:
They do not actually believe the Lord is coming.
Or, if he is coming, they do not trust him to arrive in the right way.
So they build him an empire to inherit.
But Christ does not inherit empires.
He judges them.
He walks in alleyways, not palaces. He asks whether the churches have kept their first love. He warns those who are rich and comfortable and self-satisfied that they may be poor, blind, and naked. He stands at the door and knocks, not because he has been defeated by secularism, but because religious people have locked him outside while holding meetings in his name.
The Maranatha Empire is always shocked when Jesus is found outside the gate.
Outside the camp.
Outside respectability.
Outside the approved narrative.
Outside the walls with the crucified, the excluded, the unclean, the inconvenient, and the condemned.
The empire expected him in the capital.
But he is with the refugees.
The empire expected him in the cathedral of victory.
But he is with the mother of the disappeared.
The empire expected him on the reviewing stand.
But he is washing feet in the basement.
The empire expected him to bless the troops.
But he is asking why his followers are still carrying swords.
This is why Maranatha must remain a dangerous prayer.
It must never be allowed to become a slogan for conquest. It must never be printed on the banners of those who are unwilling to be converted by the One they summon. To pray “Come, Lord” is not to invite divine endorsement of our projects. It is to invite judgment upon them.
Come, Lord, and judge our churches.
Come, Lord, and judge our flags.
Come, Lord, and judge our markets.
Come, Lord, and judge our weapons.
Come, Lord, and judge our sermons.
Come, Lord, and judge our secret hatreds.
Come, Lord, and judge the ways we have used your name to avoid your way.
This is the prayer empire cannot honestly pray.
Because if the Lord comes, the first thing to fall may not be our enemies.
It may be our idols.
The algorithm.
The nation.
The party.
The brand.
The gun.
The strongman.
The myth of innocence.
The lie that we can harm others for a righteous cause and remain untouched by the harm.
The Maranatha Empire teaches us to fear the collapse of Christian influence.
Jesus teaches us to fear gaining the world and losing our soul.
The Maranatha Empire asks, “How do we take back the culture?”
Jesus asks, “Can you drink the cup that I drink?”
The Maranatha Empire says, “Blessed are the winners.”
Jesus says, “Blessed are the meek.”
The Maranatha Empire says, “Blessed are the forceful, for they shall secure the future.”
Jesus says, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.”
And perhaps this is the word for us now:
The church does not need to become more powerful.
The church needs to become more faithful.
Not passive. Not silent. Not withdrawn into pious irrelevance. But faithful in the particular, cruciform, stubborn way of Jesus. Faithful enough to resist evil without becoming its mirror. Faithful enough to tell the truth without hatred. Faithful enough to protect the vulnerable without worshiping violence. Faithful enough to build communities of economic sharing, hospitality, forgiveness, courage, and joy. Faithful enough to be a people who can live without controlling the outcome.
That is the hard part.
Empire is attractive because it promises control.
Jesus offers communion.
Empire promises security.
Jesus offers peace.
Empire promises victory over enemies.
Jesus offers reconciliation that may begin with our repentance.
Empire promises to make us great.
Jesus invites us to become small enough to enter the kingdom.
So, let the Maranatha Empire fall.
Let it fall first in us.
Let it fall in every place where we have confused anxiety with zeal. Let it fall where we have preferred dominance to witness. Let it fall where we have wanted laws to do what discipleship would not. Let it fall where we have used the suffering of others as fuel for our own righteousness. Let it fall where we have asked Jesus to come only after we have arranged the throne to our liking.
And when it falls, may something older and more beautiful remain.
A table.
A basin.
A towel.
A loaf.
A cup.
A people gathered without illusion, without empire, without the need to be impressive, whispering the ancient prayer not as conquerors but as witnesses:
Maranatha.
Come, Lord Jesus.
Come not to crown our domination, but to free us from it.
Come not to baptize our fear, but to cast it out.
Come not to make our empire holy, but to teach us again that your kingdom comes like a seed, like yeast, like mercy, like a Lamb who was slain and yet lives.
And until you come, make us faithful.
Not imperial.
Not triumphant.
Not afraid.
Faithful. -
The Unknown God
A Sermon about the Idols of Yesterday and Today
Acts 17:16–31
(Note: Sermons can be heard in audio format at https://millersburgmennonite.org/worship/sermon-audio/)
In our scripture this morning, Paul walks into Athens, a city overflowing with religion, beauty, ideas, temples, shrines, altars, arguments, and gods.
Athens is not empty.
Athens is crowded.
And Paul is deeply troubled.
Paul is not troubled because Athens is secular. He is troubled because Athens is religious in all the wrong ways. The city is full of worship, but empty of surrender. Full of gods, but not the living God. Full of altars but still haunted by absence.
For among all those altars, Paul notices one inscription:
To an unknown god.
What a haunting phrase.
In the middle of all the Athenians’ certainty, there is still this admission: we may have missed something. We may not know as much as we think. There may still be a God we have not recognized.
And I wonder if that is not where many people are right now.
Not atheists necessarily. Not even irreligious. But uncertain. Searching. Guarded. Spiritual, yet suspicious of certainty. Curious yet afraid of being closed off or closed in. Open and yet not really able to surrender to truth. Religious and yet still missing God.
La Atenas de Pablo no es solamente historia antigua; también describe nuestro mundo de hoy.
So Athens is not just ancient history.
Athens is now.
Let us pray.
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O God, our Rock and our Redeemer. Amen.
Homily
Like the Athens of Paul’s day, our world today is full of altars too.
Altars to nation. Altars to wealth. Altars to image. Altars to safety. Altars to tribe. Altars to ideology. Altars to the market. Altars to the screen. Altars to the self.
We, like the Athenians, have all kinds of gods.
One reason I think our public discourse feels so fractured is that we are not just arguing about small things. We are bringing completely different belief systems into the room.
In Athens there were Jews who worshiped the one living God; God-fearing Greeks drawn toward that God but not fully committed; Epicureans who sought calm and freedom from fear; Stoics who valued reason, virtue, order, and discipline; and this strange altar to an unknown god, an altar that says, “We do not want to miss the divine. We know there is more than we can name.”
Paul proclaims a God who is not vague, not distant, not merely a principle, not one more option in the marketplace of ideas. Paul proclaims the God who made the world and everything in it, the God who gives life and breath to all, the God who cannot be reduced to shrines or captured in gold or silver or stone or circuitry, the God who is near to all, the God who now calls all people everywhere to repent because God has raised Jesus from the dead.
Pablo anuncia que Dios no es una idea vaga ni un ídolo más, sino el Creador que da vida, aliento y resurrección.
Some may believe truth is revealed and binding. Others are spiritual, but indefinite. Others have been wounded by the church and do not know whether the word “God” is invitation or threat.
And into all of that, Christian witness says: the world belongs to its Creator, and history has turned in the resurrection of Jesus Christ.
When Paul is brought to the Areopagus, we might imagine a cozy invitation. Maybe there is curiosity there, but there is also something more serious. Paul is being examined. Tested. Weighed. Asked to explain himself in public.
Paul is heard, but under suspicion.
And how does he respond?
Not with coercion. Not with panic. Not with silence. Not with flattery. Not with domination.
He responds with witness.
Paul pays attention. He listens. He observes. He starts where the people are.
Pablo no responde con poder o miedo, sino con atención, humildad y testimonio.
Paul does not begin by quoting Moses. He does not begin where he is most comfortable. He begins with what his hearers can recognize: their altar, their poets, their longing, their language of divine nearness.
My friends, that is not compromise. That is faithful witness.
And this matters for us, because our witness cannot always sound exactly the same in every place, in every room, in every forum.
The gospel does not change. “Jesus Christ is Lord” – that doesn’t change either. The call to repentance, reconciliation, mercy, justice, truth, and abundant life this side of the resurrection does not change.
But the way we bear witness may depend on where we are and who is in front of us.
El evangelio no cambia, pero la manera de dar testimonio puede cambiar según el lugar y las personas.
When Paul is in the synagogue, he reasons from the scriptures. But when Paul is in Athens, among philosophers, idolaters, seekers, and skeptics, he begins somewhere else. He begins with creation. He begins with breath. He begins with longing. He begins with the altar they already have. He begins with the poetry they already know.
Paul does not start by asking them to enter his world. He first enters theirs.
That is not watering down the faith. That is speaking the truth in love. That is incarnation-shaped witness.
Pablo entra en el mundo de sus oyentes para poder anunciarles fielmente al Dios vivo.
Paul does not introduce Athens to a God who was absent until Paul arrived. Paul reveals the presence of a God they have already been brushing up against.
The God they called unknown has been waiting to be revealed.
Paul says this God gives to all mortals life and breath and all things. Paul says this God is not far from each one of us. Paul says, “In him we live and move and have our being.”
So maybe the question is not simply, “Will God show up?”
Maybe the deeper question is, “Will we recognize how God is already showing up?”
Which brings us to a question worth asking every day:
God, how are you going to show up today?
Not, “God, are you going to show up?”
But, “God, how are you going to show up?”
La pregunta no es solo si Dios aparecerá, sino si tendremos ojos para reconocer cómo Dios ya está presente.
Because Acts 17 reveals to us that God may already be present before people have the right language. God may already be at work before someone has the right doctrine. God may already be stirring longing before anyone knows how to name that longing.
God may already be there in the question. God may already be there in the difference. God may already be there in the ache. God may already be there in the crack in someone’s certainty.
Paul sees an altar to an unknown god, and he does not only see idolatry. He also sees longing. He sees an opening. He sees a place where witness can begin.
Dios puede estar obrando en la pregunta, en el dolor, en el anhelo, aun antes de que sepamos nombrarlo.
And then Paul does something just as important:
He does not stay there.
He builds a bridge, yes. But he also tells the truth.
He says, in effect, “The God you do not know is the God who made you. The God you have not recognized is the God who gives you breath. The God you have left unnamed is not contained in your temples. The God you seek cannot be reduced to your idols.”
Because idolatry is not just about statues.
Idolatry is whenever we try to bind God to our own systems of power and belief.
Idolatry is when nation becomes ultimate. Idolatry is when wealth becomes sacred. Idolatry is when violence is blessed. Idolatry is when “they” usurps “us.” Idolatry is when “my people” become more important than “humanity.” Idolatry is when our beliefs matter more than relationships. Idolatry is when our politics, grievances, fears, and identities begin to function as gods.
And let us be honest: the church is not exempt.
Athens is not only out there.
Athens is in here.
Athens is in us whenever we want a manageable god. Athens is in us whenever we want a useful god. Athens is in us whenever we want a god who blesses our side, confirms our assumptions, secures our system, and God forbid, never ever, disrupts our loyalties.
But Paul says the living God does not dwell in temples made by human hands.
That means God is not mine, yours, ours to manage.
Dios no pertenece a nuestros sistemas; nosotros pertenecemos al Dios vivo.
Which begs the question:
God, how are you going to show up?
Because we often want God to show up in familiar ways. Predictable ways. Comfortable ways. Worshipful, yes, but also manageable.
But what if the living God shows up in ways that unsettle us?
What if God shows up in the person we dismissed? What if God shows up in the hard conversation? What if God shows up in the exposure of an idol? What if God shows up in a call to repentance? What if God shows up not to decorate our little altars, but to overturn them?
There are some places where our witness begins with Scripture. Some where it begins with service. Some with silence. Some with apology. Some with saying, “Tell me more.”
There are some places where our witness begins not by answering a question no one is asking, but by noticing the altar in the room, the longing in the room, the wound in the room, the fear in the room, the unknown god in the room.
And yet, Christian witness does not end with vague spirituality.
Paul does not say, “Well, you have your gods, and I have mine, and maybe underneath it all we mean the same thing.”
No.
He moves to repentance.
He moves to judgment.
He moves to resurrection.
Because resurrection means God has shown up in Jesus Christ.
The unknown God is unknown no longer.
Not because we figured God out, but because God has acted. Because Christ has been raised.
El Dios desconocido se ha dado a conocer en Jesucristo, crucificado y resucitado.
Because death is not lord. Caesar is not lord. The economy is not lord. Violence is not lord. Fear is not lord. (Fill in the blank) is not lord. Like we say down South, those dogs don’t hunt.
Jesus Christ is Lord. Jesus Christ is Lord. Jesus Christ is Lord!
The Cosmic Christ is more than just our own personal Jesus. And that means resurrection is not just good news for me, or my private soul. Or you and your private soul. It is the announcement of a new humanity under a new Lord. A new community. A new allegiance. A new public witness.
La resurrección anuncia una nueva humanidad bajo el señorío de Cristo.
That is who the church is meant to be.
Not simply a chaplain to the culture. Not another little religious booth in the marketplace of ideas. Not a baptizer of empire. Not a slave to ideology.
The church is the gathering of a resurrection people.
A people who do not only say, “God, show up.”
But a people who say,
God, help us recognize how you are showing up.
La iglesia existe para reconocer y encarnar la presencia del Cristo resucitado en el mundo.
So ask the question.
Ask it every morning. Ask it before worship. Ask it before the meeting. Ask it before the conversation. Ask it before you enter the room.
God, how are you going to show up?
And then ask the next question:
God, how are you calling me to show up?
To show up in worship, to show up in our community, to show up in the public square, to show up in the hard conversation, to show up in the awkward silence, and to show up in the uncomfortable moment when it would be easier to walk away.
My friends, we are the church of God. We are resurrection people, and resurrection people do not hide behind rose-colored stained-glass windows.
We show up because God first showed up.
We show up not because we are fearless, but because we are faithful. We show up not because every moment is easy, but because love is present. We show up not because we control the outcome, but because Christ is Lord. We show up not to dominate, not to coerce, not to win, but to bear witness.
Nos presentamos no para dominar, sino para dar testimonio con fidelidad, amor, humildad y paz.
And our witness may look different depending on where we are.
In worship, we show up with praise. In the neighborhood, with service. In conflict, with humility. In public life, with truth and peace. Among the wounded, with gentleness. Among the arrogant, with courage. Among the uncertain, with patience. Among the idols, with discernment.
Paul showed up in Athens.
He showed up in a city full of idols, in misunderstanding, under scrutiny, in the awkwardness of difference.
He showed up with a witness shaped by the place he was in.
He did not abandon the gospel.
He embodied it.
He trusted that God was already there ahead of him.
Pablo confió en que Dios ya estaba presente antes de que él hablara.
Maybe that is our calling too.
Not to have every answer. Not to control every room. Not to force belief.
But to show up with courage, humility, truth, and love, because the God who seemed unknown has already come near.
So this week, before you enter the room, begin the conversation, make the assumption, or speak the word, ask:
God, how are you going to show up here, in this moment, today?
And then ask:
Lord Jesus, how are you calling me to show up, here, in this moment, today, with you?
Because the God who was unknown has been made known, and the God who has been made known is still showing up, in us and in the people around us, in our homes and in the homes next door, in our neighborhood and in the communities down the road, in our nation and in all the nations of the world.
May God grant us open eyes and willing hearts to see and serve.
Let us pray.
#Acts17 #anabaptist #Areopagus #biblicalPreaching #ChristianArt #ChristianWitness #ChurchAndSociety #Cross #discernment #faithAndCulture #faithfulWitness #falseGods #GodShowingUp #Idolatry #JesusChristIsLord #modernIdols #PaulInAthens #publicWitness #Repentance #resurrection #SacredImagery #sermonIllustration #spiritualLonging #UnknownGod -
Pope Leo honors Armenian Christian witness during Turkey visit https://www.byteseu.com/1590468/ #Armenia #ArmenianApostolicChurch #ArmenianGenocide #ArmenianPeople #artsakh #Azerbaijan #ChristianFaith #ChristianWitness #Conflict #DiasporaChurch #istanbul #NagornoKarabakh #OttomanEmpire #PopeLeo #RepublicOfArmenia #Turkey
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Walk in His Love (Christian Music) = Share in this new celebration 🙌 of faith! - #God #Jesus #TheLord #Praise #ChristianMusic #Bible #Music #Song #FaithJourney #WalkWithJesus #DivineGuidance #SpiritualGrowth #ChristianYouth #FaithfulWaves #LoveOfGod #DivineEmbrace #HeartOfWorship #ChristianUnity #SpiritualRenewal #HopeAndGrace #EternalLight #SoulfulReflections #PrayerfulLife #ChristianWitness #PeacefulDevotion #HeavenlyJourney - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=
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Walk in His Love (Christian Music) = Share in this new celebration 🙌 of faith! - #God #Jesus #TheLord #Praise #ChristianMusic #Bible #Music #Song #FaithJourney #WalkWithJesus #DivineGuidance #SpiritualGrowth #ChristianYouth #FaithfulWaves #LoveOfGod #DivineEmbrace #HeartOfWorship #ChristianUnity #SpiritualRenewal #HopeAndGrace #EternalLight #SoulfulReflections #PrayerfulLife #ChristianWitness #PeacefulDevotion #HeavenlyJourney - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=
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Walk in His Love (Christian Music) = Share in this new celebration 🙌 of faith! - #God #Jesus #TheLord #Praise #ChristianMusic #Bible #Music #Song #FaithJourney #WalkWithJesus #DivineGuidance #SpiritualGrowth #ChristianYouth #FaithfulWaves #LoveOfGod #DivineEmbrace #HeartOfWorship #ChristianUnity #SpiritualRenewal #HopeAndGrace #EternalLight #SoulfulReflections #PrayerfulLife #ChristianWitness #PeacefulDevotion #HeavenlyJourney - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=
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Walk in His Love (Christian Music) = Share in this new celebration 🙌 of faith! - #God #Jesus #TheLord #Praise #ChristianMusic #Bible #Music #Song #FaithJourney #WalkWithJesus #DivineGuidance #SpiritualGrowth #ChristianYouth #FaithfulWaves #LoveOfGod #DivineEmbrace #HeartOfWorship #ChristianUnity #SpiritualRenewal #HopeAndGrace #EternalLight #SoulfulReflections #PrayerfulLife #ChristianWitness #PeacefulDevotion #HeavenlyJourney - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=
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Walk in His Love (Christian Music) = Share in this new celebration 🙌 of faith! - #God #Jesus #TheLord #Praise #ChristianMusic #Bible #Music #Song #FaithJourney #WalkWithJesus #DivineGuidance #SpiritualGrowth #ChristianYouth #FaithfulWaves #LoveOfGod #DivineEmbrace #HeartOfWorship #ChristianUnity #SpiritualRenewal #HopeAndGrace #EternalLight #SoulfulReflections #PrayerfulLife #ChristianWitness #PeacefulDevotion #HeavenlyJourney - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=
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Alexander Balmain Bruce, Free Church of Scotland minister, on the Good Samaritan from Luke 10. Genuine holiness of love differs from that shown by the priest and the Levite, who did not offer any aid to the injured traveler. God values love supremely.
Would we object to someone using the word “holiness” to refer to getting one’s hands dirty with physical aid to the afflicted?
How can you aid a fallen person today?
#christian #datpostmilltho #christianwitness #economics #faithjourney