"You are not far from the kingdom of God." (v. 34)
It was a discussion on the Great Commandment. We call it the "controversy source." An unnamed scribe, one of the straightforward individuals in the gospel narrative, came to Jesus asking a question. It was a candid inquiry, asked by a guileless person.
Let us recall, first, that the man was a scribe. His business was recording the scripture. Long before the invention of printing by the Chinese, all documents were executed by hand. What a tiresome, monotonous job: day in, day out, copying the same passages. Through sheer rote, words would have been fixed in his mind - unconscious memory. Of course, he knew the Law; he had copied it, perhaps hundreds of times.
This inquirer wanted to know which was the greatest Commandment. When Jesus gave him the Shema (Deuteronomy 6:4 and Leviticus 19:18), the scribe simply noted that here was the whole matter. He observed that these simple, direct phrases had far more significance than all the sacrificial offerings made in the Temple. It all appeared logical and compact, and, for once, excess verbiage was cast aside. A concise answer illuminated the shadowed past. We can almost see the smile on Jesus’ face as he looked at that honest scribe and said, "You are not far from the kingdom of God."
One of the joys of teaching comes when a student suddenly catches a major point, then, in a brief and comprehensive statement wraps it up. Refreshing! A scribe who knew his Bible reduced it, without rejecting anything, to the salient points of faith. He realized the old concept of sacrificial offerings did not constitute the major thrust of God’s Word. Here was an individual who stood within a hair’s breadth of the Kingdom.
What Does It Mean?
In our sophisticated day we have become cynical. "Human nature never changes," we repeat ad nauseam. We look about us and insist that people remain the same selfish, stubborn individuals, regardless of external circumstances. Conversion? Possibly, but underneath, human nature remains human nature. In the end, humanity is nature "red in tooth and claw."
Is that what we believe?
It may come as a surprise, but the Christian gospel brings an altogether different point of view. Human nature can be changed; people do not need to remain the same. In short, we are all "not far from the kingdom of God!" Here are some examples:
Nicodemus
He was a brilliant member of the Sanhedrin, one very wealthy both in honors and gold, who came to Jesus by night. "Rabbi," he said, "we know that you are a teacher come from God; for no one can do these signs that you do, unless God be with him" (John 3:2). Jesus then shared with Nicodemus the secret, "You must be born anew" (3:7).
Nicodemus had come under cover of darkness to avoid prying eyes. He was, after all, a respected leader, a doctor of the Law. His was a bona fide search, yet his intellectual being looked upon the concept of rebirth as a scientific impossibility. Even spiritual rebirth puzzled this man of books. It has been puzzling university professors ever since.
Jesus made it ever so clear: Entering the kingdom of God is as radical as the very process of physical birth. One leaves one state - the womb, wherein the atmosphere is essentially liquid - and one enters an environment in which oxygen is the condition for breathing. (To enable an easier process, less shocking to the nervous system of the infant, the practice of birth under water is observed by some.) Birth is a shock; it is radical; but it is necessary to avoid suffocation in the womb. (A Harvard psychologist told me "I don’t think we ever get over it.") Jesus was telling Nicodemus that coming to the Kingdom of God was no less radical, and no less essential.
Did Nicodemus - who was "not far" - enter the Kingdom? We know he undertook a rather cautious, legalistic defense of Jesus against the Pharisee (John 7:45-52). He was also present at the entombment of Jesus (John 19:39). There are legends, without biblical foundation, claiming Nicodemus was baptized by Peter and John and then driven from Jerusalem at the time of Stephen’s death. It has always been my hope that Nicodemus did become a follower, and the new birth became a reality. For indeed he was "not far ..."
Paul
A young Pharisee was desperate in his pursuit of God’s approval. He prided himself on his impeccable background. He was "circumcised on the eighth day, of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew born of Hebrews, as to the law a Pharisee ..." (Philippians 3:5). He proudly stated, "I advanced in Judaism beyond many of my own age ... so extremely zealous was I for the traditions of my fathers" (Galatians 1:14). It was the Law, and the exhausting attempts to keep it that drove Saul of Tarsus to persecute those "belonging to the Way."
In that famous trip to Damascus, Saul, "breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord," encountered that same Lord who inquired, "Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?" (Acts 9:5). All was changed. Not in a moment, not in a day, not in a week, but a change took place. Indeed, many days and many people were party to that amazing transformation, not the least of whom was the gentle Ananias who greeted the young Pharisee as "Brother Saul." So it was that Saul gradually became Paul.
Few people have experienced so dynamic a transformation: Physical, moral, mental, and spiritual influences played a part in bringing about a new individual. Paul simply grasped the hand of the Lord Jesus and refused to let go - following God’s call to Asia Minor, then Europe; suffering prisons, whips, shipwreck, mobs. It mattered not. Until the very end - a martyr’s death - he insisted, "Therefore, having this ministry by the mercy of God, we do not lose heart" (2 Corinthians 4:1). But, even as far back as the stoning of Stephen, Paul was "not far ..."
Augustine
A youth born in the north African town of Tagaste tells of his long, intense struggle with his pride, his self-will, and especially his sexual promiscuity. His mother prayed for him; his father gave scant guidance. It was during university days at Carthage, a "hissing cauldron of lust" that seventeen-year-old Augustine took a mistress, fathered a child whom he named Adeodatus ("Gift of God"). Entrapped in Manichaeism, Augustine sought liberation in philosophy, especially the high ideals of Plato. It was all an exhilarating time, and he prayed to God, "Give me chastity and continence, but not yet."
Augustine left Africa for bigger plums at Rome and Milan. In his celebrated Confessions - his hymn of thanksgiving - he tells the world all he thought and did. Monica, his mother, continued to pray for her wayward son, and the great Ambrose gave direction from the lofty pulpit in Milan. It was traumatic wrestling, wrestling with his guilt-ridden, debased being. Finally, in September of A.D. 386, in a garden in Milan - where he was public orator - Augustine experienced a personal Gethsemane, "tearing his hair, clutching his knees, wringing his hands," asking why God would not hear and come to him. "I was frantic, overcome by violent anger with myself for not accepting your will and entering into your covenant." At that moment he heard the voice of a child: "tolle lege" - "take it and read" - which prompted him to pick up his Bible, at Romans 13:13-14: "Not in reveling and drunkenness, arm yourselves with the Lord Jesus Christ; spend no more thought on nature and nature’s appetites." It was accomplished. Augustine was a new creature in Christ.
The remainder of the story is the evolution of one of Christendom’s giants of theology, faith, and the life of the church. His Confessions continue to radiate as a star in the intellectual and spiritual firmament. Few have so beautifully poured out praise to the God who saved them. His years were spent in powerful, eloquent, aggressive witness as Bishop of Hippo. Of a certainty, Augustine was "not far ..."
The Wesleys
The year was 1738. John and Charles Wesley were back in England, having experienced a less-than-satisfactory missionary sojourn in the new colony of Georgia. (They were by no means the utter failures, however, that some have made them out to be.) Nonetheless, the brothers Wesley were downcast. Why had Georgia not turned out as the rich, rewarding time they had anticipated? After all, both held the M.A. from Oxford; they were ordained priests of the Church of England. One Georgia citizen had boldly accosted John Wesley, saying "We be Christians. We know not what you be." It was due to the Wesley’s textbook approach to ministry which resulted in their stumbling over their own feet. "All the time I was in Savannah I was thus beating the air," noted John.
It was now Pentecost Sunday, May 21, 1738. Charles was ill; not dying, but afflicted with a painful case of pleurisy. He was lodging during the illness with kind Mr. Bray, the brazier, at No. 12 in Little Brittain. Mrs. Turner, Bray’s sister, was "constrained by a vivid dream" to say something to the young clergyman. She was fearful, but her brother admonished her, "Speak you the words. Christ will do the work." She went upstairs and did just that. To Charles Wesley she said, "In the name of Jesus of Nazareth, arise, and believe, and thou shalt be healed of all thy infirmities." Said Charles, "It was my spiritual birthday."2 He sent for his brother and a troop of friends. "I believe!" he told them. He was a new man in Christ. The one who would be known as the Sweet Singer of Methodism composed his own "conversion hymn":
Where shall my wondering soul begin?
How shall I all to heaven aspire?
A slave redeemed from death and sin,
A brand plucked from eternal fire,
How shall I equal triumphs raise,
Or sing my great deliverer’s praise?3
Later, Charles was still remembering the experience, wishing for more power to witness to what God had done, and he wrote "O for a thousand tongues to sing My great Redeemer’s praise." Charles Wesley was "not far ..."
John Wesley both rejoiced in his brother’s profound experience of grace and, at the same time, was understandably jealous. Why had he apparently been denied a similar inflooding of the Holy Spirit? The day was May 24, 1738, and John carefully recorded the events. At 5 a.m. he read from 2 Peter 1:4: "There are given unto us exceeding great and precious promises." Later that morning he opened his Bible to Mark 12:34, reading "Thou art not far from the kingdom of God."
At noon Wesley attended services at St. Paul’s where the choir used Henry Purcell’s rendition of Psalm 130: "Out of the deep have I called to thee, O Lord." (Never berate the choir or the anthem. God frequently speaks through music - quite as much as through the sermon.)
The day was fast closing, and Wesley did not want to go to prayer meeting (never stay away from church because you do not feel like going. God may have a special blessing in store). Even so, Wesley went to the prayer service at Aldersgate Street. William Holland was probably the man who was reading Luther’s Preface to Romans:
In the evening I went very unwillingly to a society in Aldersgate Street, where one was reading Luther’s preface to the Epistle to the Romans. About a quarter before nine, while he was describing the change which God works in the heart through faith in Christ, I felt my heart strangely warmed. I felt I did trust in Christ, Christ alone for salvation; and an assurance was given me that He had taken away my sins, even mine, and saved me from the law of sin and death.4
And John Wesley became a transformed man who in turn helped transform sinners, by God’s grace. Even as he read that morning of May 24th, he was "not far ..."
What Does It Mean?
As we have been examining the experiences of those who have been "not far ..." we cannot escape asking, What about us? They moved from "not far" to the Kingdom itself? Why can we not have a similar encounter?
More than once, during ninteenth-century revivalism, the sinners were admonished to pray for forgiveness, to come to the "mourner’s bench" and to seek pardoning power. They came, awash in tears, and the saints joined to "pray them through," which often lasted until early hours of morning. Alas, after fervent prayer, some rose from their knees, unchanged, untouched. They felt nothing in their hearts and silently asked, "Why?"
Have you felt a similar emptiness? You are not alone. Let us consider some of the questions which have been asked:
1. Does God want me? Am I of the elect?
Yes, God wants you, and no matter how you define the "elect" you may be sure God has never rejected you. He did not reject the scribe, Nicodemus, Paul, Augustine, or the Wesleys.
2. Am I good enough?
No, you are not good enough. Neither am I. Neither were those just named. Nobody is good enough. It is not a matter of our goodness; it depends upon God’s goodness.
3. Am I supposed to change myself?
No, God will do that. In faith we must all seek to put ourselves in that atmosphere, that circumstance, whereby we can best hear God’s voice, experience God’s presence. Your chances of hearing God are much better in a church that in a tavern (this does not limit God’s power; it means the spiritual acoustics are better in some places than others).
4. What then should I do?
Do what the saints of all the ages have done. Cultivate those holy habits of private prayer, Bible reading, attendance at worship, participation in the fellowship of the church; have eyes of compassion for human need; extend the hand of help and healing whenever possible.
5. Will God invite me in any particular way?
No. The invitation usually comes in a manner commensurate with the personality of the one invited. We are all different; we respond in different ways.
6. Will God receive me, at some point?
Yes, yes, yes! This is the life of faith. Your entering the Kingdom may come quietly, ever so quietly, like the coming of the spring morning. Before you know it, the sun is shining brightly, and your prayers have been answered.
7. Is it faith?
Yes, it is faith, and a positive faith. The God who meets you in faith is the God who wanted you when you were "not far ..."
Victor Hugo said we must:
Be like the bird
That, pausing in her flight
A while on boughs too slight,
Feels them give way
Beneath her and yet sings,
Knowing that she hath wings.5
The story is told of the circuit rider who went out west to preach the gospel on the edge of an Indian Reservation. A tent was erected, and the revival was under way. Eventually the chief himself came to the meetings. He was dressed in his blanket and riding his pony. He also brought his son. After hitching the pony, the chief and his son took their places on the front bench.
As the circuit rider preached, the chief was greatly moved, came forward and presented his blanket as a gift, then returned to his seat. The circuit rider continued preaching. The chief rose, went outside, and brought in his pony as a gift. Preaching continued, and the chief came forward bringing his son. The circuit rider pressed for a verdict. The chief rose again, came forward, saying, "I gave my blanket, my pony, my son. Now, I give myself." He was "not far from the kingdom of God."
1. See Warren Thomas Smith, Augustine. His Life and Thought (Atlanta: John Knox Press, 1980), p. 47.
2. The Journal of the Rev. Charles Wesley, M.A. (London: Wesleyan Methodist Book-Room, [1849] n.d.), 1:90-95.
3. The Book of Hymns, number 528.
4. Nehemiah Curnock, ed. The Journal of the Rev. John Wesley, A.M. (London: The Epworth Press, 1938), 1:465-477. Also see Warren Thomas Smith "The Spiritual Quests of the Wesleys" in Circuit Rider, June 1983, pp. 15-16.
5. "Wings" in Masterpieces of Religious Verse, p. 304.