The Keys of the Kingdom

The keys of the kingdom have been lost.

We know that Peter had them,

but he swears that he hasn’t seen them

for a long while.

Rumour has it they ended up in Rome.

There’s been quite a succession

of claimants to the role of custodian,

but some of us aren’t convinced

that any of them really knew

where the keys were.

Traditionally they hung from a ring

on the keeper’s belt. In recent times

they were apparently stored away,

and brought out on ceremonial occasions

with incense, robes and choirs.

Big and bronze, the keys clinked and rattled,

but were mostly only used

to regulate and control.

They did that effectively enough;

until recently.

They’re gone; not much doubt.

Doesn’t matter though,

and there isn’t any real point

prolonging the search; it’s widely thought

that the locks have all been broken

for some time, now.

© Ken Rookes 2014

Keys

Peter got the keys,

so Matthew tells us;

the keys of the kingdom.

Artists love to paint the archetype apostle

holding a ring of big, clunky

iron keys, (sometimes golden).

Of course, if these are the keys

that open the locks of the kingdom,

(of heaven, as Matthew insists),

then paradise itself must be

some sort of city, golden and shining.

We picture it, radiant with consolation

for the ills and indignities

suffered in our dust-centred lives,

enclosed by some sort of wall; and gates

through which the glorious reward

may be glimpsed, but from which

the less than worthy are turned away.

So it is that the flawed fisherman

is translated into the exacting gatekeeper,

and those who come after him

believe they are called

to continue his supposed ministry

of determining who may come in.

Ah, the power!

Those who dare

to front the gates of glory

without the necessary ticket;

well, it’s their own fault, really.

Can this ever be the gospel?

Jesus, as I hear his words,

spoke of entering into God’s abundant life

of justice, freedom and compassion;

and the invitation is for everyone.

Perhaps Matthew didn’t quite get it, either.

© Ken Rookes 2011