Living Between the Now and the Not Yet: When God's Kingdom Disrupts Everything
We find ourselves in a peculiar tension. Christmas has passed—we've celebrated the birth of our Savior, sung carols about light breaking into darkness, and marveled at God becoming flesh. Yet here we are, back in the ordinary rhythms of life, still facing broken bodies, strained relationships, unanswered prayers, and a world that feels far from redeemed.
This is the reality of living in the "now and not yet"—the space between Christ's first coming and His return. The kingdom of God has broken into human history through Jesus, offering us freedom and new life today. Yet we still wake up in a world marred by sin, longing for the day when every tear will be wiped away and all things will be made right.
The kingdom of God is His reign, His will, and His way coming to earth through Jesus. At Christmas, we celebrated that this kingdom has come. But we're still waiting for its fullness to be realized—for the second advent when Christ returns to complete what He began.
A Voice Crying in the Wilderness
Luke chapter 3 introduces us to an unlikely herald of this kingdom: John the Baptist. The passage begins by carefully naming the powerful figures of the day—Tiberius Caesar, Pontius Pilate, Herod, and the high priests Annas and Caiaphas. These were the people who controlled the world: political leaders, military commanders, religious authorities.
But the word of the Lord didn't come to any of them.
Instead, it came to a man in the wilderness—a place of discomfort, dependence, and divine encounter. Throughout Scripture, the wilderness represents where God's people learn to slow down, lean on Him, and listen for His voice.
John's message was simple but revolutionary: a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. To a Jewish audience, this was shocking. Baptism was something Gentiles did when converting to Judaism—a ritual for outsiders who needed cleansing. But John was saying everyone needed it. Religious heritage, spiritual résumés, proximity to the right culture—none of it could save them anymore.
The word "repentance" simply means to turn. John wasn't calling people to try harder; he was calling them to change direction—to turn away from earthly powers and toward a kingdom already moving toward them.
What Happens When the Kingdom Comes Near
John's sermon text came from Isaiah 40, painting four vivid pictures of what God's kingdom does when it arrives:
Every valley will be filled. God lifts the lowly. The kingdom doesn't wait for us to climb out of our valleys but joins us in the depths and lifts us from the inside. Think of the woman caught in adultery—publicly shamed, defenseless, condemned—and Jesus kneeling in the dirt beside her, not to condemn but to restore. Or the woman who had been bleeding for twelve years, reaching out in desperation to touch Jesus' garment, and Him stopping everything to listen to her whole story.
Every mountain will be made low. God humbles the proud. Mountains represent self-sufficiency, self-righteousness, the places where we've built our own security. Jesus consistently confronted religious leaders who were morally impressive and biblically literate but whose hearts were far from God. Pride isn't just a character flaw—it's a competing throne for our souls.
The crooked roads will become straight. God reorients what has been bent by sin. We all carry crookedness—patterns and habits that started small but became destructive, thoughts we can't control, behaviors we can't explain. The kingdom doesn't shame crooked people; it offers realignment. It's not about instant perfection but about direction. Repentance means doing a 180-degree turn toward God's kingdom, and His Spirit empowers us to walk that new path.
The rough ways will be made smooth. God softens what the world has hardened. Many of us have developed sharp edges—defensiveness, cynicism, control, guardedness. We've learned to hide behind armor. But the kingdom doesn't crush rough people; it patiently, persistently smooths them. Jesus didn't bulldoze the skeptical or the wounded; He invited them to encounter His gentleness and truth.
What Should We Do?
After John's confrontational message—calling the crowd a "brood of vipers" and warning that the ax was already at the root of the tree—three different groups asked the same question: "What should we do?"
The ordinary crowd asked first. John's answer was disarmingly simple: share your extra shirt with someone who has none; share your food with the hungry. No complicated rituals or religious behaviors. Just this: if God's kingdom comes near, your excess no longer belongs only to you. Generosity isn't a side virtue; it's one of the first signs that something real is happening inside. Why? Because generosity reveals what we believe about God. If we believe He's near, reliable, and abundant, we can open our hands and trust Him.
Tax collectors came next—people known for exploitation and feeding an oppressive system. John didn't tell them to quit their jobs or undo their lives overnight. He simply said: stop leveraging your position for personal gain. Live with integrity. The kingdom exposes what we've learned to justify dishonestly—the gray areas where "everyone's doing it" becomes our excuse. God's kingdom calls us out of divided, duplicitous living.
Finally, Roman soldiers asked—the most surprising group, representing empire power. Again, John didn't demand they leave the army or overthrow Rome. He said: don't extort, don't falsely accuse, be content with your pay. Bring your vocation under God's authority. He wasn't asking for a new job but a new Lord.
The Ultimate Disruption
Three different groups, three different situations, three different levels of power—but one direction. The kingdom posture is this: align your whole life—ordinary, public, and private—under the reign of this King.
This is the ultimate disruption. We all resist surrender because it always costs something: losing grip on what we thought we controlled, telling the truth when lying is easier, bringing shame out of hiding. It means letting Jesus finally be King.
But here's the beauty: Jesus doesn't just wash the outside of our cup. He baptizes the inside with Holy Spirit and fire. He doesn't crush bruised reeds but heals and restores and straightens what's been bent. He carries ultimate authority and wields it for love.
John's call wasn't to try harder. It was to turn—to stop running to other things and run to Jesus instead. The kingdom of God has come. It is near. And in Him is life—life to the full.
Where might God be inviting you today to bring areas of your life back under His reign? The invitation isn't to solve everything or make a perfect plan. Just to be honest. That might be the boldest thing you do this year.