The Weapons for Rebuilding Christendom (Part 4: Lordship)
This article is part of the series Weapons for Building Christendom, where we are exploring the God-given armaments that Christians must wield if we are to see households strengthened, churches fortified, and nations brought under the dominion of Jesus Christ.
Before Jesus sent His church out into the world—before He gave a single post-resurrection command—He made a claim for coronation, saying: “All authority has been given to Me in heaven and on earth.” He did not begin with what we must do but with who He is—the King over all things. And that changes everything.
In any nation, the one with the most authority is the one who rules, whether that be the monarch, the president, or the cabal that hides behind them. Power is always the true throne. If authority determines who rules, then Christ’s claim determines who rules everything. He did not claim authority over one province or one people but over every atom in every galaxy that has existed or ever will exist. His jurisdiction extends from the storms that swirl around Jupiter to the mosquito in Panama and everything in between. He is Lord over the exploding supernova and the colicky infant. He reigns over the boardroom and the bedroom, from the cathedral to the classroom, from Wall Street to your street. There is no slum or senate chamber, no algorithm or angel, that outranks Him.
That means every order He gives cannot be opposed. There is no court of appeal above His throne, no veto to silence His Word, because no authority exists above Him. When He commands, it is not a suggestion to consider—it is a summons to obey. The Great Commission, therefore, is not a pep talk for timid disciples; it is the marching order of a Monarch to His men. If He is King over all, then every part of life must come under His crown—our families, our churches, our work, our governments, our screens, our schedules—all of it must bend the knee to Him.
Such total dominion has consequences—it shapes both the trembling of tyrants and the tranquility of saints. That claim—the claim of total Lordship and sovereignty—is both the Christian’s greatest comfort and the tyrant’s greatest terror. It comforts the saint because nothing in heaven or on earth moves an inch outside His rule. The storms that batter your home, the rulers who threaten your liberty, the trials that crush your heart—all of them are servants in His court and will be held accountable to Him. The Christ who reigns does not merely watch history unfold; He authors it. His power is not reactive but creative, not conditional but complete. There is no chaos He cannot command into order, no ruler He cannot overrule. The believer’s peace, then, does not rest in stable governments or predictable markets—it rests in a King whose throne cannot be shaken (Heb. 12:28).
And yet, that same claim of total Lordship is the nightmare of tyrants. Christ’s Lordship means their decrees are temporary, their dominion borrowed, and their judgment certain. Caesar may issue edicts, but the atoms composing his pen pledge allegiance to Christ. Presidents rise and fall on the timeline Jesus Christ has written. Kings, courts, and congresses exist on the leash of divine permission. No legislature can legalize what the Lord forbids, no oligarch can countermand what He commands, and no overlord can outlaw what He ordains.
Therefore, when men’s decrees collide with the commands of Christ, the church must stand as the apostles did before the Sanhedrin and declare, “We must obey God rather than men” (Acts 5:29). That is not the language of rebellion—it is the language of allegiance. To obey Christ when the world forbids it is not civil disobedience; it is covenant fidelity to a higher authority. The Christian’s loyalty to the King of heaven will always look like treason to the hounds of hell.
The early church understood this well. To confess “Jesus is Lord” was not a private expression of faith; it was political treason. Rome required every citizen to say, “Caesar is Lord.” When the Christians refused, they were scourged, exiled, and executed. Why? Because they would rather burn and bleed than blaspheme. When they said, “Jesus is Lord,” they meant that every emperor, every empire, every law, and every lisping demagogue stood under His scepter and owed Him homage. The same confession that once shook empires must now shake our apathy.
And this is precisely what the modern church must recover if she would have that same iron in her blood. We have turned Christ’s cosmic kingship into a cliché bumper sticker. We sing that He reigns but live as if He doesn’t. We politely fence His dominion to Sunday mornings and hymnbooks, as though the Lord of heaven were a tenant renting space in His own creation. But Christ will not share the deed. He is not the Lord of “spiritual things”; He is the Lord of all things. His sovereignty is not a slogan for worship—it is a summons for obedience. If He rules the cosmos, then He rules our calendars, our homes, our churches, and our nations.
That is why the Christian household must become a visible outpost of His invisible empire. The home is not a private retreat from His authority; it is the first frontier of His dominion. The father is a steward, not a sovereign; the mother, a vice-regent of mercy; the children, subjects in training. Every mealtime prayer, every catechism question, every act of discipline is a declaration of allegiance—Christ rules here. The same is true for the church. A faithful church does not innovate her ethics or market her message; she kneels before the enthroned Word. Her liturgy is an act of loyalty. Her sacraments are oaths of fealty.
And when the home and the church stand firm beneath that crown, the ripple of obedience cannot be contained. The kingdom begins to leak into the streets, into city halls, into courts and councils. A people who worship rightly on Sunday will not bow to idols on Monday. When fathers rule well and pastors preach boldly, kings and governors are put on notice: their authority is borrowed, and their power is bounded. Christ’s crown presses outward until every sphere acknowledges His scepter.
This principle governs nations no less than households and churches. When a government commands what Christ forbids, or forbids what Christ commands, it has trespassed into rebellion. Christ’s lordship orders the magistrate’s gavel and limits the state’s grasp. Civil rulers are not sovereigns—they are servants. And when they defy their King, Christians must obey God rather than men, even if it costs comfort, career, or crown. The apostles defied councils; the Reformers opposed popes; the Puritans fled kings. Christendom has always been built by men who feared God more than governments.
So let the world sneer. Let the bureaucrats bluster and the tyrants threaten. We serve a King who cannot be impeached, outvoted, or overthrown. His cross was His coronation, His resurrection His enthronement, and His ascension His royal procession through the gates of heaven. The Great Commission is not a farewell speech; it is a royal decree. Every Christian who obeys it marches beneath the banner of the Crowned One, carrying His gospel into every dominion that still dares to rebel.
All authority belongs to Him—over galaxies and governments, over angels and atoms, over emperors, educators, and infants. All obedience belongs to us—our knees bowed, our hands busy, our hearts ablaze. The King has spoken, and His Word will not return void. His reign will stretch from the nursery to the nations, from the dinner table to the Senate floor, from the cradle to the grave, until every knee bows and every tongue confesses that Jesus Christ is Lord.
And on that day, when every throne lies at His feet and every crown has been cast before Him, the saints will not boast of their courage or their conquests. They will lift their heads and cry with one voice that has echoed through every age:
“Worthy is the Lamb who was slain, to receive power and riches and wisdom and might and honor and glory and blessing!”
Until that day, we build.
Until that day, we battle.
Until that day, we bend every thought, every law, every heart, and every hammer to the will of the King who reigns now and forever.
Christ is Lord—now, not later; here, not merely there—and recognizing and submitting to His Lordship is how we will build Christendom.
