We do not build the Kingdom of God. So please don’t say that we do. Let’s all stop saying that we build the Kingdom of God. If you have been saying it, I don’t blame you. You no doubt meant well. But you can stop now. That’s my admonition for today.

The Bible never calls us to “build the Kingdom.” We seek it, we see it, we enter it, it is given to us, it is near us, it is coming, it has come, and it is at hand, but we do not build it. At least not according to the New Testament, and that should make us hesitant to say it.

Roman Catholics say it rarely. I hear it most among Calvinists and Methodists. I heard a Wesleyan preacher end a sermon with, “Now go out and build the kingdom.” It expresses world-formative Christianity—that “thy Kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven” is more than saving souls and individual obedience. Of late the language is being used by the Christian Right.

I was surprised to discover that the language appears in the Contemporary Testimony of the Christian Reformed Church in North America, that excellent document called Our World Belongs to God. In article 46 the phrase “building the kingdom” is used twice for Christian activity. 

Oddly, the paragraph is the one on marriage, family, and divorce. Did I miss something when Melody and I got married at the Sherman Street Christian Reformed Church? We never thought of raising our two kids as “building the Kingdom,” even when we sent them to Christian schools! So this is my little gravamen against the Contemporary Testimony of the CRC.

When I ask you not to use this language anymore, I am not advocating privatist, pietist soul-winning as the end-all of Christian witness. I am not speaking against a robust Kingdom-orientation or what Richard Mouw calls “cultural discipleship.” I have criticized my own denomination, the Reformed Church in America, for the weakness of its Kingdom vision. I am in favor of Christian schools and Christian cultural institutions. These things need buildings, and organization, and fund-raising, and hard work. I suppose it’s the concreteness of this work that tempts us to speak of “building the Kingdom.”

What harm is there in it? Even if the New Testament never uses the phrase, don’t we often use language beyond what’s in the Bible? The word “Trinity” is not in the Bible. Fair enough. But our language can make us deaf to how the Bible prefers to speak. The fact that the New Testament speaks so constantly of the Kingdom but uses other verbs than “building” should give us pause.

The language implies that we naturally identify the Kingdom with what we are building or organizing or working on. We often call these efforts “Kingdom work.” We “see” the Kingdom in our designs and Christian institutions. But what if that puts blinders on us from seeing the Kingdom elsewhere? I suggest that Kingdom-builders are slow to see the Kingdom in places not of our own designs, among people not of our preference, and “at hand” in ways that contradict our intentions. In Matthew 5, the Lord Jesus says that the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to the poor in spirit and to those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake. And “poor in spirit” does not mean “not poor.”

A danger for Christians in the Kuyperian tradition is to think of our Christian institutions as being on the good side of the so-called Antithesis, where the Kingdom is, while secular institutions and public schools are on the wrong side. But the Antithesis is not vertical—with antithetical cultures on one side or the other—but horizontal, and over everything, including Christian institutions and cultural discipleship. All of our human designs and desires are under the judgment of the cross. We cannot build the Kingdom.

The Lord Jesus says to his disciples, “Fear not little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the Kingdom” (Luke 12:32). We don’t have to build it. It is given to us. So what we can do is bear witness to it. We can haltingly imagine its magnificence in our designs. We can demonstrate its comprehension and character by our institutions and our schools.

A paper-cup salesman was a deacon in my church in Brooklyn. He was down-to-earth and practical, not big on doctrine or mystery, but he worshiped faithfully. He served on committees and handled the grunt-work of rentals and tenants. On Saturdays he never missed being at the church kitchen to cook for the homeless shelter. One Sunday he gave his testimony. He said, “Do you know why I do this? Do you know why I keep giving my time for all these committees and projects? Because when I do it I can see the Kingdom of God!” I was thrilled.