Jesus – Practical Theology Today

Galilee: The Area From Whence Jesus Emerged

When one imagines Galilee at the time of Jesus’s birth, we picture a land of rolling hills, small towns and villages, agricultural fields, and fishing boats on the lake – peaceful! But the region was quietly humming with political tension, social unrest, and economic strain. It was not quite the tranquil countryside one sometimes envisions, but a place with deep roots in Jewish tradition, a mixed cultural environment, and a client-kingdom relationship with Rome.

A Charged Political Climate

Galilee was under the rule of the Herodian dynasty (see the previous blog post) as a client territory of the Roman Empire. After the death of Herod the Great (4 BC), his kingdom was divided. His son Herod Antipas became tetrarch of Galilee (and Perea), ruling for more than forty years.¹ Because Galilee was under a Herodian ruler rather than a direct Roman procurator (as was Judea, the region around Jerusalem), it retained a somewhat different feel from Judea proper.

Even so, Roman influence loomed large. Taxation, censuses, and imperial oversight shaped the daily experience of Galileans. Into that climate stepped Judas the Galilean. According to the book of Acts, Judas “rose up in the days of the census and drew away many people after him” (Acts 5:37). The historian Flavius Josephus also recorded the event. He described a man named Judas – called Gaulonite or Galilean – from the town of Gamala. Together with a Pharisee named Sadduc, Judas urged the people to resist the Roman census, insisting that submission to Rome was tantamount to slavery.²

Josephus considered this movement the beginning of a “fourth philosophical sect” among the Jews, alongside the Pharisees, Sadducees, and Essenes.³ This so-called Fourth Philosophy emphasized God alone as Israel’s ruler and rejected Roman taxation. The uprising was quickly suppressed, but it left a mark: Galilee was no stranger to resistance. Beneath the apparent calm, it carried the simmering tension between Roman control and Jewish longing for deliverance.

Galilee, then, was not merely a peaceful backdrop for Jesus’s childhood – it was a politically charged region, where national identity, economic burden, and hope for God’s kingdom intertwined.

Life Beyond Jerusalem

Culturally, Galilee stood at a crossroads. Its population was predominantly Jewish, speaking Aramaic and holding fast to ancestral customs. It was surrounded by Gentile territories – the Decapolis to the east, Phoenicia to the northwest. This mixture gave Galilee a unique texture: deeply Jewish, yet more open to outside influences than Jerusalem or Judea. It was, in many ways, Israel’s frontier – viewed by some southern Jews as less pure or refined.

Villages and small towns dotted the landscape, most clustered around fertile valleys or near the Sea of Galilee. Family and kinship formed the backbone of daily life. People worked hard to survive – farmers, fishermen, tradesmen, and laborers – many living at or near the subsistence level. Archaeological and historical studies suggest that nearly nine out of ten Galileans lived close to the poverty line, burdened by taxes and rents demanded by both local elites and Roman authorities.⁴

The Synagogue: A People Gathered

For Jews living far from Jerusalem, the synagogue was the heartbeat of community life. In places like Galilee, the Golan, and the Decapolis, it served as the local center of worship, study, and belonging. Few could afford the long pilgrimage to Jerusalem except on major feast days, but the synagogue kept the rhythms of faith alive in daily life.

While the Temple in Jerusalem was the only place for sacrifice, the synagogue was the place for Scripture. Its roots reached back to the Babylonian exile, when the people of God—displaced and without a temple – gathered to read the Law and pray. By the first century, synagogues dotted the landscape of Palestine. Archaeologists have uncovered remains in Gamla, Magdala, and Capernaum – towns where Jesus himself would one day teach.

In Galilee, the synagogue was far more than a house of prayer. It was a schoolhouse, a meeting hall, even a courthouse. Each Sabbath, the community gathered to hear the Torah and the Prophets read aloud, followed by teaching or discussion. We see this reflected in Luke’s account of Jesus reading from Isaiah in the synagogue at Nazareth (Luke 4).

Outside of worship, it remained the place where disputes were settled, announcements made, and stories shared. For those who lived far from the Temple, the synagogue brought God near. It grounded faith not in distant ritual, but in shared life—where Scripture was heard, lived, and passed on from one generation to the next.

Work and Livelihood

Economically, Galilee benefitted from its fertile soil, regular rainfall, and proximity to the lake. Agriculture formed the backbone of the economy: wheat, barley, olives, grapes, and figs were staples. Fishing was another major livelihood, particularly around towns like Capernaum, Bethsaida, and Magdala.⁶ The fishing industry supported not just fishermen but also boatbuilders, net weavers, and merchants who salted or dried fish for trade.

Yet despite these resources, Galileans were far from affluent. Heavy taxation, land consolidation by wealthy elites, and debts often kept small farmers in a cycle of dependence. The Roman imperial system funneled much of the region’s productivity upward, leaving many families one poor harvest away from ruin.⁷

A Region Ripe for Hope

Putting it all together, Galilee at the time of Jesus’s birth was a land both blessed and burdened. It was rich in soil and tradition, yet pressed under Roman taxation. It was politically restless and spiritually expectant. Synagogues kept faith alive in small communities far from the Temple, while stories of resistance – like Judas the Galilean’s revolt – whispered of freedom and God’s kingship.

And into this world – rural, devout, weary, and waiting – Jesus was born. Long before his ministry began, he was shaped by the rhythms of Galilean life: the prayers of the synagogue, the struggles of ordinary laborers, and the quiet hope of a people longing for God’s redemption.

References

Josephus, Antiquities 17.188–189.
Ibid, 18.4–10.
Ibid, 18.23–25.
Justin K. Hardin, “The Socio-Economic World of Jesus,” HTS Theological Studies 72(4), 2016.
Lee I. Levine, The Ancient Synagogue: The First Thousand Years (Yale University Press, 2000), 40–46.
Sean Freyne, Galilee, Jesus and the Gospels (Fortress Press, 1988), 55–63.
Richard Horsley, Archaeology, History, and Society in Galilee (Trinity Press, 1996), 102–104.

Isaiah’s Kingdom Message

We would be remiss in this “kingdom journey” if we didn’t spend time with Isaiah and his 60-year ministry as a prophet. His prophetic voice rang out in one of Israel’s darkest seasons. His book spans decades of judgment, grief, promises, and breathtaking visions of God’s kingdom breaking in.

Isaiah’s ministry began in the eighth century B.C. during the reign of Uzziah (Isaiah 6:1). He served as a prophet in Jerusalem, speaking to kings and common people alike. His call was both daunting and exhilarating as he announced God’s word to a people who largely did not want to hear it. He saw firsthand their idolatry, injustice, and false worship. He warned them that Assyria, and later Babylon, would be instruments of God’s judgment.

Isaiah was not simply a prophet of doom. He was also a prophet of hope. His message unfolds in a rhythm of judgment and restoration, not an uncommon theme in the Hebrew scriptures. Israel would be cut down like a tree, but “the holy seed will be the stump in the land” (Isaiah 6:13). In other words, God’s kingdom story and the role of his people were far from over.

Isaiah in the Shadow of Exile

Isaiah straddled a critical time in Israel’s history. Some of his prophecies addressed the immediate threat of Assyria, but his vision stretched far beyond. He foresaw Babylon’s rise and the devastating exile that would follow (Isaiah 39:5–7). For Judah, this meant the unimaginable: the temple destroyed, the land lost, the people scattered.

What do you say to a people stripped of their identity and hope? Isaiah’s answer was to re-anchor them in the character of God. He reminded them that the Holy One of Israel was not confined to stone walls or earthly thrones. Even in exile, God was King.

“Comfort, comfort my people, says your God” (Isaiah 40:1). These words echo like cool water in the desert. Isaiah dared to declare that exile was not the end. God was still writing the story, still keeping covenant, still shaping a people for Himself. The kingdom would come, not by human might but by God’s own faithful hand.

The Prophet Isaiah, Michelangelo (1509, Sistine Chapel)

The Kingdom Vision

Isaiah’s prophecies pulse with kingdom language. He envisioned a day when swords would be beaten into plowshares, and nations would learn war no more (Isaiah 2:4). He pictured a highway in the wilderness, where God Himself would lead His people home (Isaiah 35:8–10). He described a feast of rich food for all peoples, where death is swallowed up forever (Isaiah 25:6–8).

These aren’t just nice images. They are glimpses of God’s reign breaking into human history. Isaiah insisted that God’s kingdom is not limited to Israel’s borders – it is global, cosmic, and eternal.

But who could possibly bring such a kingdom?

Pointing to the King

Isaiah repeatedly pointed forward to a figure who would embody and establish God’s reign. Sometimes he called Him the shoot from Jesse’s stump, a Spirit-filled ruler who delights in righteousness and justice (Isaiah 11:1–5). Other times, He is the Servant of the Lord, who suffers on behalf of His people, bearing their sins to bring them peace (Isaiah 53:4–6).

For Christians, these words unmistakably point to Jesus. He is the child born, the son given, the one called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace (Isaiah 9:6). He is the Servant who was pierced for our transgressions and crushed for our iniquities. He is the Spirit-anointed King who announces good news to the poor and freedom for the captives (Isaiah 61:1–2; see Luke 4:18–21).

Isaiah, centuries before Bethlehem, gave Israel a vocabulary of hope that would only make full sense in Jesus.

Kingdom People Then and Now

Isaiah’s voice continues to call out across the centuries. His message to exiles is just as relevant to us. We may not be dragged off to Babylon, but we know what it is to live in a fractured world where kingdoms rise and fall, where injustice festers, and where hope feels fragile.

Isaiah’s kingdom vision re-centers us. It reminds us that our story is not defined by loss or despair but by the faithful God who keeps His promises. It challenges us to live as kingdom people even in exile (both real and perceived) – to pursue justice, to care for the oppressed, to keep our eyes fixed on the coming King.

The same King that Isaiah saw in the temple, high and exalted, with the train of His robe filling the sanctuary (Isaiah 6:1), is the King who took on flesh and walked among us. He is the crucified and risen Lord who promises, “Behold, I am making all things new” (Revelation 21:5).

Living Isaiah’s Hope

To read Isaiah is to be both unsettled and comforted. We are unsettled by his honesty about sin, judgment, and the futility of our false securities. But we are comforted by his relentless insistence that God is faithful, that exile is not the end, and that a King has come – and will come again.

Like the exiles who first heard Isaiah’s words, we are invited to trust, to wait, to hope. To beat our swords into plowshares in anticipation of peace. To walk the highway of holiness with joy. To live as witnesses to a kingdom that is already here and yet still to come.

Isaiah helps us see what’s true: God is King, His kingdom is and has broken in, and Jesus is the fulfillment of the promises. And in that kingdom we find our home.

The Temple: God’s Dwelling Place Among His People

When we think of the Temple in Jerusalem, it’s easy to imagine it as just another impressive ancient building with ornate stonework, golden decorations, and sacred rituals. Most cultures in the ancient Near East had temples. From Egypt to Mesopotamia, from Canaanite shrines to Babylonian ziggurats, temples were everywhere. They were designed to house the presence of the gods, to be places where heaven and earth touched.

Israel’s Temple was different.

From Tabernacle to Temple

The Temple wasn’t Israel’s first “house of God.” In the wilderness, God instructed Moses to build the tabernacle (Exodus 25–31). This portable sanctuary, crafted with careful instructions and exact measurements, was the meeting place between God and His people. Its very design taught theology: the Holy of Holies symbolized God’s throne room, the ark His footstool, and the altar His provision for forgiveness.

And behind it all was the Biblical covenant refrain: “I will take you as my own people, and I will be your God” (Exodus 6:7). The tabernacle was God’s visible way of saying, “I’m not a distant deity. I dwell with you, because you are mine.”

When Israel settled in the land, King David longed for a permanent place where God’s presence would rest. As he looked out from his cedar palace in Jerusalem, he was struck that the ark of the covenant still dwelled in a tent (2 Samuel 7:1-2). His desire was honorable – he wanted to build a house worthy of Yahweh.

But God said no.

Why David Was Not the Builder

God’s response to David was layered. First, He reminded David that He had never asked for a house – He was the One who had always been on the move with His people. Second, God turned David’s request upside down: instead of David building God a house, God promised to build David a “house” – a dynasty through which His kingdom would be established forever (2 Samuel 7).

Upside down. Another Biblical theme.

Another reason, Scripture notes, is that David was a man of war, his hands stained with blood (1 Chronicles 28:3). If they were to have a temple, God wanted it to be built by a man of peace – Solomon. But even more, God wanted to remind Israel: “I am the One who builds. I am the One who establishes.“

Temples Then and Temples Now

On the surface, Solomon’s Temple resembled other temples of its time: a sacred inner chamber, priestly rituals, sacrifices, and an emphasis on order and beauty.

But the distinction was profound. Pagan temples were built to contain an image of the pagan god with a carved idol that embodied the deity’s “presence.” In contrast, Israel’s Temple was built for the presence of the living God Himself. No idol sat in the Holy of Holies – only the ark of the covenant, a symbol of God’s throne. And when Solomon dedicated the Temple, God’s glory, in a theophany, filled the house like a cloud (1 Kings 8:10–11). Yahweh Himself took up residence.

Temple Theology 101

The Temple stood as more than an architectural marvel. It declared foundational truths about God and His kingdom:

God dwells with His people. The Temple embodied the covenant promise: “I will be your God, and you will be My people.”
God is holy. Access to His presence was carefully ordered, with layers of increasing sanctity leading to the Holy of Holies.
God provides atonement. Sacrifices reminded Israel that sin separates humanity from God, and blood was necessary for forgiveness.
God reigns as King. The Temple was His throne room in Jerusalem, reminding Israel they were His covenant people under His rule.

The Temple wasn’t just a religious building – it was a kingdom declaration.

The Greater Temple: Jesus Christ

Yet the Temple was never the ultimate goal. It was a shadow pointing forward to something greater. When Jesus arrived, He referred to Himself as the true Temple: “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up” (John 2:19). In Him, God’s presence didn’t merely dwell in stone walls, but it walked among us in flesh and blood. The Word became flesh and tabernacled among us (John 1:1`4, AMPC).

Paul captures this beautifully in Colossians 1:15: “The Son is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation.” Unlike the pagan temples with their carved images, Jesus Himself is the true image of God. He is not a symbol but the reality – God’s presence embodied fully.

And through Him, the covenant refrain takes on its deepest meaning: because of Jesus, God can say to Jew and Gentile alike, “I will be your God, and you will be My people” (2 Corinthians 6:16).

Dwelling with God Forever

From tabernacle to Temple to Christ, the story is one of God’s presence with His people. What began as a tent in the wilderness finds its completion not in stone, but in a Person – and ultimately, in a city where God Himself will dwell with humanity forever: “God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God.” (Revelation 21:3).

The Temple reminds us that God’s desire has always been to take up residence with His people. And in Jesus, that desire has been fulfilled in ways far greater than David or Solomon ever imagined.

Kingdom Divided: Good Kings, Bad Kings, and the Road to Exile

When we last left the story of God’s kingdom people, David had passed the crown to his son Solomon. David’s reign was far from perfect, but he was remembered as “a man after God’s own heart.” Solomon, with his legendary wisdom and his building of the temple, seemed poised to continue that legacy. Yet the seeds of division were already being sown.

Solomon loved the Lord (1 Kings 3:3), but he also loved foreign wives and their gods (1 Kings 11). His compromises fractured the nation spiritually, and after his death, the kingdom literally split in two: Israel in the north and Judah in the south (1 Kings 12). From this point forward, the biblical story of the monarchy becomes a tale of two nations, each with its own kings, prophets, triumphs, and failures.

Two Thrones, Two Paths

The northern kingdom of Israel had nineteen kings in total, beginning with Jeroboam I. Not a single one is described in Scripture as faithful to the Lord. Jeroboam set up golden calves so the people wouldn’t go to Jerusalem to worship (1 Kings 12:28–30), and every king after him walked in his idolatrous footsteps. Though some were politically successful or militarily strong, spiritually the nation was on a steady downward slope.

Judah, on the other hand, had twenty kings. Most were unfaithful, but a handful are remembered as “good” – not because they were flawless, but because they sought the Lord and led reforms. Kings like Asa (2 Chronicles 14), Jehoshaphat (2 Chronicles 17), Hezekiah (2 Kings 18), and Josiah (2 Kings 23) stand out as bright lights in a darkening landscape. They tore down idols, reinstituted temple worship, and called the people back to covenant faithfulness.

Still, even the “good” kings were inconsistent. Joash started well under the guidance of the priest Jehoiada, but later abandoned the Lord (2 Chronicles 24). Amaziah “did what was right in the eyes of the Lord, but not wholeheartedly” (2 Chronicles 25). Uzziah was faithful for most of his reign but became proud and overstepped his authority in the temple (2 Chronicles 26). The chronicler doesn’t whitewash the record; he shows us leaders who were mixed bags – a bit like us?

The Prophetic Warnings

Throughout these centuries, God did not leave His people without a voice. Prophets like Elijah and Elisha, Amos, Hosea, Isaiah, Micah, and Jeremiah spoke truth to kings and nations. They confronted idolatry, called out injustice, and reminded the people that covenant blessings were tied to covenant faithfulness (Deuteronomy 28).

But most of the time, the prophets were ignored – or worse, persecuted. Think of Elijah standing alone on Mount Carmel, calling Israel to choose between the Lord and Baal (1 Kings 18). Think of Jeremiah weeping as his warnings fell on deaf ears (Jeremiah 9). Again and again, the prophets said: Return to the Lord, or exile is coming.

Patterns of Faithfulness and Rebellion

Reading through 1 and 2 Kings or 2 Chronicles, we see a pattern emerge. A king rises to power. If he does evil, the nation slides further into idolatry. If he does good, there’s often a brief reprieve, a season of reform, but it rarely lasts. With the next generation, the pendulum swings back toward rebellion.

The northern kingdom never once turned the tide. Every king “did evil in the sight of the Lord.” After centuries of warning, God allowed Assyria to conquer Israel in 722 BC (2 Kings 17). The ten northern tribes were scattered, never to return in the same form.

Judah limped along for another 135 years. Good kings gave the nation moments of hope, but the general trend was downward. Finally, under the weight of idolatry, injustice, and stubborn rebellion, God allowed Babylon to destroy Jerusalem in 586 BC (2 Kings 25). The temple was burned, the walls torn down, and the people carried into exile.

Why This Matters

It’s tempting to read this history as ancient political drama, but I think Scripture invites us to see something deeper. The story of Israel and Judah is the story of human hearts. Left to ourselves, we tend to drift toward idolatry. We start well and falter. We follow God for a season but slip back into self-reliance, pride, or compromise.

The kings of Israel and Judah remind us that leadership matters, but more importantly, they remind us of our need for the greater King. David pointed toward Him (2 Samuel 7:12–16). Solomon’s wisdom hinted at Him (Matthew 12:42). The prophets longed for Him (Isaiah 9:6–7). And though the line of kings failed (which, remember, the people asked for), God promised a Son of David who would reign forever in justice and righteousness (Jeremiah 23:5–6). That King is Jesus.

Living in the Tension

So what do we do with this mixed record of good and bad kings? Perhaps we’re meant to sit in the tension. To acknowledge both the warnings and the hope. The warnings show us the cost of disobedience: exile, loss, brokenness. The hope points us to the faithfulness of God, who never abandons His people even in their rebellion (Lamentations 3:22–23).

The exile was not the end of the story. God brought His people back (see Ezra and Nehemiah), rebuilt Jerusalem, and in the fullness of time, sent His Son (Galatians 4:4-5). The line of David was never truly broken; it was fulfilled in Christ.

As we reflect on the divided kingdom, maybe a takeaway is this: our faithfulness wavers, but God’s faithfulness never does…

If we are faithless, he always remains faithful. He cannot deny his own nature. (2 Timothy 2:13, Phillips).

We don’t need another human king to save us. We already have One who has conquered sin and death, who reigns forever, and who invites us to live as citizens of His unshakable kingdom (Hebrews 12:28).

They got what they asked for…

I have been working my way through The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich by William Shirer. He was present in Berlin in the 1930s as Hitler and the National Socialist German Workers’ Party – also known as the Nazi Party – came to power. Drawing from his front row seat before, during, and after the war, Shirer produced an extraordinary book with a compelling perspective.

In the aftermath of World War I, Germany was reeling from humiliation, poverty, and shattered national pride. The German people looked for someone who could restore strength and dignity to the nation. The church, rather than pointing people back to Christ, too often fused faith with nationalism. Sermons echoed patriotic rhetoric, and pulpits offered blessing to political dreams of renewal. As Hitler rose to power, promising destiny and revival, his message sounded strangely familiar to ears already tuned to hear the gospel of Germany first.

Soon, the German Christian (Deutsche Christen) movement emerged, eager to baptize Nazi ideology in religious language. They recast Jesus as an Aryan figure, stripped down the Old Testament, and pledged allegiance to Hitler as though he were God’s chosen deliverer. What began as a longing for stability and identity ended with the church welcoming a counterfeit messiah. In the end, they received exactly what they had asked for—a leader in their own image, not God’s.

Israel faced a similar temptation centuries earlier. As we’ve discussed earlier, the people grew restless under God’s rule through prophets and judges (1 Samuel 8). Looking at the surrounding nations, they began to clamor for a king:

“Appoint a king to lead us, such as all the other nations have” (1 Sam. 8:5).

Despite Samuel’s warnings that a king would draft their sons for war, take their daughters into service, and claim their fields and flocks, the people insisted. They were convinced that security, stability, and identity could be found in a strong human ruler rather than in the unseen reign of Yahweh.

God’s response was telling. He instructed Samuel, “It is not you they have rejected, but they have rejected me as their king” (1 Sam. 8:7).

Still, God allowed them their request. It is a sobering reminder that sometimes God’s greatest judgment is letting people have what they want. When desires are rooted in fear, pride, or misplaced trust, they can lead straight into bondage. Israel wanted a king – and God gave them one.

Enter Saul, the tall, handsome Benjamite who looked the part of a king. By every outward measure, he embodied the people’s hopes: commanding presence, military promise, and a figure who could rally the nation. At first, Saul seemed a fitting answer. He led Israel to victories over their enemies and united the tribes under his leadership. Yet beneath the surface lay cracks that would soon split wide open.

Saul’s heart was not fully aligned with God’s, and his reign became a tragic case study in the dangers of getting exactly what you ask for.

Saul’s downward spiral began with impatience. When Samuel was delayed in arriving to offer the burnt offering before battle, Saul took matters into his own hands, performing the priestly role himself (1 Samuel 13). This was more than a small slip; it revealed a pattern of self-reliance and disregard for God’s order. Samuel confronted him: “You have not kept the command the Lord your God gave you; if you had, he would have established your kingdom over Israel for all time. But now your kingdom will not endure” (1 Sam. 13:13–14).

Already, the cracks in Israel’s first king were showing.

Things worsened when Saul spared, against God’s command, King Agag and his livestock, justifying his disobedience as an opportunity to make sacrifices (1 Samuel 15). Samuel’s words still echo as a prophetic indictment: “To obey is better than sacrifice, and to heed is better than the fat of rams” (1 Sam. 15:22).

Saul’s partial obedience was, in reality, disobedience. His rejection of God’s word led God to reject him as king.

The rest of Saul’s reign is a portrait of decline. Consumed by jealousy of David, he hurled spears at his loyal servant, hunted him through the wilderness, and descended into paranoia. His leadership became less about shepherding the people and more about protecting his own power.

Eventually, in desperation, Saul even sought out a medium, turning to the occult for guidance when God no longer answered him. By the time he fell on his own sword in battle against the Philistines (1 Sam. 31), Saul’s story had come full circle: the people who demanded a king “like the nations” received one, and it ended in disaster.

Yet God did not leave His people without hope. Out of Saul’s failure, He raised up David, “a man after God’s own heart” (1 Sam. 13:14). Unlike Saul, David’s reign pointed forward to the true King who would one day come – Jesus the Messiah. Where Saul grasped at power, Jesus humbled Himself. Where Saul disobeyed God’s word, Jesus fulfilled it perfectly. Where Saul’s reign ended in death and defeat, Jesus’ reign triumphed through resurrection.

The stories of the German church and of Israel in Samuel’s day remind us of a sobering truth: when people reject God’s rule in favor of leaders who promise security, identity, and greatness, they often get exactly what they ask for – and live to regret it.

Whether in ancient Israel or 20th-century Europe, the temptation remains the same: to trust in human strength over divine kingship. The tragedy is not just in the rise and fall of flawed leaders, but in the rejection of the only King who can truly deliver.

The Parable of the Servant King

As I read through the Gospels this past month, I was repeatedly struck by the image of Jesus as a servant. After reading John 13, I began to realize that Jesus is not only a Benevolent King, but a Servant King. So I had ChatGPT review The Parable of the Benevolent King and offer a “Servant King” version of the parable. For what it’s worth, this is what ChatGPT created…

The Parable of the Servant King and the Kingdom of Merea

Long ago, nestled between green hills and silver streams, there was a kingdom unlike any other. It bore no grand name, yet its people called it Merea, meaning “beloved dwelling.” It had no towering walls, no boastful banners, and no gleaming thrones—but it had a king.

His name was Elandir, though few addressed him by it. To most, he was simply the Servant King.

He wore no crown, save the sun-weathered hood of his traveling cloak. He carried no scepter, only a staff worn smooth from walking with the people. He lived not in a distant palace, but in a modest home at the heart of the village square, where he could be seen each day mending fences, helping mothers lift heavy buckets, or kneeling beside the sick.

Though he could command legions, he chose instead to lead by invitation, not by force. His strength was in his nearness.

The People of the Kingdom

In Merea, everyone had a place, and everyone had a part to play—not out of obligation, but out of gratitude. The king’s way inspired imitation.

The Stone-Menders fixed broken pathways, not for praise, but to ensure the elderly didn’t stumble. The Bread-Makers baked before dawn, leaving warm loaves on the doorsteps of those in need. The Fire-Keepers walked the streets on cold nights, carrying embers to reignite the hearths of the poor.

There were Listeners whose task was to visit the lonely, to sit, nod, and remind the forgotten they were seen. There were Messengers, not to carry royal edicts, but to deliver encouragement, celebrate births, and mourn losses with the grieving. Even the Children had their ministry—they brought laughter, drew chalk flowers on the town square, and reminded the old how to dance.

The Servant King gave no titles. He said that the most honored were those least noticed.

Each day he would rise before the sun and walk the length of the town, checking on the sick, delivering water, patching roofs, and praying quietly for his people. And when asked why he did such menial tasks, he would smile and say, “Because love kneels.”

Why So Many Came

The stories of Merea spread like spring wind. In lands where kings rode stallions and ruled with iron fists, the idea of a ruler who served seemed like a tale for children. Yet as the tales persisted, people began to wonder: Could such a place exist?

Travelers came—some limping, others tired of being used, many carrying wounds too deep to name. They expected gates, guards, and bureaucracy. Instead, they found the king himself waiting at the edge of the road with a cup of water and a question: “Would you like to come home?”

They stayed, not because of riches or promises, but because they were seen, known, and loved. Here, they weren’t asked what they could produce—but who they were becoming. In a world driven by status and achievement, Merea whispered a different word: belonging.

Those Who Chose to Leave

Yet not all who arrived stayed. Some grew frustrated at the Servant King’s ways. They wanted to climb ladders, not wash feet. They asked, “Why does no one rise above the rest here?” And the king, with gentleness, would reply, “Because we rise together.”

But for those who equated worth with control, it was not enough.

A few grew discontented with the slow pace of mercy. They wanted results, not relationship—efficiency, not empathy. They said, “This kingdom is too soft, too slow, too kind.” And the king, though grieved, did not chain them. He only walked with them to the edge of the kingdom and said, “Should you wish to return, the door will always remain open.”

Others left quietly—not out of anger, but from fear. The love they found in Merea felt too complete, too undeserved. They whispered, “I’m not worthy.” And though the king assured them, “None are, that’s why love bends low,” some still turned away, unable to receive what could not be earned.

A Kingdom That Keeps Giving

Yet the Servant King did not despair. He kept sowing seeds, bandaging wounds, listening to stories, and setting tables. The kingdom did not grow by conquest, but by kindness. It expanded not in borders, but in beauty.

Children raised in Merea grew up with strong hands and soft hearts. The old passed their wisdom to the young, and no one was left behind. Festivals were thrown, not for profit, but to celebrate life together. And in every corner of the land, the fragrance of compassion lingered.

And still, the Servant King walks the roads. Some say he’s grown older. Others say he’s only grown deeper—his eyes full of both sorrow and joy. He still waits by the gates each morning, lantern in hand, ready to welcome the next weary traveler who dares to believe that greatness might be found in kneeling love.

The Ten Plagues

In a footnote of the post Distinguishers, I mentioned that while researching the gods of ancient Egypt, I was reminded that scholars have correlated the ten plagues listed in Exodus to the various deities. For those interested in this stuff, I discovered a table that attempts to connect the plagues of Exodus with various Egyptian gods.

Deity	Domain	Biblical Context
Ra (Re)	Sun god, king of gods	Plague of Darkness – Yahweh darkened the sun god’s domain (Exodus 10:21-23)
Hapi	Nile & fertility	Water to Blood – Judgment on Nile (Ex. 7:17-21)
Heqet (Heket)	Fertility, birth	Plague of Frogs (Ex. 8:1-15)
Geb	Earth	Plague of Dust to Gnats. Dust = earth (Ex. 8:16-19)
Khepri	Renewal, sunrise, dung beetle	Plague of Flies, beetles (Ex. 8:20-32)
Hathor	Love, beauty, cows	Death of Livestock – cattle killed (Ex. 9:1–7)
Sekhmet	Plague, war, healing	??Boils – plague that her power could not stop (Ex. 9:8-12)
Nut, Seth	Sky goddess, Storm god	Hail from the sky (Ex. 9:13-35)
Neper / Renenutet	Grain & harvest	Locusts destroy crops (Ex. 10:1-20)
Pharaoh	A divine king, considered “son of Ra.”	Death of Firstborn – God usurps Pharaoh’s claim to divinity (Ex. 12:29-30)

Below are some depictions of the various Egyptian deities I found on-line. I am not vouching for their accuracy!

Moses

In a previous post, we were introduced to Moses, raised by the daughter of the king of Egypt, Pharaoh. She had rescued him as a three-month-old floating down the Nile River in an ark. His parents had placed him in the little ark instead of the alternative of being thrown into the Nile to die per an edict of Pharaoh. Moses’ biological mother was his wet nurse, unbeknownst to Pharaoh and his daughter. The beginning of his life was really quite ironic.

It was Pharaoh’s daughter who named him Moses, giving him a name with Egyptian roots. According to the Jewish historian Flavius Josephus, he was given the Egyptian name Mouses “for the Egyptians call water by the name of Mo, and such as are saved out of it, by the name of Uses: so by putting these two words together, they imposed this name upon him.”¹

Although he grew up as Egyptian royalty, Moses was apparently aware of his Hebrew heritage. As he grew older, he became increasingly troubled by the harsh treatment of the Israelite slaves. Given his adoption into the Egyptian royal family and his identification with the oppressed Hebrews, Moses grew up with a dual identity. Who else do we know with a dual identity?

When Moses was about 40 years old, he witnessed an Egyptian slave master beating an enslaved Hebrew. In a moment of righteous indignation, Moses killed the Egyptian and hid the body in the sand. The next day, he saw two Hebrews fighting and tried to intervene, but they rejected his help, asking if he intended to kill them as he did the Egyptian. Realizing that his act of violence was known, Moses feared for his life, and for good reason…

Pharaoh, hearing of the incident, sought to kill Moses.

Moses fled Egypt and escaped to the land of Midian, located in the desert region east of Egypt. In Midian, Moses met the seven daughters of Reuel (also called Jethro), who he defended from some harassing shepherds. In gratitude, Jethro invited Moses to stay with his family. Moses eventually married Zipporah, one of Jethro’s daughters, and they had a son named Gershom because he was a foreigner in a foreign land.

Moses spent the next 40 years in Midian, living as a shepherd.

While tending Jethro’s sheep in the wilderness near Mount Horeb, “the mountain of God,” an unusual burning bush caught Moses’ eye. It’s my understanding that burning bushes are common in arid climates. What made this one unusual was the appearance of an angel in the bush. Oh, and the bush wasn’t consumed. I guess that might qualify as unusual. So Moses thought what any of us might have thought…

I will go over and see this strange sight—why the bush does not burn up. (Exodus 3:3)

As he approached, God garnered Moses’ attention by calling his name from within the burning bush – another uncommon occurrence. God provided further identification (as if a non-consumed burning bush with an angel and God’s voice wasn’t enough!). God revealed Himself as the God of his ancestry – the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob. God had Moses’ attention.

God proceeded to share with Moses His plan to deliver the Israelites from Egyptian slavery and oppression. He chose Moses to be the leader who would confront Pharaoh, his adoptive father, and lead the people to freedom. Moses did not feel up to the task, questioning his ability to fulfill this mission. He had concerns. And questions. For example, Moses said to God…

Suppose I go to the Israelites and say to them, “The God of your fathers has sent me to you,” and they ask me, “What is his name?” then what shall I tell them? (Exodus 3:13)

God responded with the well-known statement: I AM WHO I AM. This is what you are to say to the Israelites: “I AM has sent me to you.” (Exodus 3:14)

In this blog series, an exhaustive discussion of this powerful exchange is beyond the scope of our journey to understand the kingdom of God that Jesus proclaimed. A couple of things are worthy of consideration, however. First, God did not respond to Moses’ question with a scolding theological reply. “Which god are you” was a fair question, given that the Hebrew slaves had lived 400 years in a polytheistic culture of gods and temples associated with different aspects of life, nature, or the cosmos (i.e., sun gods, rain gods, etc.). I always find it fascinating that God met Moses and the Hebrews at their point of theological understanding.

Capturing the essence of the statement I AM WHO I AM could consume an entire book. Essentially, it declares God’s eternal, self-sufficient, and unchanging nature, showing that He is independent of all creation, beyond human comprehension, and the ultimate foundation of all existence. Yahweh is derivative of the I AM statement. See why a book might be required?

Theologically, Moses is referred to as an archetype of Jesus. In short, in the kingdom of God narrative, an archetype is a person who serves as a model pointing to a greater fulfillment in God’s redemptive plan. Both Moses and King David are seen as archetypes of Jesus the Messiah, foreshadowing His role as the ultimate deliverer, king, and mediator.

While pondering Moses’ story, it occurred to me that his dual identity as Egyptian royalty with the roots of the common people is an archetype of Jesus. Thus, the question, “Who else do we know with a dual identity?” This is Advent season when we consider the significance of Royalty taking on the form of commonness.

The King came near!!

¹Josephus, Flavius. The Works of Josephus: Complete and Unabridged (p. 491-2). http://www.DelmarvaPublications.com. Kindle Edition.

On Earth as in Heaven…

In the previous post, I described an upcoming series exploring my broad understanding of the kingdom of God, the kingdom Jesus ushered in and proclaimed…

Jesus went into Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God. “The time has come,” he said. “The kingdom of God has come near. Repent and believe the good news!” (Mark 1:14-15)

What was this kingdom that Jesus proclaimed, and why didn’t his hearers ask, “What kingdom?” So, apparently, they had some kind of understanding of God’s kingdom. It wasn’t necessarily “news” to Jesus’ first-century hearers. However, it appears that Jesus’ proclamation was that his news about the kingdom might be new and fresh – good news.

Let’s start with an understanding of God’s kingdom through the ages.

We should start with the description of a kingdom. Dallas Willard in The Scandal of the Kingdom¹ offers a simple definition of a kingdom…

A kingdom is a society of people with a structure in which there is one person, a king or queen, to whom all the citizens offer loyalty, service and respect. The sovereign’s part of this relationship is to provide care, protection, and service for the good of the people.

In his book The Divine Conspiracy², Willard describes the kingdom of God as the range of God’s effective will, where what God wants done is done. This “effective reign” is present wherever God’s will is actively carried out. To Willard, the kingdom of God is not just a spiritual or internal experience but encompasses all aspects of life, including social, political, and personal domains.

Genesis 1. Starting with the creation story, which we are quite familiar with, we see God as the creator. His kingdom encompassed the entire universe, including the third rock from the sun that we inhabit. To the ancients, God resided in the heavens (note “the heavens,” not heaven). One could also say he lived in “the sky.” Since the sky, to them, was everything above the Earth (think atmosphere), God wasn’t far away as we tend to believe today. At the time of creation, it wouldn’t be a leap to assume God’s will (reign) was on earth as in heaven (where have we heard that before?).

Integral to God’s creative activity was the creation of his image-bearers (Genesis 1:27)…

So God created mankind in his own image,
in the image of God he created them;
male and female he created them.

He entrusted his image-bearers to care for his earthly kingdom according to his will. (Think, Thy will be done on earth as in heaven.) They were tasked as stewards to care for the Earth in a way that reflected God’s heart – both environmental and relational stewardship. By definition, a steward is someone employed to manage another’s property. They were workers in and for God’s kingdom. They were to be fruitful and multiply, adding to the number of those serving the kingdom.

Genesis 3. We know what happened next. The image-bearers decided they had a better idea of how to steward the planet. With the encouragement of the serpent, they decided they could manage things as well as God. The serpent got Adam and Eve to take their eyes off God and his will with an enticement to “become like God” (Genesis 3:5). The rest is, as we say, history.

Their decision (sin) meant that the kingdom of God on earth was broken and in need of redemption. One result was that the relational closeness Adam and Eve experienced with God was broken. God’s kingdom didn’t cease to exist. God was still the king of the universe. But, things were not on earth as in heaven! The entirety of the scriptures post-Genesis 3 is the story of God’s redemption (new creation) project, using his image-bearers to assist in the process.

Genesis 12. God kicked his restoration project into full swing by singling out Abram as his ambassador…

²“I will make you into a great nation,
    and I will bless you;
I will make your name great,
    and you will be a blessing.
³I will bless those who bless you,
    and whoever curses you I will curse;
and all peoples on earth
    will be blessed through you.”

God chose Abram and his descendants to be catalysts in the redemption of the kingdom. They would be workers for God’s kingdom. God would bless Abram and his descendants for the express purpose of, in turn, blessing the image-bearers around them. Abram and his offspring were to help reestablish God’s will “on earth as in heaven.” Ambassadors for the kingdom, as it were.

This King/ambassador relationship with these kingdom people was a covenantal relationship, sealed by God himself (see Smoking Pot in the Old Testament). There is a theme/thread woven throughout the entire redemption story known as the covenant formula. The formula is integral to gaining an understanding of and seeing the kingdom of God throughout the biblical narrative. It can be found throughout scripture as some form of…

I will be your God, and you will be my people.

We will pick up Abram’s story in the next post. Meanwhile, you might want to check out the wealth and richness of covenant formula instances. I created a Google Doc with a list of such Biblical occurrences for your perusal. (When I discovered this thematic thread, it was a game-changer!)

¹ Willard, D. (2024). The scandal of the kingdom : how the parables of Jesus revolutionize life with God. Zondervan Books.

² Willard, Dallas. The divine conspiracy: rediscovering our hidden life in God. HarperOne, 1998.

Almost Getting It…

Our small group had a “kingdom of God” discussion a while back. We were talking about the common confusion between kingdom and heaven. Someone in the group said, “I understand that heaven and the kingdom of God are not the same, but I’m not sure I could explain why.” We all agreed that the kingdom of God and its “at-handedness” was Jesus’ core message. We understood that Jesus ushered in the kingdom, but describing what that meant was another issue.

With three to four decades spent seeking to understand God’s kingdom as it relates to present-day life—especially given the longstanding emphasis on heaven—I felt somewhat equipped to add depth to our conversation. I felt like I was starting to get it. Then, the question that sent me back to the drawing board: “If Jesus was ushering in the kingdom, where was it before?”

Drats! Just when I was almost getting it!

The question drove me back from whence I had spent years noodling. It required me to step back and wonder what I was missing or not seeing. So I noodled some more—for several weeks. Then something clicked, and I started to “get it” (which is a bit scary to say, knowing that the next good question might send me back to the drawing board again).

While listening to the New Testament scholar and Israel historian Gary Burge on a Holy Post podcast, something resonated. Something clicked. I jumped on my computer and pounded out a bulleted outline I dubbed Kingdom of God: A Synopsis, a working document. Yes, a “working document.” I keep numerous working documents on my computer as I explore, revisit, and refine my theological perspectives. Keep in mind the definition of theology that informs this blog…

Theology is the attempt to understand God and what he is up to.

By this definition, capturing one’s theological perspectives on paper must be a working document because we are in constant discovery and learning mode. Our theology is a work in progress. God is consistently honing our perspectives.

I’ve often shared that this blog is my space to process and document the journey of discovery that God is leading me on. Writing out concepts that are starting to make sense for me sharpens my critical and creative thinking skills. This experience is transformative for me, and I hope it can be beneficial for readers, too.

For several years, I have thought about embarking on an explanation of what I’ve been discovering about this kingdom of God that Jesus said was at hand, that was good news–the gospel. I have made several attempts, each time coming up empty. I find it challenging to put into words my journey of exploring what Jesus truly meant when he spoke of the Kingdom and its essence. Have you ever noticed that when Jesus talked about the nearness of the Kingdom, his followers never asked, “What kingdom?” That has tripped me up for a long time.

I am going to give it another try. I’m going to begin a series of posts exploring my present understanding of the kingdom of God, utilizing thoughts from my working document. Please understand that I will be fleshing out what presently makes sense to me, but it’s the tip of the iceberg. As time passes, I’m sure I will need to tweak and refine some of my thoughts. First, a bit about the journey that got me to this point (which I have talked about in chunks throughout the blog, but let me pull it all together).

About 40 years ago, after a decade of gospel immersion, it became blatantly obvious that Jesus’ core message was the kingdom of God – its arrival, nearness, and nature. However, most teachings and sermons I heard did nothing to help me/us understand why that was Jesus’ focus. I/we were led to believe that Jesus’ main message was about getting people saved and to heaven, which he rarely addressed.

Enter Dallas Willard’s 1998 book The Divine Conspiracy: Rediscovering Our Hidden Life In God. He started with the story of a young fighter pilot who, in the early 1990s, was taking her jet through maneuvers, got disoriented, attempted a steep climb, and drove it into the ground. She had been flying upside down, unbeknownst. Willard posited that in our misunderstanding of God, his kingdom, and Jesus’ message, we have been flying upside down for so long that we don’t know what right-side up is. I know I didn’t.

As I continued working through The Divine Conspiracy and the gospels, I listened to hours of NT Wright lectures as he developed his own kingdom theology, which culminated in his 2008 book, Surprised by Hope: Rethinking Heaven, the Resurrection, and the Mission of the Church. Wright caused me to rethink almost everything! In tackling the question of life after death, Wright demonstrated that most Christians have it wrong. Rather than leaving for heaven, we are resurrected here, with heaven descending to earth—a distinction that makes all of the difference to how we live here today. A game-changer!

With this brief background, I will next start to plow through my “working document.” It will be interesting to see where this takes us. As we embark on this adventure, let’s keep asking God the hard questions like “Where was the kingdom before?” God loves good questions. And who knows, maybe more of us will be able to say…

“I’m almost getting it!”