There's a fairly standard sermon you're likely to have heard from one of the Big Travelling Names...

"The River of God".

Starts off by saying that the ministry of Jesus said it all.

But the early church quickly went into a decline. When Constantine made Christianity officially okay, the rot really set in. The Dark Ages saw superstition and institutionalism rampant.

It's a good sermon. Pretty accurate.

And through it all comes the point that each new bunch comes up with its bit of truth, struggling against persecution from the previous lot. They manage (not without a few bruises) to get established.

Then dig their toes in and persecute the next batch.

Read church history. Laugh hysterically or sob bitterly.

Now - if that little exposition is valid (and you'll readily agree it is, up to the point that you've reached, eh) then we maintain there's one more bit to it.

The bit that comes after the penty/charismatic move.

You'd expect us to say 'the kingdom of God'. Right! And we're claiming Jesus spelled it out in so many words. And with the charismatic move now comfortably established and as old hat as the rest of the past moves, it's time for the biggy.

The quantum leap.

So what's the scripture?

It's the bit near the end of the Sermon on the Mount: Matthew 7, vv 21 - 23.

Not everyone who says to me 'Lord, Lord' will enter the kingdom of heaven - but the one who does the will of my father who is in heaven.

Many will say to me in that day 'Lord, Lord...haven't we prophesied in your name...cast out demons in your name...done many wonderful works in your name?

Then I'll say to them: 'I never knew you; depart from me, workers of iniquity'.

End of quote.

Now; if you take what they were claiming to do, you see three things.

Prophecy. Exorcism. Miracles.

What's wrong with those things? Nothing.

Two were commanded by Jesus in Mark 16 vv 16 - 18. Exorcism is specifically mentioned; miracles are inferred in the reference to healing the sick. And in Paul's first letter to the Corinthians, all three are specifically mentioned as gifts. Why then does Jesus put them in Matthew '?

Those three activities are not put in to be criticised. They are put in to locate the event in time. To date it.

When were there many people involved in prophecy, exorcism and miracles?

Historically, only on two occasions.

From Pentecost; for the first hundred or so years. Gradually declining as the church became structured.

And?

Now. From the start of the twentieth century. With the pentecostal and charismatic moves.

We are suggesting that the passage in Matthew 7 that we quoted earlier relates directly to today and points to the next move of God.

And to the difficulty that the people in the last move of God will have in making the change.

Since Reformation, there's been no time when popularly there's been acknowledgement and practise of prophecy, exorcism and wonderful works - until now.

So we are the people to whom Jesus addressed his warning.

And what's our problem? Surely it can't be wrong to prophesy or cast out demons or heal or whatever?

No, those things are okay. In fact, to some people they represent the unbelievable. To others - something they'd like to attain to. But whether special or not, that's not where it's really at in the important things of God.

What's important?

Doing His will. Being known by Jesus.

Maybe that needs explaining. The words sound cold in English. Actually they are anything but.

Doing the will of God - in English - sounds straightforward. Do this, do that; don't do such-and-such; give to the poor, help lame ducks over stiles. God's will. No problem. 'Cos that's what He wants us to do, eh.

That misses the point totally.

The Greek word is THELEMA the noun and THELO the verb. To condense what takes a column of close type almost a metre long in Grimm-Thayer's Lexicon - it's a warm, emotive word.

It really means 'desire'. Doing the desire of God.

A word that comes out of close relationship.

There are words aplenty for the commands and orders of God. Words for the cold, remote 'will' that is enforced regardless of others ('who can resist His will?': Romans 9. 19 - a totally different word). But time and time again in gospels and epistles comes this expression of God's desire.

What was the other important thing?

Being known by Jesus.

Again, don't be fooled by the English. The Greek word is GINOSKO, and means a specialised and intense knowledge coming from a particular relationship. For example 'Joseph knew her not until...' (Matt. 1. 25) where the word is used to mean sexual intercourse. Matt. 12. 33: 'a tree is known by its fruit'; correct in the sense of special knowledge, because in a general sense it is known or identified by leaves, bark and shape. And there's Paul's strong wish in Phil. 3. 10: 'that I may know him' - whatever Paul had going with God, he wanted it deepened and enhanced.

So... Doing God's will and being known by Jesus...involves getting to know the desires of the Father and being deeply and specially known by the Son. It's intensely personal . Intimate and family. Where God is Daddy and Jesus is Elder Brother. That's all there is, for us, in the kingdom.

Anything we do or say must come spontaneously out of being family. No longer is it legitimate to do things 'because we ought'. From custom. Because we were brought up to.

Ever met someone who was houseproud? We knew this woman back in Britain. We called on her once and - no exaggeration - she was laying newspapers up to her front door from the lounge as we approached.

"Take your shoes off. Leave them in the porch. I've just done the hall."

Had she ever! The lino was polished like you were walking on a mirror. The mats slid out from under your foot as if they were on ballbearings. Crystal gleamed, brass glowed, silver shone. Each chair had covers on the arms and back.

"Don't sit on the edge of the settee - it spoils the shape."

Everything was scrubbed and dusted and vacuumed and polished to perfection.

And she was cold as ice to all she met. And most of all, to her husband.

Works the other way, too, if you get upset at our sexist example.

There are finnicky, meticulous, perfectionist men. Their desk has blotter and pens just so, all properly parallel. The calculations in their files must balance to the cent - no approximations, no she'll be right. They have the highest standards for themselves. And for their staff.

And never a vestige of warmth and love.

Whereas a true marriage based on intense love is neither nit-pickingly perfectionist nor squalidly sluttish. The things that are done well are done to give joy to the loved one; the things neglected are overlooked because love-making has taken urgent priority over hoovering.

It's too simple, really.

That's why it's so difficult. At least, when we relate to God, that is.

Look - earlier we commented that the baptism of the Spirit was never intended to brighten up a dull church service.

The trouble is - it does. So folk cling to the old wilderness ways.

The baptism of the Spirit was never intended to enliven an intellectually-based home meeting.

The trouble is - it does. So folk want the clustering to repeat again and again.

The baptism of the Spirit was specifically intended for us to function supernaturally in everyday life.

And to be key no. 2 to the kingdom.

As Jesus said in John 3: you have to be born again to see the kingdom; you have to be born of water and Spirit to enter.

When the Israelites left Egypt, crossed the Red Sea and traversed the wilderness via Sinai - they could have gone straight into the promised land. Two, three months would have been the time spent in the desert. Allowing for various sillinesses - a couple of years. That's what it actually took them to make the trip.

Okay. Not bad. Three million people tend to trip over their own feet, move at the speed of the slowest and generally dawdle over anything. But they made it.

Nearly.

Just couldn't pluck up courage to go in.

So - back into the desert until a total of forty years has past. Every last adult...including Moses...especially Moses...has to die before they can enter.

This time, they have to go in.

Now, what we're saying is this:

Historically, the church was ready to enter the kingdom of God at any point from Pentecost to 100 AD or thereabouts. Believers were a supernaturally-oriented bunch. But, historically, they settled for law. Organisation.

So - it's been a matter of footslogging up and down the dusty desert for two thousand years. Manna and quails en route. Water from the Rock - which is the actual presence of Christ. Led by the pillar of fire, sheltered by the cloud.

Yet also rebellions, squabbles for priesthood. Plagues, serpents, sudden death. And law, law, law, administered by rulers over groups of all sizes: thousands, hundreds, fifties, tens.

Work out the symbolism in church terms.

Tt this time - to an extent that has never been except from Pentecost to 100 AD - God has restored the gifts and ministry of the Holy Spirit.

Therefore, all that remains is to go forward into the promised land - the kingdom of God -

Or die.

It's actually better to go forward. Let Moses do the dying. He was the last bloke of the old brigade to snuff it. Joshua has to take over the reins. Joshua is a type of Jesus. The names are the same: one word is Hebrew, the other is Greek.

This means that we can have no other leadership than Jesus. (Sure, Moses was chosen by God. But Moses represents old covenant, regime of law and delegation of authority down through lesser leaders.)

In our case, though, 'Joshua' is no external figure. The mystery that has been hidden from ages and generations is - literally - Christ in us. Because we are dead. Crucified with Christ. And though loosely we say we live, we don't - Christ lives in us. So this life we're living is actually achieved by the faith of the Son of God.

Now, if all the fullness of the Godhead is in Jesus...and if Jesus is at God's right hand, above all principalities, powers, mights, dominions and names...and if we (with Christ in us, remember) are, in turn, in Christ in the heavenlies...

...Where's the problem? Who wants Moses any more? Joshua - Jesus - is the one to lead us into the Kingdom. (Col. 1. 26-27; 3.3; Gal. 2.20; Col. 2.9; Eph. 1. 20-21; 2.6)

And - sorry if this chapter's been a bit heavy. It's perhaps the pivot of the whole book. The change of emphasis from all the old ways, the steady wilderness wander, to a preparing to enter the kingdom.

To pinch a quote from Hebrews: let's go on - that is, if God permits.

* * *

A couple of chapters back, we said about learning from your children.

After our family conference, we had to learn the business of becoming totally accountable to God ourselves.

To be honest, it was difficult. I didn't (George writing this bit) feel at all confident at the thought.

So one evening I stomped out of the house to go walkies through the bush and have a good old grizzle to God about the whole business.

Nice evening. Just him and me. A tui that goes to bed rather late, and a small army of bullfrogs down in the stream.

"Er, look," I began. "Don't get me wrong about the kingdom and all that. It sounds great. Well, it must be, mustn't it. After all - it's yours. It's just..."

There was an awful lot of silence. Apart from tui and the bullfrogs.

"It's just - me," I said lamely.

More silence.

"I mean - it's what I might get up to. Not that I want to blow it. But there's a feeling of security, being part of a group, doing what others tell you. Or half-pie watching how others behave, and then copying them. Whereas if all that is taken away - I'm only left with -"

You. God. Dad. Somehow I couldn't bring myself to finish the sentence. Because surely God is adequate. Isn't he?

I'd got a reason for being concerned. I'd been brought up on a doctrinal diet of what Calvinists call 'total depravity of man'. Not we're all raging, slobbering maniacs, just that in everybody is a warp away from God and the potential for sin in every action. Yet over the years we'd seen straight, respectable church people, all kinds, fall into sin. Clearly a group or denomination only gave a false sense of security.

Dad understood. He seemed to ask a specific question.

"Me? Now? Talk to you, of course! You see, I don't know what'll happen in the future..."

"Eh?"

"Er - yes, if you say so."

It took a while to grasp what God meant. He wanted me to live in the present. Deal with the problem that existed at that moment. Not some hypothetical gosh-it-might-be-dreadful problem of tomorrow.

He wanted me to learn that fearing all the bad things I might do in the future is a sneaky way of trying to excuse what might happen. Thinking about them can be an oh-so- spiritual way of planning for them.

"Take no thought..." Jesus said. Perhaps he meant it.

Eileen and I set about living in a way that related more directly to our Dad. Often it meant relearning lessons we'd been taught after the baptism of the Spirit; but then we'd had some casual involvement with religion. This time, however, there was none.

The first lesson was that life doesn't divide up into compartments: social, business, domestic, spiritual.

No way. Life is life. Dad's involved in it all, equally. (Often enough God speaks to you on the toilet or in the shower, right? Always worthwhile, practical. Whereas prophecies that get applauded in meetings... What was the gist of the last you heard? What did you do about it?)

We'd felt he was telling us to buy - of all things - sugar and toilet rolls. We gave it a go. Went to the wholesaler, drove away laden. And we've watched prices skyrocket out of sight from what we originally paid. And we've been unaffected by strikes or shortages that panicked others.

Just Dad's way of showing he's involved.

Then there was the business of finding somewhere else to live.

We'd bought a lump of land - a few acres of swamp and blackberry. Not your hi-yield commercial horticultural block, just a lovely bit of dirt that would be fun to live on and would respond to a bit of tender, loving brute force.

Our idea was for Keith Hay (advert) to put on the shell of a tiny house, built to lock-up stage. Nothing internally, but nothing. We'd finish it off. Put in services. Build on, even, as we could afford it.

Meanwhile, though, we had to quit the house we were in. So the obvious idea was to rent somewhere near our bit of land.

Farm cottages around there just happened to be scarcer than hens' teeth. With time running out, we went down every column in the phone book, dialling every number in the area.

There were hundreds of numbers. It was hard on the fingers. And the throat. Eileen and I took shifts. As one became croaky or developed distress of the dialling digit, the other took over.

Country folk are helpful. Not this time, though. Many of the farmers had a worker's cottage. Always it was let. With a queue of others waiting for it.

We'd started early, dialling our way through morning coffee and on into lunch. Then - "I wish I could help you. Our cottage is empty. Trouble is, I've sold the farm. The new owner doesn't take over for a while."

So near, yet so far.

"But look, he's coming up from down south tomorrow. Come over in the afternoon and meet him."

We drove across the next day. Ideal spot, up a side road close to our land. Biggish cottage, with an outbuilding suitable for our craft business.

The outgoing owner met us as we motored up. "You've missed him," he informed us. "Came early, went early."

Our hopes were dashed.

"Funny, though," he went on. "I mentioned you to him. He said to let you in. That's unusual, I reckon, without meeting you." "What's the rent?" I demanded. "He said he'd fix it when he moves in. Risky, if you ask me."

Everything was dodgy: a landlord accepting an unknown tenant; a tenant not knowing what rent would be charged. Both parties could be in for a nasty shock. Endless scope for a ripoff.

"We'll take it." I said. And we moved in.

Now - we have a fair quantity of possessions. We like hoarding junk. Our pokerwork business needs timber of varying sizes, woodworking machinery, art equipment. There are bits and pieces that 'might be useful one day' - and often are. When we move, it's a bit of a job. So we were hoping that things would work out when we met our new landlord and his wife.

Came the day...

We met. There was a mutual acceptance. And a rent was negotiated that was totally fair. And the conversation throughout suggested that they would be interesting people to get to know.

"What sort of craftwork?" asked the wife as I wrote out a cheque to cover the first month. "Pokerworked plaques," said Eileen. "Mainly scripture."

"You lot Christians?" queried the husband. "That's why we knew we were to let you in sight unseen. We are, too."

God, in kingdom mode, specialising in directing individuals. Telling them what he wants. Bringing them together, right place, right time. Making the cogs mesh with never a grinding of gears. There's a lot of it about. And it's infectious.

This is the great thing about the kingdom of God. Without any whipping-up of enthusiasm, or slick publicity, quite good things just happen. People we know, others who appear out of the blue - Dad's got the whole situation jacked up. All the time.

In fact, the best stories can't be told. We're aware of any number of incidents where someone's being driven into a corner financially, and someone else, with never a whisper of a hint, has been prompted to assist with the exact amount.

One happening can be related, though. A man was distinctly annoyed to be told by God to give a young family the grand sum of eight dollars.

He took it to them and handed it over with the comment that he was bloomin' sure they didn't really need it. And was surprised and pleased to find that it made up enough for them to settle an urgent and outstanding debt, and even - to the cent - covered the cost of the stamp to post the payment.

Meanwhile, back in our workers' cottage... We decided that, while waiting for our house site to be bulldozed, a building permit granted, and the shell of the house to be built and trucked to the land, we'd make a trip back to Britain.

We'd been wanting to for some years.

Or had we?

Sort of. It'd be nice to see parents and relatives after all those years. Explore a few places we'd taken for granted when we lived there. There was a snag, though.

My parents were non-charismatic. Anti-charismatic, to be accurate. From the pastorate of the little Calvinist chapel in Hastings, Sussex they had moved north to care for a highland bunch in Inverness, Scotland. There they taught their members (among other things) a firm opposition to anything remotely Pentecostal.

When Eileen and I were baptised in the Spirit, we airmailed back to Britain enthusiastic tapes and letters telling what'd happened. You do, don't you.

The reaction from Inverness had not been good. So after a bit of uneasy correspondence we contented ourselves with details of New Zealand, our childrens' progress from school to work to marriage, and weather reports.

Hence our mixed feelings. Face-to-face contact could provoke questions, elicit specific answers, cause arguments. Travelling round the world for a family row is expensively non-productive.

Yet, we felt it was okay to go.

Buying the tickets. Weighing the luggage so it's within the limit. It'll be midsummer over there - better take warm clothes. Auckland airport. Standing beside Kamahl in the bookshop. He was on telethon last night.

Flight BA 10 will depart at 17.30 hours. We'll be flying in the same direction as the sun, so first there'll be extended night, then extended day. Jolly music. Up we go. Meal. Melbourne. Meal. Perth. All airport transit lounges look alike. Wriggle the ankles. Meal, meal, meal. Bombay and daylight. Flying over Turkey. Arid. Mountainous. The Med: isn't that Crete? Meal, film, meal. Approaching Germany we lose the view below. Solid, unbroken cloud covering Europe: the pollution of a million factories, a billion homes; the canopy of acid ra

Gaps in the murkiness. That's the Channel. Losing height. Hurtling through the cloud. Cleared for the run-in to Heathrow. Down below the haze, seeming to skim the London rooftops like a latter-day Mary Poppins. The Thames.

Fasten your seatbelts. British Airways hope you have had... Bump. Jostling out. Baggage. Lucky we've got two sets of passports. Foreigners queue; citizens are whisked through the green lane. Doesn't the money look odd. We'd arrived.

Let no-one tell you that jet-lag is nowt but a free- inflight-drinks hangover. Or psychological. T'aint. The pavement wavered before us. We felt like death warmed up.

And hopped on a train to Inverness. A bit scared of our reception. Spent a lot of time in the toilet.

Touching family reunion. Taxi to parents' home. Enough food for an army. Then...

"Right, son! Make yourself comfortable and tell Mum and me all that's happened since you left. Don't leave anything out. Spiritually, that is."

It's evening, so we're feeling more awake - our internal clocks are still on kiwi time. We gulp, take a deep breath and begin.

The story doesn't fit into a nutshell. Eileen and I chatter on for, what? - two, three hours, interrupted by only an occasional clarifying question from my parents. Hopefully, we are telling it like it is: my conversion, our lack of power, receiving the Holy Spirit, the Maori settlement and our venture back into religion. Out again, learning to live with God as our Dad. The glimpses into a kingdom that can't be manipulated or shaken.

Finally we reach the present day. Pause for breath. Wait for the explosion. My parents look at each other, then at us.

"Will you and Eileen lay hands on us to receive the Holy Spirit? God has been showing us over the past month or two that we've been wrong in teaching against this area. In fact we've been preparing our members to expect big changes."

And - big changes there were. First, there and then in that Inverness manse, in my parents. Then, over the next few weeks, in that neat little Calvinistic group.

Our return to Britain had occurred at exactly the right time.

Now, don't imagine that leading those members into the baptism was nothing more than reading a few verses out of Acts, then praying for them. After sitting under years of teaching against any active work of the Holy Spirit, they had many fears to overcome. What if God gives stones instead of bread, scorpions instead of fish?

We began one meeting with an exorcism to deal with the religious spirit that held those people captive, and put a pall over the entire gathering. We began the next meeting with the benediction, explaining that they always relaxed and chattered among themselves after each service; okay, the service is over - let's be ourselves.

And after some good-natured shock-treatment, they were ready - eager, even - to receive the Holy Spirit.

The problem, then, wasn't tongues. The problem was their relationship with other believers. Scotland isn't unique for this, but it certainly works at it. Along the banks of the River Ness, religious buildings stand shoulder to shoulder, members of one ignoring members from another, even within the same denomination.

In fact, when we visited the Isle of Lewis, we stopped churchgoers in the street and asked what they knew of the famous Hebridean revival. Books we had read told of wonderful happenings in that place; even boatloads of fisherfolk sailing from the harbour as godless heathens, returning as excited believers.

The people we asked looked at us blankly. "Revival?" they queried. "We wouldna be after knowing of any such thing. Nae doot it wid ha' been happening in some ither kirk than oors."

No connection with the firm next door.

And so my parents' members in Inverness were extremely doubtful about fellowship with other believers. What about all their wrong doctrine?

We tried to point out that doctrine - taught doctrine - was, at best, man's attempt to reason things out. Unless it had been received by revelation, it had only limited value, and in fact usually served as an excuse for division.

Get to know believers personally, was our suggestion. In their homes. Learn to fellowship informally.

But we were up against tribal customs. One doesn't 'drop in' on people one doesn't know well. Formality is the hallmark of politeness near the arctic circle.

We left them to work on their problem, happy, though, with the dramatic change they had already experienced. But we knew that if they did pluck up courage to call on other Christians to befriend them, their visit would be taken as a recruiting campaign.

And it's a fact that between different groups, there's pressure for one to persuade the other to 'try our meetings'. Some have no conversation except what their denomination's programme is. That's not fellowship. That's divisive.

Look - several hundred years back, we had what historians call the Reformation.

To reform something is to improve it.

The Roman Catholic denomination had gotten itself into a pretty low state.

Luther, Calvin, Zwingli, Melancthon and Co set up a better version.

All the denominations and groups around us today are variants of that. Nice. But not good enough. What is needed is not a bit of improvement. But complete, total anarchy. And beyond.

How can that be achieved? What can we set up that will do the trick?

Answer: 'set up' anything, and you are simply continuing the process of reformation. To use the 'Israelites in the Wilderness' illustration - Moses has to die. The old ways have to be left behind totally.

What, then?

We have to return to the teaching of Jesus as recorded in the gospels. (We have read the epistles for so long with reformation-oriented eyes that every mention of church and ministries in them carried a burden of tradition that Paul and Peter and James and John never even knew about.)

Jesus came with a pure, clear message.

He taught the kingdom of God. He stated that his words were spirit and life. He even said if his words lived in us, we could ask God for anything, and get it.

What d'you reckon to that, then? That's not a bad starting-place, is it?

Crisp and to the point.

You see - there never was a Golden Age in church history. There never was a time when the church - as a broad, identifiable bunch - did everything right.

Believers began to blow it as soon as Jesus left for outer space. They began to build on their mistakes. Organisations continue that wrongly-founded building.

Jesus had said the greatest was to be a servant. The apostles found meals on wheels a chore, so appointed dogsbodies to the donkeywork; snobbery and division had set in.

Then there was refusal to eat with gentiles, insistence on circumcision. Plus dallying with passover and vows - which, when Paul ignored several warnings and a specific prophecy on the matter, led to his imprisonment and death.

Not good. And all that was at the beginning. Then even the 'good news' got a bit sidetracked.

We've said often enough that it's the 'good news of the kingdom'. Unfortunately, Peter and Paul tended to say 'God's good news' 'Christ's good news' - meaning the good news of the kingdom that Christ or God gave us. But this came over as 'the good news of God' or 'the good news of Christ' - and the link between good news and the kingdom got lost.

And after the apostles, the kingdom settles into a gosh- wouldn't-it-be-neat-one-day futuristic doctrine. That's why we're saying lets get back to what Jesus taught.

It'll not only revolutionise individuals. Dramatically. It also promises to overturn the social, political, industrial and religious scene in a way that no bomb-throwing agitators could hope to achieve.

With no visible organisation.

No bloke up front.

Nothing that can be attacked or defeated.

* * *

CHAPTER TWELVE

...AND WORKS

Very, very few people outside religion have any antagonism to God. There are some militant atheists. Not many. The ordinary bloke and bird has a low-low-key awareness that contradicts the pseudo-scientific propaganda popularised by the media.

Which is to be expected.

God sent his Son 'that the world, through him, might be saved'. He is the 'light that lightens everyone who comes into the world'. And he stated he would 'draw all mankind' to himself.

Therefore you'd expect to find that everyone - bar only a few who have consciously, deliberately, persistently chosen disbelief - has a certain acceptance of God.

As we travelled around Britain we kept finding people, everywhere, willing to talk about him, if...we didn't embarrass them publicly. What God does is often an intimate, personal thing, not something to be chattered brashly before a crowd...and if we said in so many words that we weren't trying to put meetings on them.

What-they-wrongly-call-church is the biggest barrier between mankind and a deeper relationship with God. Upset? Hold on tight, it's important. We're not playing games, we're not being sensational just to sell books. This is serious.

It puts people off getting to know God better. Because it is a package, a lifestyle, a system labelled - sometimes in so many words - 'join us, do these things; that's the way to God'. People want God, not organisations.

And as we made it clear we weren't fronting for any group, we found people eager - we do mean 'eager' - to hear about the kingdom. We were surprised (though we shouldn't have been) to find that they regarded it as 'good news'.

Jesus told believers to go throughout the world telling people about the kingdom. Since then, most believers have sat tight, kept mum, and paid missionaries to teach personal redemption and set up systems.

Wherever we go, whoever we meet - the message should be the kingdom of God.

No, not as a slogan. The JWs use it as a catch-phrase and miss the point by equating it with their organisation.

Not a slogan; a living relationship with Dad that rejects all other forms of authority: civil, social, religious, demonic.

And it's what ordinary folk want. They're fed up to the back teeth with being mucked around by governments, pressured by advertisers, cajoled by welfare organisations, threatened by experts, exploited by bosses, short-changed by society in general.

Some dream of anarchy. But realise it would only change the nature of the problem, not solve it.

But the kingdom is the fulfilment of a deep yearning. The direct and intimate rule of God is unique.

Why? Because, since the Fall, we've had - with the compliments of Lucifer - a chain-of-command situation.

Gene Edwards, in a very clear and pungent book called 'Our Mission' states:

Think about it. We accept the chain-of-command system of civilisation as normal. But is it? Why should there be systems of public servants and bureaucrats and departments and MPs and the government and international organisations?

Angels may be organised in precisely the same way as the Roman legions. Why us?

Answer: Satan prefers it.

And the religious systems and denominations have used the same technique. Authority, policy, doctrine, discipline come down from the denominational headquarters via a carefully planned chain of command to rule over the folk in the pew.

When the chips are down, a slim booklet called the Constitution determines what happens in your Pentecostal group.

When it comes to the crunch, the folk who built and paid for their little Assembly Fellowship hall find that the deeds are held in the name of the Stewards Trust who can exercise their veto over what is said. And done. And believed.

When the Spirit of God begins to move, the officer in charge of your local Corps is transferred, replaced by a more orthodox one. For the Salvation Army has enacted a legal document called a Deed Poll, freezing for all time their doctrines. God may never intrude to bring more light to them.

Your denomination, your group is sewn up. Neatly. Firmly. In a way that was never intended for mankind.

Whereas the kingdom was always the intention of God for us. It represents perfect freedom: to live in intimate union with him. Here and now.

That is what is wanted by the folk out there. And that is what we're supposed to be giving them. They've got no hostility to it. The big question is: have we?

* * *

Our holiday in Britain drew to a close. Notebooks and albums bulged with memories. We'd visited and explored non- stop and had even nipped across to Israel for an unforgettable week.

Flight BA 011. Up through the light drizzle into blinding sunshine. Brief stop at Abu Dhabi. Where on earth's that? Transit passengers not allowed to leave the plane. Then Bangkok. Into a transit lounge under armed guard. And a 48-hour stopover in Singapore. Which is nice for duty-free goodies, but the artificial perfection of everything is a bit eerie. Like living in a shop window or an Ideal Home exhibition.

Flying Air New Zealand non-stop to Auckland. Plastic complimentary tikis. There's the harbour bridge. Trying to haggle with the customs gentleman to reduce the duty on the jolly junk we've picked up. Bus to Whangarei. We're home.

Our little shell-of-a-house is sitting waiting for us. Looking a bit upstart on a newly bulldozed site. Surrounded by the higgeldy-piggeldy confusion of eight 30-metre-high macrocarpas felled to make way for us. Eileen (your friendly neighbourhood pyromaniac) will be having mammoth bonfires for years to clear this lot.

We return to our rented workers' cottage. Busy ourselves with the annual pre-christmas rush on our craftwork. Then, 1st January 1982 - move into the tiny four-walls-and-a-floor- and-a-roof.

And start to worry about the mod cons. Finishing off the interior. Doubling the size of the house. Putting up a workshop.

All things that involve working under the eagle eye of inspectors. Sometimes they're not easy to please. You hear nasty stories. I wasn't looking forward to the encounters.

In Dad's kingdom, though, his kids aren't allowed to be afraid of inspectors. We met an overseas bloke. Name of Albrecht.

"I am - how do you say? - timid type," explained Albrecht. "Where I come from, the inspectors very harsh. And my confidence, very low." He wished to build a large room on the front of his home. Plans submitted. Permit paid for.

"I dig the trenches for footings. Soil is dry, so sides crumble. Don't look professional. Then I place steel for the re-inforcement. It's hard to bend. Again, don't look professional." It was adequate, more than adequate, but would some over-officious uniformed gentleman be satisfied? "I phone headquarters. Ask to be inspected. I wait and I pray," he told us, grinning. All day, Albrecht waited. Late evening the big black official limo swung into his drive. The inspector lurched unsteadily out.

"He was what you call drunk as a skunk," laughed Albrecht. "There'd been a celebration. To which this official was unwise enough to go. Because it was evening, the sun is low on the horizon. Straight into his eyes. Give him the headache."

The inspection lasted all of a few seconds. Albrecht, emboldened by God's rather unorthodox handling of the situation, suggested that the inspector was unwell, and that he wouldn't need to return.

"And that is that," he concluded. "No more troublings."

The story was a nice boost to our faith. With Dad in charge we had no problems.

Which is the way it turned out. The officials who peered and prodded and poked at our work were not only civil, they were downright helpful. Often suggesting economies, shortcuts.

There's a difference when Dad's boss.

The odd ethics of our friend's story gave us food for thought.

Dad doesn't always play the game according to our notion of etiquette. Which means that he can do or say something and - because it doesn't fit our doctrines - we simply switch off. Fail to hear. Don't see. Wipe it from our mind.

It's a bad ability. A disability.

Which is why Jesus said: "If you've got ears to hear..." Not everybody has.

Give you an example. About ten years back, there was a big meeting in town. Several hundred there. Visiting speaker. In his talk, he said he'd had a vision - a literal vision. He told it to the congregation.

Now, we would know about half the folk there personally. Questioning them over the years, not one of them remembers the story.

Why? It conflicts with their traditions?

Here's the vision.

Perhaps that needs no explanation.

Then again, perhaps it does. Lest we change the subject and avoid the point that is being made.

The prison: religion. The cells: the innumerable divisions, groups, sects, denominations that divide people. Some are harsh, ascetic; others easygoing, comfortable.

And, over the past few decades, people have felt a freedom to move from one to another. No longer 'born a Presbyterian, die a Presbyterian'. There's movement. Change.

Also, big conventions and little home meetings have enabled people to fellowship outside the limitations of their group.

But always, a continual warning: the peril of going your own way. The danger; the certain spiritual death.

Which turns out untrue. A trick of the enemy to confine God's people. To stop them finding the freedom that is their right.

Only fear holds people back. Only unbelief. And these two are essentially one and the same. And sometimes there is a reluctance to be the first. To lead the way. Because of 'what others might say'.

These are the reasons for not entering the kingdom.

* * *

Earlier we said about getting back to the teaching of Jesus in the gospels.

If we take what he taught, we won't find the pattern of buildings and meetings many say is essential to our spiritual life.

Ask yourself: what would happen is you walked away from religion. From meetings?

"Oh, I'd miss the fellowship. There's some grand people in there. Besides, it's good to have the discipline of regular meetings; saves you getting slack. Then there's the children. What if the children weren't brought up to go to meetings?"

Often it's sentimentality that keeps religion alive. Team spirit. Plus a feeling that an awful lot of money has been invested in some set of buildings, so it'd be a pity to see it wasted.

Let's not argue over whether it was God that kicked off any particular brand of religion or local group in the first place. It's nigh on impossible to check on the leadings and feelings and promptings that caused those dear men of God to do what they did - or to investigate the political ploys and empire-building methods that clever organisers devised.

The current fact is, it's downright difficult to walk away from something religious. There's internal pressure ('but it's a good work; helps a lot of people'). There's public opinion ('why have you stopped? What's gone wrong?'). There's the sneaky business that Dad doesn't always show you what's next until you've completely left the old ways ('and what if he doesn't come up with something? What'll I do then?').

Any group, any denomination has got something to teach us. Great - so grab the money and run. Institutions don't move on...

People do.

Okay - you (you personally, you as an individual) might cause a bit of a problem if you just walked away from all that you're involved in at this moment.

"But we've no-one else to play the piano. Those kiddies would be so disappointed if you left. Wait until the next business meeting; perhaps you could nominate a replacement. You made a commitment to this group - that was a solemn promise."

In simple terms: you're accountable to Dad and nobody else. With the exception of marriage (that's an exception because it's a joining together done by God) all other promises carry the inference 'subject always to what God decides'.

When we were kids (read about it in the history books), church notice boards used to have on them two little gold letters: D.V.

And when the secretary in his frock coat and down-turned voice read the announcements, his opening words (week in, week out, any group, any denomination) were, always, 'God willing, the services for the week will be...'

In the past, laity left weighty matters of the purposes of the Lord to priest, to minister, to elders and deacons. Pay them to decide if the Eternal desired yet another hour of three hymns, two prayers, one Bible reading and a sermon.

And there were occasional flashes of anarchy. Someone would be dissatisfied. Go off. Start his own.

If lucky - lucky? - that new group would prosper, attract new members. Become, after a while, acceptable to the religious scene by virtue of having been around for a while. Which was a signal for somebody to break away from that group, to start yet another.

A bit more truth. A little more light. A few more kilometres across the wilderness.

That was anarchy. Big trouble. Upsets. Everybody agitated and excited for a while. Then, essentially, the same old thing starts up again under a different brand name.

But the kingdom is beyond anarchy. Which promises to completely terminate everything that is organised - just like that.

It starts with you. And Dad.

Don't worry about what others are doing. This isn't mob hysteria. Crowd psychology. This is personal. Like a little bit of yeast. A little grain of mustard seed.

Now, let's imagine...

What if there were many people - all personally listening to what Dad was saying.

And what if, one day, he told them to take the day off. Go somewhere. Stay home. Whatever. Imagine the result. On society. Industry. Religion.

In just one hour the whole structure of organisation could collapse. In one hour the elaborate plans and schemes and ideas of man could prove utterly hopeless. In one hour the traditions and customs and ceremonies that have taken centuries to build up would stop.

Because God spoke to individuals.

And in Revelation, the most complex and prosperous of man's imaginings, called Babylon - but representing far more than a mere historical city - is halted by God in just such a way. In one hour. When Dad speaks individually to his kids.

And the kingdom becomes manifest.

* * *