Be ready for the coming of the kingdom
Thumbnail Image by StockSnap from Pixabay
Clare L. Hickman
St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Ferndale
August 10, 2025—Proper 14C
Genesis 15:1-6; Luke 12:32-40
(sung) “Keep your lamps trimmed and burnin’. Keep your lamps trimmed and burnin’. Keep your lamps trimmed and burnin’. The time is drawing near.”
Be ready, pay attention. Have your tools at hand, and your skills sharpened. Ready for the coming of God’s kingdom. Which will look like justice. Which will look like liberation. Which will look like healing. Which will look like an end to hunger and homelessness, fear and oppression.
Be ready. Ready when it comes at the return of Jesus on clouds of glory, yes. But also in the meantime. There is no better way to be ready for the second coming than to watch for, be aware of, and help midwife the coming of the kingdom as it is happening right now. It is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom, Jesus assures us. But as he tells us elsewhere (in slightly different words), the Kingdom of God is like flat pack furniture from IKEA: all the parts are there, but you and a friend will need to put them together.
And sometimes, the work to build the kingdom, to reinforce the ways of God against the ways of the world, will require some preparation on your part. Forethought. Maybe even practice. “Be dressed for action, and keep your lamps lit” (Luke 12:35). Which is to say, have your tools at hand, and your skills sharpened. Otherwise, the opportunity might catch you unawares, and you will miss your chance.
I’ll start with a fairly low stakes example. Have you ever witnessed a mom in a supermarket with three kids, and one of them is melting down? Some of the other customers, undoubtedly, have begun to shoot looks at her: annoyed at the disruption, judging her parenting. You shoot mental daggers back at them, because how dare they?! But you aren’t really sure how to help beyond that. Is the simple act of NOT sneering enough? Should you just ignore it all and pretend nothing’s wrong?
[If you’re English, of course, the answer is yes. The answer is always “Pretend you can’t see the embarrassed person, so they can pretend no-one witnessed their embarrassment.” But…]
What would actually be helpful is to step up to stand beside the person who is not only in need, but is being shamed by others. Forget giving dirty looks to the other shoppers, and offer your assistance. And this is where a little advance thought and preparation is helpful. Because if you think back to your own experience, or talk to those who’ve gone through this, you’ll recall some very practical advice that you might forget in the heat of the moment: Don’t offer to handle the child who’s melting down. Do offer to handle things in a way that might be helpful. Fetch or return a shopping cart. Give snacks to her other children. Clean up the mess that the thrashing child has made.
More than anything, say something supportive. “I remember how tough this stage was. You’re doing great. You’ll get through this.” That will go a long way to counteract the judgmental looks.
We know all this, really. And we want to help. But we’re not always ready; we fear we might do the wrong thing, and our offer will be met with resistance. So we walk away, and spend the rest of the day thinking, “I should have done something more.”
Thinking through these things in advance helps us keep our lamps lit. Knowing a simple rule like: don’t touch the child, but do offer to take care of the surrounding chaos, keeps our lamps lit. And perhaps the most important preparation of all is remembering that it’s not all about our pride and comfort, and really internalizing that it’s okay if our offer is rebuffed … All of this makes us ready (more ready) to help the kingdom break through. For the folks who need assistance, and for everyone who witnesses the scene.
From a starting place like this, so much more can be done.
At the final session of the book group, we got to talking about times when we, who are all white people, have been somewhere and somebody else said or did something racist. Sometimes as an open confrontation with a non-white person, but often as a seemingly offhand remark made to us, as though we, as fellow white people, would surely agree. We remembered the distaste and shock we felt (though I’m sure a black person would be entirely un-shocked to hear the stories), and tried to recall what we’d said in response. Or what we should have said in response, if we hadn’t found ourselves floundering in awkward silence.
What is it that keeps us quieter than we’d want to be, in situations like these, in any situation that calls us to advocacy? Partly, it’s a lack of “the right” words in the moment. Mostly, I think, it’s a fearful politeness, that doesn’t want to call someone out, doesn’t want to make a scene. We aren’t sure how they’re going to react, and so we maybe mutter something and try to move on.
It brought to mind something that had struck me forcefully when I was at the Civil Rights Institute in Birmingham. There were all these accounts of protesters undergoing training before the actions. Before they ever walked, or sat at a lunch counter, or at the front of the bus, they planned it all out: what they would and wouldn’t do; how they would avoid returning violence when they were met with violence. If people hurl insults at us, what will we do? If the police attack with fire hoses or billy clubs, what will we do?
They were practicing for what they knew would come. Paying attention. Keeping their lamps trimmed.
We can borrow that wisdom (with humility, appreciation and contrition), even for far less dangerous work. The book group talked about literally planning an anti-racist response training in which we role-play various scenarios, and practice responding. What’s the first thing you might say, if someone says something like that in front of you? Then, if they try to laugh it off, how do you hold your ground? If they get offended or defensive, how might you respond without letting them off the hook?
Perhaps it sounds like a corporate seminar, but it’s actually fundamental holy work that we need to equip ourselves for. Need to develop the muscle for. Need to become willing to face pushback, rejection (even hostility) for.
Because there is an eternal truth at work in such moments: If you rebuke the devil, the devil will strike back. With violence, if the rebuke has been significant enough. But at the very least with a weaselly, “Hey, it was just a joke. Lighten up! Why’re you trying to make me into the bad guy?” Trying to make it your fault, suggesting that you’re the one doing the harm here. You’re the ones disturbing the peace. You’re the one making someone feel bad about themselves.
It is our task to make ourselves ready to rebuke the devil, and face the pushback. To stand firm in our truth that we are not the ones doing violence to society; we are not the ones damaging souls and reputations. We are, instead, the ones prepared to welcome the kingdom of God, as we stand with a person or a people who has been belittled, reviled, and held down.
(sung) “Keep your lamps trimmed and burnin’. Keep your lamps trimmed and burnin’. Keep your lamps trimmed and burnin’. The time is drawing near.” And with that refrain, from a spiritual that warned enslaved people not to miss their chance of escape when it came, I will say: May we do all in our power to make it so. Amen.