Renewal
Summary
In a moment marked by anger, division, and confusion, Dominic Jackson turns to the words of Jesus in Matthew 5 and asks a deeper question: what if the problem isn’t just what’s happening around us—but something beneath it? Through a striking contrast between the “way of the kingdom” and the “way of the empire,” this sermon invites us to reconsider how we respond to injustice, conflict, and cultural tension. Are we being formed more by power, outrage, and control—or by the upside-down vision of Jesus in the Beatitudes?
Dominic explains how the kingdom of God doesn’t advance through force, domination, or even winning—it moves through humility, mercy, peacemaking, and self-giving love. In a world that often looks like empire, this is an invitation to become people who embody a radically different way.
Questions for reflection
What emotions have been most present in you lately (anger, fear, exhaustion, etc.)? How are those shaping your responses to others?
Dominic suggests that what we see depends on who we are becoming. Where might your perspective be shaped more by culture than by Jesus?
Do you tend to view current conflicts as political battles or spiritual ones? How does that framing change your response?
What stood out to you about the contrast between the kingdom of God and the empire of the world?
Where are you most tempted to use “empire methods” (control, outrage, coercion) to achieve good outcomes?
Which Beatitude (Matthew 5:3–10) feels most challenging or least intuitive to you right now? Why?
How do you typically respond to people you see as “enemies”? What would it look like to move toward them in the way of Jesus?
Have you ever noticed your faith being shaped more by politics, media, or ideology than by Scripture? Where?
If someone outside the church described Christians today, would it sound more like the early church (as described in the sermon) or something else?
What is one concrete way you can practice the “way of the kingdom” this week (peacemaking, mercy, humility, etc.)?
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How are you guys doing?
I've had a lot of conversations this past week — some with people in this room. When I've asked that question, I've sometimes gotten the Iowa Nice automatic response, which is fine. But when I push past that a little, I've been getting honest answers. And I've heard just about everything.
Some have shared that they've felt genuinely heartbroken — a deep sadness about everything going on in the world right now. Some are overwhelmed, holding a lot and not sure where to put it. Others have shared feeling annoyed. Others apprehensive — like in many ways, the nation feels like it's going back in time, like some things did in 2020. Some have suggested it feels worse. Others are scared and anxious.
But more than sadness, confusion, or fear, the response I've been hearing most — at least in my circles, from friends, from some people in this room — is: I'm angry. Furious.
And this anger is probably most visible online. Anger at politicians or policies. Anger at law enforcement. Anger at protestors. Anger at people who voted a certain way, people who didn't, or people who aren't supporting the administration. No one has a monopoly on it. There's enough to go around. And from my assessment, the church doesn't look that much different. I've seen people online who have worshiped next to each other for years, who have broken bread together, calling each other awful names.
There's also been a strong call on pastors and church leaders — and I say this not as a complaint, because you will never hear me complain about my job, but as an observation. Some have suggested, or even demanded, that I shouldn't even be here right now — that I should be in the streets, or that I should have been among the first getting arrested. Others have said: stay home, but be sure to share and reblog the right perspective on social media. Some say get off social media entirely — it's a toxic echo chamber. Some say this is not a time for opinions. Others say if there was ever a time to publicly stand for the leaders of this country, it's now.
As for what sermon to preach, I've received plenty of unsolicited advice on that too. Some say the most important thing I could do right now is preach Romans 13 — the text on every Christian's call to obey the laws of the land, get in line, comply with authority. Others say: fine, but preach the rest of Romans, or even the passage right before it, which says it is the call of every Christian to name what is evil as evil. One pastor on social media — Marcus Whitland, a fairly well-known pastor in Louisiana — posted that this week his church would have no sermon and no Bible. Just a replay of footage of a man being killed, and then everyone goes home.
And of course, others say: don't bring up politics at all. People have enough of that out there. Give your congregation a break for an hour.
The truth is, some folks here might have a preference on what sermon should be offered this morning.
Well, I'll confess: instead of offering too many solutions today — spoiler alert, I'm getting ahead of this — I want to offer problems. I want to shine a light on a problem, and we can each choose to do with that what we will. This morning we have a chance to hear the words of Jesus as either an opportunity, an invitation, or ammunition. That's the sermon. Let's pray.
Prayer
Lord, I feel so many things — as I'm sure my brothers and sisters do as well. I feel angry. I feel fearful. I feel exhausted. When I hear stories not just from strangers online but from friends, I even start to feel guilty at times, knowing how different my own experiences are. Lord, most of all, in the midst of all of these feelings — hopeless, hopeful, scared, angry, thankful, all of it — most of all is just this: how much I need you. How much this world needs you. Come, Lord Jesus — come with hope, with healing, with justice, with reconciliation, with power and with love. In the meantime, help us to live out each one of those things as well. Amen.
The Plan
Here's what we're going to do this morning — a little different than usual.
I'm going to start by reading a page from a children's story. I know. I'll try to resist slipping into funny voices the way I do with my own kids — may or may not work. The story has nothing to do with the Bible or church or Jesus, and yet it has everything to do with the Bible and church and Jesus.
Then I'm going to give a thesis. One sentence, summing up everything I'm thinking and concluding. Some of you might disagree, and you're always welcome to call me out on that — maybe not in this exact moment, but come find me.
After that, we're going to look at some scripture. I'm going to read a story about immigrants and a government, and there may or may not be some parallels to the world we're in today. Then I'm going to read a very, very old letter.
That's the plan. Then communion, some songs, and we'll go on our way.
Is the World Going Crazy, or Is It Just Me?
Have you ever wondered — maybe even this week — is the world going crazy, or is it just me?
How is it that two people can hear the same speech, read the same post, watch the same footage, and walk away with two entirely different accounts of what they just experienced? How can two people open their Bibles and one see a beautiful love story — redemption, reconciliation, hope — and the other see ammunition, hatred, and justification for abuse?
I want to read a brief passage from The Magician's Nephew, the Narnia book by C.S. Lewis. If you haven't read the Narnia series, you should. They're wonderful — fantastical and rich, and a sustained allegory for the story of God.
Near the end of this particular book, two children — Digory and Polly — use magical rings to travel between worlds. They arrive in a brand new world on its very first day. They sit in darkness and hear a voice singing. As the voice sings, the world changes: stars appear, water begins to flow, trees take root, flowers bloom, creatures come into being. As the sun rises, they realize the voice belongs to a lion named Aslan — the creator, meant to be a picture of Jesus. To the children and the pure-hearted observers, Aslan's voice is beautiful. Awe-inspiring. Impossible not to recognize.
But there's another character — Uncle Andrew. He's greedy, self-centered, a power-hungry magician. To him, Aslan's singing sounds only like the terrifying growls and roars of a wild beast.
Lewis writes:
"For what you see and hear depends a good deal on where you are standing. It also depends on what sort of person you are. When the lion had first begun singing long ago, when it was still quite dark, Uncle Andrew had realized that the noise was a song. And he had disliked the song very much. It made him think and feel things he did not want to think and feel. And the longer and more beautifully the lion sang, the harder Uncle Andrew tried to make himself believe that he could hear nothing but a roar. That's the trouble with trying to make yourself believe a lie. Eventually, you succeed."
We just finished a series where we looked at the story of a woman who breaks an alabaster jar of perfume and anoints Jesus in an act of worship. Some of the onlookers see it as wasteful, idiotic even. Jesus sees it as beautiful. The same act, two entirely different responses.
In 2 Timothy 3, Paul warns church leaders about a time when people will call what is good evil and what is evil good:
"But mark this: there will be terrible times in the last days. People will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boastful, proud, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, without love, unforgiving, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not lovers of the good, treacherous, rash, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God."
Now, I want to be clear: Paul isn't talking about the outside world here. He's writing to church leaders. He's talking about the church. The warning is that this behavior will, at some point, describe some Christians.
And I don't know about you, but as I look around — especially online, in the news, in everything happening right now — this is exactly what I'm seeing. Evil and wickedness not only permitted but celebrated in the church. And I think many people are realizing — maybe for the first time — that we are in a battle. I don't mean left versus right or my side versus yours. I'm talking about good and evil.
My Thesis
So here is the single sentence I want to offer this morning. You may disagree. You may not be sure how you feel about it. Either way, I'll buy you coffee.
Everything dark happening in the world is not the problem. It is the result of a deeper problem.
I know some of you — politely, internally — are rolling your eyes right now, thinking: here it comes. He's going to overspiritualize everything and tell us we just need to be nicer and sing Kumbaya and all our problems will solve themselves.
That's not what I'm saying. What I'm saying is: I think the first step toward renewal and reconciliation is recognition — recognizing what is good and what isn't, and what is evil.
The Story of Jesus: Immigrant, Refugee, King
We're in a series on the Great Commission, and while this is a bit of a detour, we're looking at the theme of renewal. Before Jesus sends out his disciples — after he's defeated death, standing on the side of the mountain — let's back up to his origin story.
Jesus was born into an oppressed people group living under Roman occupation. For Jewish people at the time, any talk of a Messiah was talk of someone who would come to liberate them, to set them free. And Jesus did this — just not in the way anyone was expecting.
At one point in Jesus' early life, Joseph receives a dream: it is not safe where they are. So the family flees as foreigners to a strange land. And the irony is that they go to Egypt — the very place the Jewish people had been enslaved. Yet this is their safest option. They arrive as immigrants, as refugees on the run, hoping to be welcomed in by strangers in a foreign country until it is safe to go home.
Fast forward. Even after they return, life is still hard. The people are still waiting for the Messiah. Which is part of why so many people miss Jesus when he finally arrives — he comes on a donkey, not a war horse.
David Bailey describes this backdrop as the political, spiritual, and economic responsibilities that land and nations carry — something you see woven from Genesis to Revelation. And something you see consistently is this: God's people, wherever they are placed, are called to be alternatives. Alternatives politically, spiritually, and economically. In it, but different.
When God calls his people to a foreign land, the command is almost always the same: I want you to be different. Don't take on the customs around you. Don't worship the gods they worship. Stand out. And of course, often they don't. They reach for power and influence, and in doing so, they build their own cages.
Then Jesus arrives. Born in a lowly position. Mostly missed. And right before his public ministry begins, he is tempted. Three times. The third temptation can be summarized as this: use empire methods to achieve kingdom outcomes. You can have everything you want — all of it — you just have to bow down. To which Jesus responds: Get away from me, Satan.
But here's my question for each one of us this morning: do we respond the same way?
The Kingdom or the Empire
We want justice. Do we pursue it through the methods of the empire or through the ways of the kingdom?
We want to be rid of our enemies. There are two ways to do that. You can destroy them, or you can befriend them. Either one gets rid of your enemy. Only one of them costs you your humanity.
When Peter draws his sword in the garden and cuts off the guard's ear — that is the way of the empire. And how does Jesus respond? He heals the man. That is the way of the kingdom.
Let me be clear: I have found nothing in the New Testament that suggests the way of the kingdom is ever achieved through violence. To be a Christian is to forfeit our right to revenge, to oppression, to violence. If that's the path someone chooses, call it what it is — the way of the empire. But it is not the way of the kingdom. It is not the way of Jesus. The ends do not justify the means, no matter how you frame it.
I'll be honest with you: the problem for many of us — and this is true for me — is that Jesus just doesn't move fast enough. He didn't for the Jewish people 2,000 years ago, and he doesn't seem to today. He showed up and washed people's feet. He didn't cut them down. And today he doesn't seem to be stepping in and putting an end to all the wickedness that is happening.
So I want grace and peace for me — and fire and brimstone for my enemies. And if God isn't going to do things the way I want, I can put my faith in somebody who will. A system. A worldview. A political party. A lie about other people.
And that's how you know you've made an idol of your politics: when you see the fight against injustice as a battle of left versus right instead of a battle between the kingdom of God and the kingdom of darkness.
Greg Boyd on Kingdom vs. Empire
Greg Boyd writes in The Myth of a Christian Nation: How the Quest for Political Power Is Destroying the Church:
"Jesus came to establish the kingdom of God as a radical alternative to all versions of the kingdom of the world — whether they declare themselves to be under God or not."
The invitation is not to use the empire's methods to achieve kingdom outcomes. The alternative Jesus offers is to work toward the kingdom, which will then spill outward into the world.
Here's how Boyd describes the contrast:
Participants in the kingdom of the world trust the power of the sword to control behavior. Participants in the kingdom of God trust the power of self-sacrificial love to transform hearts.
The kingdom of the world is concerned with preserving law and order by force. The kingdom of God is concerned with establishing the rule of God through love.
The kingdom of the world is centrally concerned with what people do. The kingdom of God is centrally concerned with who people are and what they can become.
The kingdom of the world is characterized by judgment. The kingdom of God is characterized by outrageous, even scandalous grace.
The kingdom is the complete opposite of the empire. And for most of us — including me, after more than twenty years of following Jesus — it still feels foreign. It feels backwards. Defeating death by becoming death wouldn't be my strategy. Advancing a kingdom by giving your life away on a cross — the death of Jesus, but also his life — seems completely backwards to greatness, at least how I define greatness.
Consider the Beatitudes as a recruitment speech: blessed are the poor in spirit, blessed are the meek, blessed are those who mourn. Are you serious, Jesus? That's the plan?
And yet — yes. That is the plan. Which means the empire beatitudes would sound something like this: Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for influence and power. Blessed are those who have thick skin. Blessed are those with the right ideas. Blessed are the culture warriors, for these are the people who will save America.
So the question I'm asking myself is: which will you choose? The kingdom of God, or the empire of the land?
What Does This Actually Look Like?
Assuming you're with Jesus on this — you might be asking: what does this actually look like? I can read the verses. I can listen to the sermons. But what does it look like in my life this week?
A good place to start: read the Beatitudes. In fact, read the whole Sermon on the Mount. I'm challenging myself to begin every day there, in that text.
And then ask yourself: if clinging to the empire — to power, to control, to force, to kicking out anyone different, anyone who threatens my comfort — means I can't open my hands and my heart to the kingdom, what does the opposite of that look like? If that's the way of the empire, what is the way of the kingdom?
The Epistle to Diognetus
Let me close with one last quote — actually a letter. I'm sorry for making us all read on the screen more than usual this morning, but this one is worth it.
Imagine you're eavesdropping on someone writing a letter about you. Imagine this is how someone else described your community.
This is from the Epistle to Diognetus, written around 150 AD — a beautiful picture of what it meant to be a follower of Jesus shortly after the first churches were planted. This is the reputation of kingdom workers living inside an empire.
It reads:
"Christians are not distinguished from the rest of humanity by country, language, or custom. But while they live in both Greek and barbarian cities and follow the local customs in dress and food and other aspects of life, at the same time they demonstrate the remarkable and admittedly unusual character of their own citizenship. They live in their own countries, but only as non-residents. They participate in everything as citizens and yet endure everything as foreigners. Every foreign country is their fatherland, and every fatherland is foreign. They share their food, but not their bodies. They are in the flesh, but do not live according to the flesh. They live on earth, but their citizenship is in heaven. They obey the established laws, but in their private lives they transcend the laws. They love everyone, and by everyone they are persecuted. They are unknown, yet they are condemned. They are put to death, yet they are brought to life. They are poor, yet they make many rich. They are in need of everything, yet they abound in everything. They are cursed, though they bless. They are insulted, yet they offer respect. When they do good, they are punished as evildoers. When they are punished, they rejoice as though brought to life."
And it ends with this: "For the Christian is one who takes up a neighbor's burden — one who wishes to benefit someone who is worse off in something in which one is oneself better off — one who provides to those in need the things one has received from God. And thus they become a savior to those who receive them."
Here's my question for each one of us:
Does this sound familiar? Is this a good picture of how your agnostic neighbor, your Buddhist cousin, or a random person online would describe their interactions with Christians? Is this even how we would describe ourselves?
Would immigrants and refugees paint this picture of the church as they enter a foreign land? Would the people being protested and the people doing the protesting — both, holding Bible verses on their signs — would they describe each other this way?
If you were to ask a random person you met at a bar or a coffee shop what they think about Christians, would it sound like this letter? Or would it sound like yet another group hungry for power and influence and comfort — another group that looks just like the empire, except with Bible verses in their bio?
The Invitation
That's the invitation for each one of us.
When I think about renewal, there are two ways we could try to make a difference in our communities, in our city, in the world. The way of the empire, or the way that Boyd and Bailey and the author of that letter and Jesus himself point toward: the way of the kingdom.
Let's pray. I'm going to pray the words of Jesus over us as our prayer, as a standard, as a hope, and as our invitation.
Closing Prayer
Lord, blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted by you. Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown your mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see you, God. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called your children. Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Holy Spirit, help us to see these pictures of the kingdom not as a burden, not as an obligation, but as a blessing. There is so much here. Maybe this week we can start with just one. Maybe we start with being peacemakers. Help us — in our lives, in our jobs, in our communities — to look more and more like the Prince of Peace. We pray this in your name, Jesus. Amen.