“Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”

To the modern ear, these words often sound like the stuff of sidewalk preachers or dusty hymnals — a relic of a fire-and-brimstone past. But in our current American moment, fractured by ideological tribalism and a relentless pursuit of individual autonomy, this ancient call carries a weight that is more rebellious and necessary than ever. To repent is not merely to feel a fleeting pang of guilt; it is a metanoia — a fundamental reorientation of the mind that demands a radical shift in how we navigate the world.

As we move deeper into an era defined by hyper-polarization, the phrase “kingdom of heaven” offers a challenging counter-narrative to our national discourse. We often debate who should rule — which party, which leader, which interest group — but the Gospel suggests a kingdom governed by God, not by us. For a society built on the bedrock of self-determination and the “pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps” mythos, the idea of surrendering to a divine reign feels almost un-American. We have been conditioned to believe that we are the sole architects of our lives, a conviction that often masks a deep-seated fear of losing control.

Historically, the choice to follow Jesus was a direct rejection of Rome’s dominion. The Roman Empire wielded power through subjugation, extracting resources from the many to enrich the few. In stark contrast, the divine governance Jesus proposed was characterized by mercy, justice, and abundance. Today, we must ask ourselves: what is our “Rome”?

In the 19th century, the American “Rome” was an economic engine fueled by the brutal institution of slavery. Elites crafted elaborate paternalistic justifications, claiming enslaved people were “better off” to mask a terrifying truth: the national economy was addicted to oppression. The fear of what true liberation might look like — of a world where the hierarchy was dismantled — led to a century of systemic cruelty.

In the 21st century, our “Rome” looks different, but its grip is no less firm. It is an empire of radical individualism and global control. For over 140 years, the United States has projected an ideal of freedom that often serves as a veneer for economic and military conquest. We export a brand of democracy that frequently prioritizes national interests over the genuine needs of the nations we “help.” Domestically, this culture has bred a spirit of scarcity and suspicion. We are taught that success is a zero-sum game. Dissent against this status quo is frequently met with labels; to question the fairness of our systems is to be called “unpatriotic” or, in the resurgent vocabulary of today’s cold-war echoes, a “communist.”

Accepting the invitation into the “kingdom of heaven” requires us to divest our allegiance from these modern iterations of Rome. It requires us to view our neighbors through a lens of mercy rather than judgment. In a political climate where social safety nets are debated with bitterness, the kingdom perspective offers a radical alternative: a world where everyone receives what they need to flourish, acknowledging that needs differ.

What truly harms our national soul is not that a neighbor receives food stamps, reduced rent, or healthcare. Rather, it is the way we allow ourselves to be consumed by outrage over another’s perceived “advantage,” a distraction that blinds us to our own complicity in a system that thrives on division. We have become so focused on guarding our individual silos that we have lost sight of the pervasive power of our modern Rome.

When the first disciples dropped their nets, they weren’t just changing jobs; they were abandoning a paradigm of oppression for one of love and forgiveness. They stepped into a reality where freedom was redefined — not as the right to do whatever one wants, but as the liberation to do what is right.

“Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near” is an invitation to shed the intangible ideas that underpin our modern empires. It is a call to pause, examine the path we are on as a nation and as individuals, and consciously choose a different one. In the silence of reflection, we must ask: What are we holding onto that keeps us from experiencing a life of true abundance? The kingdom is near; the choice to enter it remains ours.

The Rev. Jason Burns is a deacon in the Episcopal Church who lives in Greenfield and serves All Saints Church in South Hadley.