[43] Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love thy neighbour, and hate thine enemy.
[44] But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you;
[45] That ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven: for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust.
[46] For if ye love them which love you, what reward have ye? do not even the publicans the same?
[47] And if ye salute your brethren only, what do ye more than others? do not even the publicans so?
[48] Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect.

Matthew 5:43-48, KJV

Imagine yourself today sitting in a public lecture led by a man who grew up down the road from you, or perhaps in the next town. You know little about him, other than rumors that he had worked as a tradesman and came from an unremarkable, if not ignoble birth. His recent words and actions are making waves in your community, both for their radical novelty and for their ability to call out false authority on the one hand and false humility on the other. You sense the significance of this moment.

Some in your community–particularly the secular and religious leaders–seem inordinately upset by his presence, while others, perhaps like you, are drawn inexplicably by his energy and his message. He is a decidedly polarizing figure, not for his extreme views, but for his unflappable evenness, certitude, and finality. Regardless of what ultimately led you to hear his words directly, here you are: listening intently with others who like you, feel a confusing mixture of curiosity, cynicism, and hope, as he sits and teaches on a hillside on the edge of town.

Scanning several rings inward in the crowd you can see Matthew, one of his mentees or “disciples,” a former tax collector who is known for his disciplined attention to detail, spellbound by his teacher’s profound, yet simple instructions for citizenship in a new state called the “kingdom of heaven.” He is making mental notes for his journal, to be written later. The kingdom that this man from down the road, Jesus, describes is unlike any other on earth. Its tenets are sensible, simple and reasonable, yet absolute. Its authority springs from an invisible source to which all have access, its power is rooted in the the spirit of love, and its culture is the product of obedience to divine will and adherence to the ideal.

Some in the crowd around you huff immediately at the notion. “Who does he think he is?” murmurs one and next to him another sneers, “Sounds like a pipe dream!” Others around you are nodding and acknowledging the sensibility of his message, but do not go so far as vocalizing their agreement with his words. But you, like me, are drawn in closely. We edge forward through the mixed multitude to hear more clearly, to feel more directly, to bask in the warmth of this overwhelmingly bright and clear delivery of what could only be described as pure, unadulterated truth.

In one sublime yet pointed statement after another he chips away at the misconceptions and falsehoods that undergird the “kingdoms of this world,” that is, the world that springs from the tyrannical rule of the petty tyrant called “human nature.” At certain points in his lecture the virtually everyone present recoils or bristles at the totality of the list of requirements to enter the kingdom of which he speaks. “I don’t know if I could ever meet such a high expectation,” groans one, while another shrugs in defeat before she even gets started. “Pffft, nobody’s perfect. I’m certainly no angel,” contends another while looking over his shoulder for others to agree with his sheepish grin.

The effect of these words is both chilling and awe-inspiring. It is as if he, by his very presence and by virtue of the searing nature of his swordlike words was pulling everyone present by the scruff of their neck out of Plato’s allegorical cave of ignorance in that moment. As Plato’s character Socrates explains to Glaucon in the allegorical tale: “Suppose… that someone should drag him… by force, up the rough ascent, the steep way up, and never stop until he could drag him out into the light of the sun.” Some balk. Others squint. The prisoners of this world tense and recoil from the light, preferring the comfort of the familiar darkness to the temporarily blinding unfamiliarity of the light. As Satan famously declared in Milton’s “Paradise Lost:” Better to reign in hell than to serve in heaven.” Oh, how many have been lost on that premise. But you, blessed one, you relax and let your eyes adjust to the light.

epentThen came the deep line in the sand. “Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect.” “Blasphemy!” shouts the crowd then and now. “Who does he think he is, God?” And how dare he involve me in that scheme! Even his disciples cringe when he delivers this one. “Rabbi, perfect?” Only John the Beloved disciple receives this message in his heart, without offense.

What about you? Are you willing to accept not only the possibility of another state emerging on earth, but also your personal responsbility for its manifestation? Are you willing to let go, to truly let go of all that has kept you beyond the borders of the kingdom of heaven (which was also described so poetically in the Book of Genesis as the “garden planted eastward in Eden”) and let go to the highest and finest of which you are aware? Are you willing to pass by the flaming sword which turns every way to keep the way of the tree of life?

If so, there are no half measures, no “good enoughs.” It’s all or nothing. If not, you will remain beyond its borders and God will feel separate from you, as though the divine is something outside of you, something theoretical, something that you have to struggle to comprehend or even acknowledge.

If you are willing to pass by the flaming sword, my dear and precious friend, the kingdom of heaven is at hand. The only requirement is to “repent,” thats is, to reorient and rethink deeply and completely.

“Repent: for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” Matthew 4:17, KJV