the good news

Rider on the White Horse by Robert Wright

It’s dark. I can only see my fellow humans as dim, shadowy shapes in a sick reddish light. I hate them, and at the same time I cower among them, using them as a fleshly shield against the pain that never lets up. I’m so used to it now that I have almost grown numb: the moment-by-moment stings of my master’s cruel prod, which I can’t stop running into even though it hurts every time. It’s like a drug, destroying me even as it wraps me tighter in its grip, and I know there is no hope. This is my existence. This was yesterday, this is today, this will be tomorrow. Darkness. Pain. The haunting, but somehow also stupid, moans of the bodies around me as they, too, endlessly run back into the stinging prod.

Every once in a while, I’ll watch blankly as one of these human shapes strikes down another in a cold rage. Death is a near and familiar companion. Sometimes it almost seems like a friend. 

What’s that? Something breaks up the endless chaos of red and shadow. It’s white, even brilliant–it hurts my unaccustomed eyes, piercing straight through me like a knife-beam of light, a thing I have never seen. I blink, but it’s still there, getting closer and bigger and spilling radiant white light over this shadowy valley of death. The bodies around me crush in and scatter like rats, desperate to avoid revelation, desperate to hide from whatever it means to be seen. I instinctively cower back, too, even though I can feel the prod sink into my spine. It’s too bright. It’s too much. I can’t see. I cover my face with my hands and fall facedown on the ground, stumbling over the bodies of the dead, thinking that if only I can be dead, too, I will be spared this probing, blinding light–whatever it is.

Then there’s a voice.

It’s no voice I have ever heard. It doesn’t hiss or snarl, like my masters. It doesn’t moan, like my fellow humans. This voice thunders.

“Get up! You, follow Me!”

I am shaking uncontrollably, but this is a command that overpowers every instinct of self-preservation in my body. I instantly rise to my feet. Still shielding my face from the light, I look up, seeking the Source of this voice.

And in that moment the light shifts from blinding to brilliant. I can see. I can see Him. He is a King, a Conqueror, riding astride a white horse. He wields a sword, but the blade is clean; only his robes are dripping with blood–blood that seems to have come from a wound in His own side, from scars in His own hands.

There are words written into His robe. “KING OF KINGS, AND LORD OF LORDS.”

He rides forward until I can feel His horse’s breath on my neck. I am still shaking, but I can’t move–can’t so much as bow my head. It’s as if, by seeing Him, I can suddenly see myself clearly.

And I am dead. Dead in my trespasses and sins. I cannot escape this hell that I live in or this master of sin and death that I serve. The pain that I was numb to moments ago is now excruciating, and it’s only sheer terror that keeps me from writhing in agony in His presence.

As if separated from my own body, I am vaguely aware that He has leaned down and taken my hand in His, and somewhere in the recesses of my mind I become conscious of the bloody hole in the middle of His palm.

He speaks again at last, but this time, His voice is as gentle as a rippling brook. “Little girl, I say to you, get up.”

And there falls away from my eyes something like scales. My vision becomes clear for the first time in my existence. I can see the massive army behind the King, a cavalry all clothed in white. And I realize why He is here: to win this dead hellscape for His kingdom. I can either surrender or die.

And I have already been dead once. Whatever this King might do to me, I would rather be on His side than return to the reign of death.

“I surrender.”

Instead of binding my wrists and banishing me from His presence, wretch that I am, I hear Him give orders that I be clothed in white and given a mount. The whole army breaks into cheers of celebration, and I feel tears of what must be joy stream hot down my face as the embrace of what must be love wraps around my soul. I am alive, and I am at peace. I am His.

I fall into the ranks of the rest of the army. We are forward-bound behind our King, spilling the light into more dead and dark places, gathering up everyone who will surrender on our way and welcoming them into what must be a family.

My King has come, and He is taking back all Creation from the power of sin and death. My allegiance is to Him now—Him alone. Hallelujah.

the gospel of the kingdom

“Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.”

John the Baptist first, and then Jesus Christ Himself both speak these exact words in the first few chapters of the Gospel of Matthew. Jesus goes on to refer to the kingdom of heaven some four dozen times throughout His ministry as recorded by Matthew. It’s the primary focus of His teachings. Matthew 4:23 says, “Jesus was going throughout all Galilee, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the gospel of the kingdom, and healing every kind of disease and every kind of sickness among the people.”

As I follow this thread through the book, highlighting each use of the phrase “kingdom of heaven” or related terminology, I wonder: Where did this all begin? What does He mean, “the kingdom of heaven”? What is its gospel?

Of course, I know the Sunday school answers to these questions. I could give you a few verse references that define the Gospel from Paul’s letters, for example. But far too often we fill in the spaces between the lines with our Sunday school knowledge instead of the rich backdrop that Scripture itself provides. So I ask—how did we arrive at Matthew 4 from the pathway of 39 books of the Hebrew Scriptures? What would Jesus’ contemporary Jewish listeners (who had never been to Sunday school) have heard when He said “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand”? John and Jesus didn’t pull this phrase out of thin air—it must have a context.

Matthew gives us a clue into that context when he introduces John the Baptist:

Now in those days John the Baptist came, preaching in the wilderness of Judea, saying, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” For this is the one referred to by Isaiah the prophet when he said,

“The voice of one crying in the wilderness,
‘Make ready the way of the Lord,
Make His paths straight!’”

Matthew 3:1-3

The prophetic quotation comes from Isaiah chapter 40 and is what rabbinic teaching would have called a “remez”—a hint. The quote contains only Isaiah 40:3, but it is intended to guide us to a much broader passage, possibly even the entire sixth scroll of Isaiah (which would encompass chapters 40-48). So let’s pull back from verse 3 for a wider view:

“Comfort, O comfort My people,” says your God.
“Speak kindly to Jerusalem;
And call out to her, that her warfare has ended,
That her iniquity has been removed,
That she has received of the Lord’s hand
Double for all her sins.”

A voice is calling,
“Clear the way for the Lord in the wilderness;
Make smooth in the desert a highway for our God.
“Let every valley be lifted up,
And every mountain and hill be made low;
And let the rough ground become a plain,
And the rugged terrain a broad valley;
Then the glory of the Lord will be revealed,
And all flesh will see it together;
For the mouth of the Lord has spoken.”
A voice says, “Call out.”
Then he answered, “What shall I call out?”

Isaiah 40:1-6

The poem paints us a picture. Can you see it? Watch! The very earth is smoothing the way for a mighty King’s arrival. The valleys rise and the mountains flatten so that the path for His royal procession may be clear. A voice urges—“Call out!” But what’s the announcement? What is the news?

Get yourself up on a high mountain,
O Zion, bearer of good news,
Lift up your voice mightily,
O Jerusalem, bearer of good news;
Lift it up, do not fear.
Say to the cities of Judah,
“Here is your God!”
Behold, the Lord God will come with might,
With His arm ruling for Him.
Behold, His reward is with Him
And His recompense before Him.
Like a shepherd He will tend His flock,
In His arm He will gather the lambs
And carry them in His bosom;
He will gently lead the nursing ewes.

Isaiah 40:9-11

There it is—the good news, the gospel of the kingdom, the source of John the Baptist’s cry for repentance: “Here is your God!” Here is the King! He is returning to His domain, to the kingdom that has been shattered by the enemy, and taking it back from its foes. He is rescuing His people from their imprisonment—their “iniquity has been removed” (Isaiah 40:2) and “The people who walk in darkness will see a great light” (Isaiah 9:2a).

How lovely on the mountains
Are the feet of him who brings good news,
Who announces peace
And brings good news of happiness,
Who announces salvation,
And says to Zion, “Your God reigns!”
Listen! Your watchmen lift up their voices,
They shout joyfully together;
For they will see with their own eyes
When the Lord restores Zion.
Break forth, shout joyfully together,
You waste places of Jerusalem;
For the Lord has comforted His people,
He has redeemed Jerusalem.
The Lord has bared His holy arm
In the sight of all the nations,
That all the ends of the earth may see
The salvation of our God.

Isaiah 52:7-9

Your God reigns—source of salvation, author of restoration, pursuer of redemption.

He is mighty. He is sovereign. He is generous. He is gentle. He is holy.

He is coming.

The King is coming. This is the good news. And there is only one appropriate response to His imminent enthronement: Repent.

When John the Baptist and the Lord Jesus Christ preach, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand,” they aren’t handing out tickets to paradise or get-out-of-hell-free cards. They aren’t even calling for the overthrow of Rome and the return to Israel’s golden age, which is what the Jewish people desperately hoped. Instead, they are announcing that the God of the Universe has come to reclaim the world from the clutches of death, and summoning each and every soul to declare an allegiance.

It’s an invitation to become a citizen of a different country, to be adopted into the Royal Family, to claim an undeserved inheritance of eternal life.

In this kingdom, it is the helpless who are most powerful, the meek who are richest, the hated who are blessed. In this kingdom, “the wolf will dwell with the lamb, and the leopard will lie down with the young goat, and the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; and a little boy will lead them” (Isaiah 11:6). In this kingdom, “the last shall be first, and the first last” (Matthew 20:16), and “whoever wishes to become great among you shall be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you shall be your slave” (Matthew 20:26-27).

This kingdom has been won by a King whose crown was made of thorns—who was raised up not on a throne, but on a cross. He was a Prince who came to be a servant. The Creator of all life who came to die.

Friends, I have good news: Your God reigns! The King has come, and He is coming again. He has won back His kingdom, and He is returning to rule over it. It looks nothing like the kingdoms of this world, but it is the kingdom our souls hunger for. We are all welcome in. We must only repent, exchanging our trust and allegiance to ourselves for trust and allegiance to the King, and receiving His forgiveness for our sins.

the Lord is (not) slow

I wrote a post earlier this year about different things God has used to help me understand Himself and His Word. One of them was in anticipation of becoming a mother. I didn’t know what, exactly, God would show me about Himself through this sudden new identity and role, but I knew it would (and will) be plentiful over the coming years and decades.

He has already begun.

There are probably thousands of tiny lessons I could write about, and some big ones taught over and over again, but for the sake of time (it’s the last naptime of the day) I just wanted to record one:

The Lord is (not) slow.

The verse in 2 Peter reads without the parentheses, yes. “The Lord is not slow about His promise, as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing for any to perish but for all to come to repentance” (2 Peter 3:9). And I’m sure Peter doesn’t need my grammatical input to make exactly the point he wanted to make!

But I added the parentheses here because having a baby has shown me that in so many ways a mortal human wouldn’t be, God IS slow. He is not rushed. He doesn’t hurry to get things done in the most efficient way possible.

He is slow. He enjoys the process of doing, creating, being, rescuing.

He didn’t come to rescue His people as a white knight on a white steed to destroy all their enemies with a word (although that will come later—see Revelation 19). He came as a baby.

And while babies certainly grow at an alarming rate, constantly developing in skill and motion and speech and independence, and learning at a pace that they will never replicate later in life—they also take a comparatively long time to be good for much, at least in the way of rescuing.

I try to imagine Jesus newly born, squashed and curled up and red-faced like Clara was. I try to imagine being Mary—did she think, “This is how God is going to rescue His people?!”? I look at Clara, who is just now attempting to roll from her back to her tummy and hasn’t done it without help even once, and I definitely don’t think that’s how I would rescue my people. Why grow a person up for 30+ years before even putting Him into ministry, let alone letting Him do any rescuing? Why not just sweep down and get it done?!

But the Lord is (not) slow.

He may look slow to me, when He chooses relationship over instant results or when He allows for a process rather than waving a magic wand. But in His process there is so much patience—grace—longsuffering—love. There’s a plan. And that’s the only reason I’m here right now, writing this, looking ahead to the celebration of Christmas and the Child that was born to be God With Us… because He is, and at the same time beautifully isn’t, slow.