The Kingdom is the love of God prevailing in politics, in

Host: The city was draped in twilight, a slow bleeding of gold into violet, where buildings rose like cathedrals of commerce and screens flickered their sermons of desire. Rain had just passed, leaving the streets slick with reflections — neon halos trembling in the puddles, the pulse of a civilization that had forgotten how to breathe.

In a small rooftop garden overlooking the concrete sprawl, two figures sat beneath a flickering string of lights. Jack, his jacket undone, his face shadowed, smoked in silence, the embers of his cigarette glowing like a faint, dying star. Across from him, Jeeny leaned against the railing, her eyes lifted to the sky, her voice soft but steady, carrying something that felt older than the city itself.

Jeeny: “Myles Munroe once said, ‘The Kingdom is the love of God prevailing in politics, in business, in government, in media. It is all the impact of the laws of God creating a social environment where the strong help the weak, where those who have give to those who don't. It's a society where relationships are built on love.’”

Host: Her words floated in the humid air, mingling with the smell of rain and smoke. The lights from distant towers blinked like stars trying to imitate heaven.

Jack: “A society built on love?” He let out a dry laugh. “Sounds beautiful, Jeeny — and utterly impossible. Love doesn’t prevail in politics. It loses. Every time. The world runs on power, profit, and fear — not faith.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe that’s why it’s called a Kingdom, Jack — because it’s not ours yet. Munroe wasn’t talking about a utopia; he was describing what we should be building. A vision, not a report.”

Jack: “Vision? Visions don’t feed the hungry. They don’t stop wars or greed. You think CEOs will suddenly start giving away their bonuses out of love? Politicians will vote for what’s right instead of what’s profitable? That’s not a Kingdom — that’s a fantasy.”

Host: The wind stirred, rattling the plants, carrying the distant echo of a siren — the cry of a world still bleeding from its own ambition. Jeeny turned, her eyes glowing like wet earth catching moonlight.

Jeeny: “Then tell me, Jack — when did cynicism become your gospel? You talk as if the world can’t be changed. But every movement, every revolution, every act of justice began because someone refused to believe it was impossible. Martin Luther King dreamed of a Kingdom too — and he died for it. But his dream didn’t.”

Jack: “And yet the world he dreamed of still doesn’t exist. For every King, there’s a tyrant. For every Mother Teresa, a warlord. Love may inspire, but power still governs.”

Jeeny: “Power rules, but love reigns. There’s a difference.”

Jack: “Semantics.”

Jeeny: “No. Truth. Power controls through fear; love transforms through freedom. The Kingdom Munroe talks about isn’t a theocracy — it’s a way of being. Imagine a world where corporations cared more about people than profits, where leaders sought justice over advantage, where the media uplifted instead of manipulated. That’s not fantasy, Jack. That’s choice.”

Host: A pause — long, electric, charged with the weight of her conviction. Jack stubbed out his cigarette, his jaw tight, his eyes narrowing with the kind of thought that cuts deeper than argument.

Jack: “You make it sound so simple. But love doesn’t scale, Jeeny. It works in hearts, not systems. You can’t program compassion into governments.”

Jeeny: “But you can plant it in people who run them. That’s the Kingdom — it starts small. Like a seed in soil. Jesus said it’s like yeast — invisible, slow, but once it’s in the dough, the whole thing rises. Politics, business, culture — they’re all just extensions of us. Change the heart, change the system.”

Jack: “You’re quoting parables to solve corruption.”

Jeeny: “No, I’m quoting reality. History proves it. William Wilberforce fought to abolish slavery because his faith told him the Kingdom couldn’t tolerate oppression. Desmond Tutu faced apartheid with forgiveness, not vengeance. Mother Teresa touched the dying on the streets of Calcutta because love — not law — compelled her. Those weren’t naive dreamers, Jack. They were citizens of a different Kingdom.”

Host: The clouds began to thin, revealing fragments of stars overhead — fragile, flickering, like hope refusing to vanish. Jack’s face softened, but his voice still carried that familiar edge of defiance.

Jack: “And yet, for every act of grace, there’s ten acts of greed. For every hand that gives, a thousand that take. Love doesn’t hold up against human nature.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s because you think love is weak. But it’s not. Love isn’t sentiment — it’s structure. It’s discipline. It’s justice and mercy woven together. The Kingdom isn’t built with prayers alone; it’s built with actions that mirror the Creator — ‘Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.’ That’s not a poem, Jack. It’s a mandate.”

Jack: “So you really think we can legislate love?”

Jeeny: “No. But we can embody it — in how we treat each other, how we lead, how we build. Imagine an economy where wealth is measured by how much you lift others, not how much you hoard. That’s the Kingdom. It’s not a place we arrive at; it’s a presence we choose to carry.”

Host: A silence fell, thick and reverent. The city lights below seemed to dim in respect, as if they too were listening. Jeeny’s words had the sound of something ancient — not idealism, but prophecy.

Jack: “You speak like someone who’s seen it.”

Jeeny: “Maybe I’ve glimpsed it. Every time I see someone forgive when they could hate. Every time a company gives more than it takes. Every time a leader serves instead of rules. That’s what the Kingdom looks like — it’s not thunder, Jack. It’s quiet revolutions happening every day.”

Jack: softly “And what if it never comes?”

Jeeny: “Then we keep building anyway. Because love that acts, even when it doubts, is already divine.”

Host: The wind shifted, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from the garden. The city, once harsh and loud, now seemed to hum with a softer rhythm — as if, somewhere beneath its machinery, there still pulsed a human heartbeat.

Jack: “You make it sound… attainable. Like heaven could grow out of concrete.”

Jeeny: “Maybe it already is. Every time someone chooses love where the world would choose power, a little piece of heaven breaks through.”

Host: Jack stood, his eyes fixed on the skyline — the crisscross of light and shadow, the constant motion of a world that never truly rests. He exhaled, his breath visible, his words quieter than prayer.

Jack: “Then maybe that’s what we’re missing — not laws, not leaders… just love that dares to stay.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. That’s the Kingdom, Jack. Not a crown. Not a church. Just the love of God — prevailing.”

Host: The rain had stopped completely. The clouds parted, and the moon emerged — full, white, and merciful, spilling light over the city like a benediction. Jeeny smiled, and Jack, for once, did not look away.

Below them, the streets glistened, the traffic moved, and somewhere — unseen, but certain — the laws of love began their quiet, unstoppable work.

For the first time that night, the city did not feel like Babylon. It felt like the beginning of a Kingdom.