Criminal Kingdom
Author: Andrew Comiskey
November 26, 2023
‘How
do we measure the gravity of sin and the incomparable vastness of God’s love
for us? By looking at the magnitude of what God has done for us in Jesus, who
became like a common criminal for our sake and in our place.’- Fleming Rutledge
This
has not been a great year for my brand of renewed evangelicalism. Scandalous,
if not criminal charges, shroud fathers of holy fire like Mike Pilavachi of
UK’s Soul Survivor, Hillsong’s Brian Houston, and most recently Mike Bickle,
founder of the International House of Prayer and arguably one of the most
influential churchmen in KC.
I
know these guys a bit, have bumped into their weaknesses, and wonder like you
if their alleged wicked acts are real. I know like you that valid witnesses of
wrongdoing exist; discerning the truth from enemies of the Church who use anyone’s
suffering to ignite their own is tough. In the din of virtual kangaroo courts in
which imbeciles play jury and judge on behalf of men who deserve respect even
if proven guilty, I grieve. And pray, awaiting justice for all.
Today
is the Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe. This last
Sunday of the formal Church calendar draws its grandeur from the Cross—King
Jesus who became like a common criminal to gain us. Today, sovereign majesty emerges
from the mockery that surrounded Jesus: stripped, slapped, and spit on to bear
our criminality. ‘He saved others, but He can’t save Himself! He’s the King of
Israel! Let Him come down from the cross and we will believe Him. He trusts in
God. Let God rescue Him!’ (Matt. 27:41-43).
God
did rescue Him. And today the criminal King says to us criminals: ‘Today you
will be with me in paradise’ (Lk. 23:43). Talk about Father’s favor in exchange
for all our sins! In His radical goodwill toward us, we are free to own our
felonies.
Think
about the four main virtues.
Wisdom—living in the truth of things, including
the reality of our own worst inclinations; then
justice, giving others
what they deserve, which means refusing to wound others with our jagged edges;
flame on
fortitude, strength in weakness over the long haul to walk
steady and circumspect over terrain stained by the lure of familiar adulteries;
finally,
temperance, the ordering of our courts in which the different
parts of our humanity integrate, granting us chaste fidelity to our God and
fellows.
I
am all in, King of my disordered heart! My prayer? ‘Lord Jesus, train your son in the
cardinal four so I can master my own corner of the universe. I won’t forget
crimes You cancelled and the prison I deserve save for Your mercy, which gives me
grace to grow in virtue.’
Church,
if our colleagues—good fathers all—sinned against those they served (thus
committing grave injustices), then let us pray for God to serve justice. We
pray: ‘King of the Universe, grant each father humility to face concrete abuses
of power.’
Only
then can healing begin for sheep bitten by shepherds, for sheep scattered by rumors
of abuse, and for fallen shepherds.
In
the meantime, may we each live naked before the criminal God who was stripped
and scorned to bear our shame. We deserve the scourging. Today grants us the
glow and glare of His Kingship. Through the criminal King, may we enter afresh into
His Kingdom: humbled, grateful, more vulnerable to friends of God than His
foes.
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