The Kingdom Has Come
Rethinking Repentance: An Invitation Forward, Not Backward
We often carry words from our past that shape how we understand our faith. For many of us, "repentance" is one of those words—heavy with the weight of shame, failure, and looking backward at everything we've done wrong. But what if we've been thinking about repentance all wrong?
The Backward Glance We Can't Escape
There's a powerful truth in the words: "You can't go back and make a new start. But you can start right now and make a brand new ending." This statement captures something essential about the human condition—we're caught between two realities. The first is the honest acknowledgment that we cannot undo our past. The second is the hopeful recognition that God isn't finished with our story.
Most of us learned repentance long before we learned theology. We learned it when we spilled milk at the dinner table, when we broke a rule, when we hurt a sibling. The well-intentioned parental response often sounded like: "Go to your room and think about what you did." While not inherently wrong, this approach subtly taught us that regret must be felt long enough to be valid, that reconciliation comes only after shame has done its work.
We carried this framework into everything—our friendships, our marriages, our parenting, and ultimately, our relationship with God. We quietly learned a dangerous rule: if I've already messed up this badly, repentance won't really change anything.
What Jesus Actually Said
When Jesus began his public ministry, he didn't start in Jerusalem among the religious elite or at the temple. Instead, he settled in Galilee—an overlooked, spiritually mixed, suspect place. Matthew tells us this fulfilled Isaiah's prophecy: "The people living in darkness have seen a great light. On those living in the land of deep darkness, a light has dawned" (Isaiah 9:2).
In that setting, after John the Baptist had been arrested, when fear filled the air and nothing looked like it was improving, Jesus opened his mouth and began to preach. His first words? "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near" (Matthew 4:17).
This wasn't advice. It wasn't a moral challenge. It was an announcement.
In the ancient world, preaching didn't mean telling people how to behave—it meant announcing news. Something had happened. Something had changed the reality of the world. What Jesus was announcing wasn't heaven as a destination when you die, but the kingdom of heaven—God's reign, God's rule, God's presence—now accessible here on earth in a way it never was before.
The Greek Word That Changes Everything
The Greek word Jesus used for repent is metanoia—it simply means to change your mind, to reorient your life, to turn because you've realized something important. Repentance happens when you recognize that the world you've been living in is not the only one available to you.
Dallas Willard used to say that everyone lives in a kingdom, which he defined as "the range of your effective will"—the place where what you say goes. It starts with your body, then your space, your time, your money, your relationships. Every one of us wakes up every day managing our little kingdoms, trying to keep them safe and under control.
The question isn't whether we have a kingdom. The question is: whose kingdom are we living in?
The Kingdoms We Build
Watch any child for five minutes and you'll see this truth in action. A child's body is their kingdom. Their toys are their kingdom. When a sibling touches something without asking, there's immediate resistance because their kingdom has been violated. They don't wake up thinking, "How can I live in God's kingdom today?" They think, "How can I make my kingdom work for me today?"
Here's the uncomfortable part: we don't grow out of this. We just get more sophisticated. We learn to manage our kingdoms better, to be more subtle about it. We learn passive-aggressiveness. We hide our disappointments. We justify our reactions.
When Jesus says "repent," he's not pointing out everything wrong with you. He's inviting you to step out of a kingdom that can't carry the weight of your soul into one that can.
Three Practical Steps
If repentance is about relocating our lives into God's kingdom, how do we actually do that?
First, pay attention to where your will is clashing with reality. Where do you feel most defensive? Most out of control? Most anxious? Those moments aren't interruptions—they're invitations. They reveal the edges of your kingdom. Repentance starts with naming them: "God, this is where I've been trying to rule."
Second, learn to pause long enough to choose a different response. Most of the time, repentance looks painfully ordinary. It looks like slowing down enough to ask a different question. Not "How do I get my way?" but "What does faithfulness look like here?" Sometimes obedience requires interruption. Repentance is the courage to stop moving fast in the wrong direction.
Third, practice repentance as a daily rhythm, not as a response to crisis. Most of us were taught that repentance is something you do when you mess up badly. But Jesus treats it as a way of staying awake to reality. At the end of each day, ask: "Where today did I live as if God were actually king? Where did I live as if everything depended on me?"
This isn't condemnation—it's formation.
A Revolutionary Question
Here's a question worth sitting with: Am I becoming more like Christ, or just more efficient at what truly doesn't matter?
That question is repentance in seed form. It cuts through all our religious activity and gets to the heart of the matter. Are the decisions we make, the words we speak, the way we spend our time actually making us more like Jesus? Or are we just getting better at things that don't matter in the end?
The Grace in All of This
Here's the beautiful part: repentance is not something you do alone. The same Jesus who announces the kingdom is the same king who empowers obedience. Every time you choose patience over anger, truth over spin, trust over anxiety, love over self-protection, generosity over accumulation—you're not earning the kingdom, you're living in it.
That's obedience. Not perfection. Not performance. Participation.
The kingdom of heaven has come near. The only question left is whether we're willing to turn toward it. Are we willing to give up control of our own kingdoms to step into one that is so much greater?
You can't go back and make a new start. But you can start right now and make a brand new ending. That's not just possibility—that's the promise of repentance.
We often carry words from our past that shape how we understand our faith. For many of us, "repentance" is one of those words—heavy with the weight of shame, failure, and looking backward at everything we've done wrong. But what if we've been thinking about repentance all wrong?
The Backward Glance We Can't Escape
There's a powerful truth in the words: "You can't go back and make a new start. But you can start right now and make a brand new ending." This statement captures something essential about the human condition—we're caught between two realities. The first is the honest acknowledgment that we cannot undo our past. The second is the hopeful recognition that God isn't finished with our story.
Most of us learned repentance long before we learned theology. We learned it when we spilled milk at the dinner table, when we broke a rule, when we hurt a sibling. The well-intentioned parental response often sounded like: "Go to your room and think about what you did." While not inherently wrong, this approach subtly taught us that regret must be felt long enough to be valid, that reconciliation comes only after shame has done its work.
We carried this framework into everything—our friendships, our marriages, our parenting, and ultimately, our relationship with God. We quietly learned a dangerous rule: if I've already messed up this badly, repentance won't really change anything.
What Jesus Actually Said
When Jesus began his public ministry, he didn't start in Jerusalem among the religious elite or at the temple. Instead, he settled in Galilee—an overlooked, spiritually mixed, suspect place. Matthew tells us this fulfilled Isaiah's prophecy: "The people living in darkness have seen a great light. On those living in the land of deep darkness, a light has dawned" (Isaiah 9:2).
In that setting, after John the Baptist had been arrested, when fear filled the air and nothing looked like it was improving, Jesus opened his mouth and began to preach. His first words? "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near" (Matthew 4:17).
This wasn't advice. It wasn't a moral challenge. It was an announcement.
In the ancient world, preaching didn't mean telling people how to behave—it meant announcing news. Something had happened. Something had changed the reality of the world. What Jesus was announcing wasn't heaven as a destination when you die, but the kingdom of heaven—God's reign, God's rule, God's presence—now accessible here on earth in a way it never was before.
The Greek Word That Changes Everything
The Greek word Jesus used for repent is metanoia—it simply means to change your mind, to reorient your life, to turn because you've realized something important. Repentance happens when you recognize that the world you've been living in is not the only one available to you.
Dallas Willard used to say that everyone lives in a kingdom, which he defined as "the range of your effective will"—the place where what you say goes. It starts with your body, then your space, your time, your money, your relationships. Every one of us wakes up every day managing our little kingdoms, trying to keep them safe and under control.
The question isn't whether we have a kingdom. The question is: whose kingdom are we living in?
The Kingdoms We Build
Watch any child for five minutes and you'll see this truth in action. A child's body is their kingdom. Their toys are their kingdom. When a sibling touches something without asking, there's immediate resistance because their kingdom has been violated. They don't wake up thinking, "How can I live in God's kingdom today?" They think, "How can I make my kingdom work for me today?"
Here's the uncomfortable part: we don't grow out of this. We just get more sophisticated. We learn to manage our kingdoms better, to be more subtle about it. We learn passive-aggressiveness. We hide our disappointments. We justify our reactions.
When Jesus says "repent," he's not pointing out everything wrong with you. He's inviting you to step out of a kingdom that can't carry the weight of your soul into one that can.
Three Practical Steps
If repentance is about relocating our lives into God's kingdom, how do we actually do that?
First, pay attention to where your will is clashing with reality. Where do you feel most defensive? Most out of control? Most anxious? Those moments aren't interruptions—they're invitations. They reveal the edges of your kingdom. Repentance starts with naming them: "God, this is where I've been trying to rule."
Second, learn to pause long enough to choose a different response. Most of the time, repentance looks painfully ordinary. It looks like slowing down enough to ask a different question. Not "How do I get my way?" but "What does faithfulness look like here?" Sometimes obedience requires interruption. Repentance is the courage to stop moving fast in the wrong direction.
Third, practice repentance as a daily rhythm, not as a response to crisis. Most of us were taught that repentance is something you do when you mess up badly. But Jesus treats it as a way of staying awake to reality. At the end of each day, ask: "Where today did I live as if God were actually king? Where did I live as if everything depended on me?"
This isn't condemnation—it's formation.
A Revolutionary Question
Here's a question worth sitting with: Am I becoming more like Christ, or just more efficient at what truly doesn't matter?
That question is repentance in seed form. It cuts through all our religious activity and gets to the heart of the matter. Are the decisions we make, the words we speak, the way we spend our time actually making us more like Jesus? Or are we just getting better at things that don't matter in the end?
The Grace in All of This
Here's the beautiful part: repentance is not something you do alone. The same Jesus who announces the kingdom is the same king who empowers obedience. Every time you choose patience over anger, truth over spin, trust over anxiety, love over self-protection, generosity over accumulation—you're not earning the kingdom, you're living in it.
That's obedience. Not perfection. Not performance. Participation.
The kingdom of heaven has come near. The only question left is whether we're willing to turn toward it. Are we willing to give up control of our own kingdoms to step into one that is so much greater?
You can't go back and make a new start. But you can start right now and make a brand new ending. That's not just possibility—that's the promise of repentance.
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