MY JOURNEY INTO THE KINGDOM

I WAS A CHURCH PERSON before I was even born, attending services in my mother's womb for nine months before showing up to claim my spot in the church nursery. My dad was a Southern Baptist pastor, and my early spiritual life revolved around the church. I made my profession of faith when I was nine years old, walking the aisle during the hymn of invitation to publicly declare that Jesus was my Savior and Lord. By that same action, I also joined the church as a member, and I was baptized some weeks later as the culmination of that process. My baptism was celebrated as a church ordinance, took place in a church sanctuary, and was witnessed by a roomful of church people. It was a full-on church experience, signifying that I was now officially one of them.

The Kingdom of God was never mentioned during this pivotal time in my life. I didn't have the foggiest notion about the Kingdom or what part it played in my connection with God. For me, and for everyone I knew, it was all about the church. We demonstrated our Christian commitment by being good church members.

At some point, news of the Kingdom of God penetrated my consciousness, but it was viewed through the lens of church culture, leading (I now see) to a skewed understanding of the Kingdom and its place in God's plan for the world. The Kingdom was seen as a subset of church activity—more of a catchphrase to describe extraordinary church activities—rather than the main purpose for God's work in the world. So, for example, if two congregations came together to do some church thing—such as a youth fellowship event after a football game—that cooperative effort was called a Kingdom endeavor. The Kingdom was like the church on steroids—at least, that's how I understood it.

Later, as my denomination got caught up in the culture wars undertaken by conservative evangelical church leaders, the Kingdom designation was extended to include efforts by which the church sought to influence the political arena. Thus, crusades against various evils, certain leaders, and high-profile Supreme Court decisions were deemed Kingdom engagements. The clear belief was that the Kingdom of God was under assault and that it was up to us in the church to protect it and save it.

Because the church and the Kingdom were synonymous according to this paradigm, anything that threatened the church or diminished the role of the church in society was seen as a direct assault on the Kingdom. We didn't have to look very far to find evidence of Kingdom erosion. Blue laws were collapsing, church attendance was waning, and countless other distractions were tearing at Christendom's hold on the culture.

Unfortunately, the church's budding siege mentality served to further its i nward-turning self-absorption. The church-growth movement among evangelical Protestants and the Second Vatican Council in the Catholic Church were touted as efforts to connect with contemporary culture. But in reality those initiatives were driven by institutional concerns for survival. The rise of megachurches in the latter decades of the twentieth century—and the sense of growth and progress generated by shifting church attendance from the "mom and pop" churches to the "superstores"—masked the decline of Christendom and the church's influence in the culture.

Because church and Kingdom were seen as interchangeable terms for the same spiritual reality, things weren't looking too good for the home team. And, in fact, that "home team" mentality was part of the problem. We thought of ourselves as playing out the Kingdom game on our home turf, the church. As Sunday went, so went the Kingdom. Our church-centered scorecards celebrated church activities on church property led by church people for other church people. Everything else—vocations, hobbies, the rest of life outside the church—wasn't Kingdom related. Simply put, if it didn't show up at church, it didn't count. The perceived line between what was spiritual and what was merely secular was firmly drawn.

I began my preparation to go into ministry just as the church-growth movement was taking off and the seeker-friendly model was being formulated. The evolving conversation about ways to "reach the lost world" at least acknowledged that a world requiring some intentional engagement existed "out there." But my thinking, along with that of most other church leaders at the time, was still very much centered on the church and its activities. The work of God in the world was anchored in the church and played out in the church. The aim was to get people into church, where God could somehow get ahold of them. And the church would grow if it was doing the right things.

Then, late in my seminary sojourn, I read some books that really messed up my view of the church. Beginning with Howard Snyder's The Problem of Wineskins and The Community of the King, I came face-to-face with a radical, new (to me) idea—namely, that the key to church renewal lies in anchoring the mission and purpose of the church in the biblical teaching of what it means to be the people of God.

These books were the first I had encountered that highlighted the discussion of the church's mission in the world. (Most books I was reading at the time dealt with some aspect of "doing church better"—improving existing practices without asking questions about why we were doing things the way we were or whether we should be doing them in the first place.) Snyder's observations and critiques unsettled me, especially when he pointed out how much Jesus struggled with the religious institutions of his day.

I had grown up with a Jesus who loved the church, every single part of it, from the organ prelude to the Vacation Bible School pledges of allegiance to the American flag, the Christian flag, and the Bible. (I can still recite them all.) The idea that Jesus might not be thrilled with church as I knew it was a stunning revelation and a real wake-up call.

Snyder's books were game changers, beginning a process that has now continued for more than three decades. The journey has involved moving from a church-centered universe to a Kingdom-centered framework, and it has shifted the center of gravity for how I see the world, how I view the work of God in the world, and how I relate to both.

Other writers soon chimed in on the conversation. Some were contemporary; others were ancient. I had done my doctoral work in historical theology, so I began to explore primary sources: the ante-Nicene church fathers, the sixteenth-century Reformers, and leaders of church renewal efforts throughout Christian history. These writers and their ideas expanded my understanding of how the church should express itself. I confess that my ideas were still church-centered rather than...