IMHO, there is a danger when you overemphasize an aspect of Jesusâ message about the âkingdom of Godâ, when you either over-spiritualize it or over-politicize it.
In the ancient world, politics and religion were intertwined: there was no âSeparation of Church and Stateâ as we know it today. This is why in many ancient cultures, heads of state were considered as a mediator between gods and men or even gods (or sons of gods) in their own right. The concept of the â
sacred kingâ or the âpriest-kingâ was one shared by different peoples. Take a look for example in the ancient Japanese word for âpoliticsâ,
matsurigoto (ćż) - it contains the word
matsuri (nowadays meaning âfestivalâ in general, but originally specifically denoting an occasion of religious significance) in it. âPoliticsâ is thus seen as a sacred rite. The same is true with the âkingdom of God:â it reaches the earth as it reaches heaven.
When Jesus said that His kingdom is ânot of this worldâ (a more correct translation of this phrase in modern English is: ânot from this world,â i.e. ânot the sort of kingdom which springs out from this worldâ), it did not mean that it is something totally nebulous and other-worldly, something that does not have any connection with the world. The Kingdom is certainly
for this world, but it isnât
from it. It isnât the same as the other kingdoms which originate from the world (such as the kingdom of Caesar), who make their way by injustice and violence and create their own facts from the ground. It is Godâs gift for the world, but the world isnât ready for it yet. Hence, the Kingdom of Heaven and the kingdoms of this world actively clash with each other, even today (I warrant). When Jesus and Christians say that God is the Ruler of the earth, it meant that Caesar isnât. âThy kingdom come: thy will be done in earth as it is in heaven.â And since God is King, each and every forms of evil, such as social injustice and sin have no right to exist. There is certainly that gritty, earthly, âpoliticalâ aspect in Jesusâ teaching which do not get any proper respect today because we often either ignore or over-emphasize it.
There is actually a book by N.T. âTomâ Wright called
How God Became King, wherein he argues that the story of Jesus is in reality the story of how God set up His kingdom here on earth. This is what he writes about the idea of the âsocial gospelâ:
[M]any devout Christians, without actually denying the credal elements (virgin birth, resurrection and so on), have glimpsed in the things Jesus did a sight of what the âkingdom of Godâ might look like in practice. The poor are delivered from their plight; the hungry are fed; the widows and orphans are given justice, and so on. Many Christians, sustained by prayer, the sacraments, and the fellowship of the church, have given themselves energetically to these and other causes in their own day. Sometimes they have integrated, at least, the doctrine of the incarnation into what they have been attempting. In Jesus, they have said, God came and got his hands dirty in the real world and we are called to do the same. The movement that called itself âChristian socialismâ at the end of the nineteenth century worked on exactly that basis, often with a rich blend of spirituality, sacramental practice and biblical theology, and with remarkable effect. I think, for instance, of the great biblical scholar and Bishop of Durham Brooke Foss Westcott, who combined ferociously detailed and exact textual scholarship with zealous commitment to the poorest of the poor in nineteenth-century England.
Many movements of social reform at various points in the nineteenth century bear witness to this spirit, not least of course the pressure that led to the abolition of slavery. And then, around the start of the twentieth century, the movement known as the âsocial gospelâ made its mark, not exactly by ignoring the âcloakâ of ancient dogma, but by concentrating instead on the actions of Jesus and the command to his followers to behave in the same way. Matthew 25.31-46 has regularly been highlighted in this connection: âWhen you did it to one of the least significant of my brothers and sisters here,â declares Jesus about the hungry who need feeding, the prisoners who need visiting, and so on, âyou did it to me.â And âWhen you didnât do it . . . , you didnât do it for me.â
The Achilles heel of the âsocial gospelâ movement, however, was that many of its enthusiasts were, like the critical scholars of the time, focusing on the centre rather than the edges, and so misreading the centre itself. In trying to have a Jesus who cared for the poor without needing to be the incarnate son of God or to die for the sins of the world and be raised bodily thereafter, they falsified (so we could argue) even the bits they were highlighting.
The problem with all this, however, is not merely at the level of theory (âHow come youâve taken some bits of the gospel story, but left out other bits?â). The problem is that, a century after the âsocial gospelâ was at its high-water mark, the world, including the Western world, still seems to be a place of great wickedness. Greed and corruption, oppression of the poor, violence and degradation, war and genocide continue unchecked. It isnât only the Jesus of popular imagination, then, who expected something dramatic to happen and was disappointed. The âsocial gospelâ may have helped to clean up some slums, to reduce working hours for women and children and factories, and so on. Thatâs wonderful. But homelessness and virtual slave labour are still realities in the modern Western world, never mind elsewhere. Has anything really changed?
Faced with this puzzle, it is fair to ask: What difference might it make if the âmiddleâ of the gospels was integrated with the âouterâ bits? What would it be like if the cloak was no longer empty?
The âprimary criticismâ against it is that it is presented as a whole system, an entire theological orientation, and identifies that solely as Jesusâ mission. That is a reductionist (and inaccurate) view of Jesus.