The Return of the King
I am hardly worthy to write down the phrase which heads this chapter, for it is the most magical and spine-tingling spell which was ever woven over me. I hardly ever say it aloud, and when I do, I speak it almost in a whisper, for it is the most revolutionary phrase that was ever uttered in the lands of men. These words are an earthquake, changing the center of one’s life and altering your loyalty forever. It is like a wedding vow—words which acknowledge you have left the shores of your youth and said the irrevocable phrase which seals your heart and hand to a new loyalty.
Tolkein’s novels show, in allegory, the romance of the story: A nearly forgotten man ranging the wilderness, traveling disguised but urgently. His sword joins the cause in its darkest hour, and then, after the final battle, his face is revealed and the true and long-yearned-for king is restored to his throne. A new age on Earth begins.
I recently read a snide remark aimed at a Christian who had mentioned judgment before a “great white throne” at some political function. This scoffing is the inevitable reaction of the provincial evolutionist to genuine Christian belief. An irreligious man is not usually upset by private devotion, attending mass, or blessing the meal, though it may evoke a muffled snicker. He must scoff at the great white throne, because the shining throne necessarily implies the (to him, imaginary) shining king. To the evolutionist, the blessing at the meal or the prayers before bedtime resemble homage to a mysterious and impersonal force, a power without a face. He also worships a nebulous power without a face, but calls it evolution, or psychology. When you start to talk of thrones and kings, he bursts out laughing and says “I suppose you think he has a beard as well?” The state of the king’s shaveness is beyond the scope of these essays, but the evolutionist does provide us with a valid point about our person…that he is, even if he is imaginary, a persons. We are not discussing an idea, nor an attitude, nor an office. We do not await the sudden return of some tradition, like crossing ourselves in confession. It is a real man, with hands and hair and feet and a voice, and perhaps even a beard. We do not know what his return will look like or even what he will look like but we do know his claim is legitimate. This is his land, and there will be no question of his crown.
The New Testament speaks of his kingdom in two ways, and the first is in the sense that we have already been discussing—a coming kingdom, something that is not yet realized but can be hoped for and expected. As concretely as the kingdom is described in these terms, it is also referred to as “already here.” It is present in every Christian home, and its citizens gather in prosperity and in persecution across the world. It expands its borders in China and Pakistan, and it renews the weary lands of Europe where shadows have settled for a season. In America, it is a state unto itself, hidden within the visible state. If its citizens are asked to bend their loyalty from the permanent to their temporary home, they need only recount the examples of Joan of Arc, Tyndale, and Bonhoeffer to see how subjects of the king must remain loyal—for it is only through the authority of the king that any temporary arrangement holds its power.
But in the meantime, we wait. The Return of the King will renew all things, and it is around this central political idea that our voting, our prayers, our work, and our service must be done. Though we might vote in elections temporarily, we have no choice but to be monarchists now. The resurrected king will take a great white throne at the last trumpet call. Then those from the furthest corners will behold a real man and ask “Who is this, that even the wind and the waves obey him?”
No comments:
Post a Comment