A Kingdom Not of This World

A note about this letter:
I was quite angry when I wrote the first draft of this letter. Following the assassination of Charlie Kirk and the shooting of those children in Denver, the air was thick with vitriol. Whatever side of the political aisle you stand on, you’ll agree tensions were already high before September 10th; after the shootings, they boiled over. Finger-pointing, furious words, calls for retribution, and endless rewriting of narratives filled the air—each side trying to vindicate itself by demonizing the other.
What disturbed me most was seeing people of influence exploit the pain and anger of others to advance their own agendas, cloaking their ambitions with appeals to God. That kind of invocation—using the Lord’s name to sanctify violence, greed, or vengeance—is blasphemy in its purest form.
As someone who takes seriously how the name of God is spoken, I could not stay silent. Yet as a human being with political leanings, personal opinions, and my own understanding of faith, I must admit my earliest drafts probably mirrored the same fault lines I was criticizing. So I have spent the last week reflecting on my anger and my words, trying to separate my own failings from the message I believe I must share.
I am still angry—angry at the violence, the death, the division. Angry at politicians, media figures, and cultural influencers who drive wedges deeper into our fractured society. Angry at faith leaders who have become defenders of worldly rulers instead of moral compasses pointing us to Christ. But beyond anger, I feel sorrow. Sorrow for a world so broken that it does not always feel safe to send my child to school or to speak openly with a neighbor.
As this introduction threatens to become a letter in itself, let me close it with this thought: I know many of you are also angry, sad, and weary. But things will not get better if we continue to dehumanize those who are different from us. Jesus teaches that people are worthy of respect and love. So I implore you: lay down tribal colors and take up the cross. We are called to follow God, even when it means walking away from the ways of this world. So, without further ado..

A Kingdom Not of This World

Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God. — Matthew 19:24

      You may have heard the story that Jesus was referring to a small gate in Jerusalem called “the Needle.” Supposedly a camel could only pass through if stripped of its load, suggesting the wealthy must lay down their riches to enter God’s kingdom. It’s a neat illustration—but it isn’t true. No such gate existed. No archaeology supports it. And the Gospels themselves don’t agree on the wording, each using a slightly different turn of phrase for “needle’s eye.” If it had been a landmark, they would have been consistent.
That matters. Because it shows how quickly we want to soften Jesus’ words. We would rather imagine a difficult but possible challenge than accept an impossible standard. But Jesus left no wiggle room: wealth is a dangerous burden. Not evil in itself, but blinding, tempting, and capable of convincing us that we don’t need God.
      This is not a new struggle. Ancient Israel was warned against hoarding—commanded to release debts, return land to families, and leave gleanings for the hungry. God placed guardrails so that abundance would not harden into idolatry. The prophets thundered against kings and elites who ignored those commands, not because they hated wealth, but because they saw the corrosion it brought to both soul and society when it became the measure of worth.
      And yet here we are, millennia later, bowing before the same idol. For while the wealthy may not kneel before a carved statue, the pursuit of wealth can easily become the center of devotion, overriding the law of God and eroding even the most basic human morality. We still treat abundance as proof of blessing, when Jesus said the opposite: it is a responsibility, a heavier yoke of accountability. “From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded” (Luke 12:48). Wealth and influence are not in themselves evil, but they are a powerful temptation—drawing hearts away from trust in God and toward trust in self. That is why those who hold wealth, power, or platforms must be measured by a higher standard—not because we despise them, but because God requires it. Respect is not owed simply because someone is rich or influential. To give deference on the basis of worldly power is to join in the worship of Mammon.
     The prophets knew this danger well. Nathan stood before David, not to strip him of his crown, but to confront him with the truth that even kings are subject to God’s law. Elijah faced down Ahab, not because monarchy was evil, but because power had seduced him into idolatry and injustice. Amos thundered against Israel’s elites, crying out against those who “trample the head of the poor into the dust of the earth and deny justice to the oppressed” (Amos 2:7). Their warnings were not about wealth in the abstract, but about what happens when wealth and power become shields against accountability, weapons of exploitation, and excuses for abandoning God’s covenant.
      And so we return to the gate. Narrow, unyielding, impossible to enter if we come burdened with pride, greed, or self-importance. The way through is not with camels carrying loads, nor with kings wrapped in finery, nor with crowds dazzled by riches. The way through is with the cross—borne in humility, carried in faith, and marked by love. This is the path the prophets pointed toward, and the way Christ himself calls us to walk. Not worshiping wealth, not excusing injustice, not bending the knee to worldly power—but following the narrow way of the kingdom, where treasure is measured not in gold, but in mercy, justice, and love.