Menu
This Shouldn't
Have Happened
Whitney cleared her throat and asked about the pictures as nicely as she could. The driver was clearly excited to field the question and started down her well-rehearsed explanation.
“Well,” she started, “did you know that many of the nations we think of as power-houses shaping the world are inventions of modernity? The Italy we know didn’t exist until the 1860s. Same for Germany, but the 1870s. Pretty wild to think about, huh?”
Whitney nodded in timid agreement.
“And what the lines on maps don’t tell you is that all these countries were made up of regional governments ruled over by their own hereditary leaders. Kings, counts, dukes, there was a whole system, right? And who got to decide who held those positions?
Whitney shrugged, genuinely unsure.
“God. He knows every last one of us, so who better to know what every city and state and town needs.”
Given one hundred guesses, Whitney never would have guessed that this would be the answer to her question. She started to wonder whether the driver had heard her at all or was just saying whatever she wanted.
“But now, in our secular age, we have replaced these kings with scavengers; scraping up donations that corrupt their soul and promising people whatever they want to hear. And as a response, we have stopped looking up to politicians. And, you know…thank goodness.
“But our God is a powerful God. And he doesn’t give up on us, even when we do our darndest to undermine his will. That is why God has given us new stars in the sky to offer us direction. Do you see what I mean?”
“So the stars are stars? Like celebrity stars?”
“See? The whole thing fits together so perfectly. Our God is a powerful God, but our God is also an elegant God. I bet that’s why he had us call them both ‘stars.’”
Whitney thought about it for a second. She was still a little confused and wasn’t sure whether it was worth diving deeper down this rabbit-hole. But, knowing that she was going to tell and retell this anecdote for weeks, decided to develop the story a little further. She asked, “So, you think that celebrities should be in charge? Like kings?”
“Now, that’s where secular history classes have let you down. Kings were never really in charge. Just like the president isn’t in charge now. You can tell people what to do all you want, but they’re gonna do what they want to do. Unless there is a police officer right in front of you threatening to beat you up or shoot you or throw you in a hole or something, you are making those choices. So then the question is…what type of person do you want to be?”
The driver offered Whitney a card with information about weekly meetings in the basement of some Catholic church in Ralston. At the top, she saw the name of this new movement: THE SERVANTS TO A NEW KINGDOM.
“So, why are you guys called The Servants To A New Kingdom?”
“I don’t know, why is it called Panera? I guess it sounded nice.”
“I was just asking because of the acronym.”
“Look, I know it spells STANK. Ha ha. Very funny. I hear that twenty times a day. Get over yourself.”
“I guess I meant The STAN Kingdom. Like the Eminem song.”
“I don’t know, I don’t really listen to Eminem. I know God made him famous, and there must be some reason for that, but I find him kinda angry and misogynistic.”
Whitney fought the urge to clarify that she didn’t really like Eminem either. She was getting the sense that she had gone about as far in this conversation she could as a tourist. Any further questions would require an investment in this worldview she wasn’t willing to give. She had enough on her plate as it was. Luckily, she was getting close to her destination.
Once at the high school, Whitney stepped out into a parking lot full of families and music and people walking around with hot dogs. The football game was starting. Standing there, surrounded and unnoticed, she felt both invisible and unable to hide.
Should Whitney:
“Well,” she started, “did you know that many of the nations we think of as power-houses shaping the world are inventions of modernity? The Italy we know didn’t exist until the 1860s. Same for Germany, but the 1870s. Pretty wild to think about, huh?”
Whitney nodded in timid agreement.
“And what the lines on maps don’t tell you is that all these countries were made up of regional governments ruled over by their own hereditary leaders. Kings, counts, dukes, there was a whole system, right? And who got to decide who held those positions?
Whitney shrugged, genuinely unsure.
“God. He knows every last one of us, so who better to know what every city and state and town needs.”
Given one hundred guesses, Whitney never would have guessed that this would be the answer to her question. She started to wonder whether the driver had heard her at all or was just saying whatever she wanted.
“But now, in our secular age, we have replaced these kings with scavengers; scraping up donations that corrupt their soul and promising people whatever they want to hear. And as a response, we have stopped looking up to politicians. And, you know…thank goodness.
“But our God is a powerful God. And he doesn’t give up on us, even when we do our darndest to undermine his will. That is why God has given us new stars in the sky to offer us direction. Do you see what I mean?”
“So the stars are stars? Like celebrity stars?”
“See? The whole thing fits together so perfectly. Our God is a powerful God, but our God is also an elegant God. I bet that’s why he had us call them both ‘stars.’”
Whitney thought about it for a second. She was still a little confused and wasn’t sure whether it was worth diving deeper down this rabbit-hole. But, knowing that she was going to tell and retell this anecdote for weeks, decided to develop the story a little further. She asked, “So, you think that celebrities should be in charge? Like kings?”
“Now, that’s where secular history classes have let you down. Kings were never really in charge. Just like the president isn’t in charge now. You can tell people what to do all you want, but they’re gonna do what they want to do. Unless there is a police officer right in front of you threatening to beat you up or shoot you or throw you in a hole or something, you are making those choices. So then the question is…what type of person do you want to be?”
The driver offered Whitney a card with information about weekly meetings in the basement of some Catholic church in Ralston. At the top, she saw the name of this new movement: THE SERVANTS TO A NEW KINGDOM.
“So, why are you guys called The Servants To A New Kingdom?”
“I don’t know, why is it called Panera? I guess it sounded nice.”
“I was just asking because of the acronym.”
“Look, I know it spells STANK. Ha ha. Very funny. I hear that twenty times a day. Get over yourself.”
“I guess I meant The STAN Kingdom. Like the Eminem song.”
“I don’t know, I don’t really listen to Eminem. I know God made him famous, and there must be some reason for that, but I find him kinda angry and misogynistic.”
Whitney fought the urge to clarify that she didn’t really like Eminem either. She was getting the sense that she had gone about as far in this conversation she could as a tourist. Any further questions would require an investment in this worldview she wasn’t willing to give. She had enough on her plate as it was. Luckily, she was getting close to her destination.
Once at the high school, Whitney stepped out into a parking lot full of families and music and people walking around with hot dogs. The football game was starting. Standing there, surrounded and unnoticed, she felt both invisible and unable to hide.
Should Whitney:
Copyright © 2015