The Kingdom of Heaven Is Like …

 

Matthew 13:31-52

More than two decades ago when I was going through the process of ordination to ministry, our denomination was going through a process of its own. At that time, there was a lot of conflict, competing forces wanting to shape the way the church would look, feel, and move in the world going forward. It was mostly about whether or not the church would fully embrace our LGBTQ brothers and sisters.

We were in the thick of this controversy when I went before the presbytery as a candidate for ministry to be examined. In this process, all the ministers of the presbytery were free to ask me any questions they wanted that in any way pertained to my faith. The first person who rose to ask a question wanted to know what I thought about salvation.

He began by saying that he knew the idea of universal salvation was currently popular – the belief that every human being is saved and goes to heaven. It was clear that he disagreed with the idea. And his question to me was this: Do you believe there is a biblical foundation for the notion of universal salvation?

What his question was about was what the kingdom of God is like – which is a concern that the gospels share. According to Matthew, Mark, and Luke, Jesus had an awful lot to say about what the kingdom of God is like.

Just in this one passage from Matthew, five times we heard Jesus say, “The kingdom of heaven is like…”

This is the way Matthew phrases it – while in Mark and Luke Jesus often speaks of the kingdom of God, in Matthew he refers to the kingdom of heaven. It is the same thing.

As soon as he begins to speak and we hear, “The kingdom of heaven is like…” we know we are about to hear a parable. And so we must listen carefully.

When we listen to a parable we must be ready to hear what is behind the words. We also must be willing to listen to ourselves – notice where we are surprised, where our feelings are provoked, our buttons pushed. Pay attention to how we can make use of what we do know to learn about something that we do not know.

It is necessary to speak about the kingdom of God in parables, because the kingdom is beyond our knowing. The parable, which uses words and images to walk alongside our lives, our experiences, and begins to help us see the shape of something that is beyond our experiences.

The parable is a teaching tool that is also an art form – painting pictures, evoking feeling, inspiring response. And in this handful of verses in Matthew 13, Jesus gives us five of these gems.

Five parables about the kingdom of God, and each one is exquisite in its own right. Each one deserves a full hour to explore its value. But our time is finite, so I would only offer a few brief takeaways from these sayings. A few things we can learn from these parables about the kingdom of God.

First – The kingdom has always been with us. Take the parable of the yeast. If you have experience making bread, you know that the yeast comes first. It is dissolved in water, then the flour is mixed in to create dough. Back in the days Jesus told this parable, they weren’t using the convenient little packets of dry granulated yeast that we buy from the supermarket – their yeast was much messier.

When Jesus spoke about a woman hiding yeast in flour, his listeners would have imagined a small amount of starter, like people now use for sourdough bread. Wet, soggy, stinky. Not the most pleasant substance, but what was needed to make the dough that would become bread. Therefore, just as there never was any dough without the yeast, there never was any world without God's kingdom. The kingdom of God is hidden in everything in the world God made.

This means that the kingdom will be found in the ordinary stuff – not in some pristine and pure location, because the world is not pristine and pure. The kingdom of God co-exists with all the brokenness of the world. We, the church, co-exist in this world with everything and everyone who opposes the kingdom. We work with humility and hope. We may not see progress, but we maintain hope. Too often we will see the evil increase and grow in power - but we do not abandon our work or our hope because we know that the kingdom is always with us.

The kingdom has always been with us.

Second – The kingdom is contrary to what is expected. It is amazingly powerful, yet inscrutably small, like the mustard seed. It is, in the words of the Apostle Paul, power made perfect in weakness – and we see this well in the life of Jesus. He was not a soldier going against soldiers; just so, the church is not an army fighting against an army.

This is crucially important for the church to know. We have been given a mission, and this is to bring the light of the kingdom to this world. But we won’t do it by meeting the world’s brutality with our own brutality.

This is radically different from everything we know of the world. This means that the kingdom changes our perspective – it must. Just as in the parable of the hidden treasure, which a man unwittingly stumbles upon. He never before knew it existed, but once he did, this changes everything for him. He knows now that everything he may have valued before is nothing in comparison to this treasure.

Imagine this: something that has always been present but never before seen - when we see it, we are radically changed by it. It might be a serendipitous discovery, like the man who found the treasure. But it’s not always like that. Our process might be a much slower and more deliberate one - like the merchant who, at last, found the pearl of great value. He will search no more; he has found what he was searching for. Either way, it leads to a fundamental and complete shift. Now we know what really matters.

Finally – the kingdom is for everyone - and all of creation. As the fisherman throws his net into the sea and pulls out anything and everything that gets caught up in it, so does the kingdom of God. All the good Christians get in the same bus with everyone else. Really - everyone. We might not particularly like it; we might resent it; we might feel we have absolutely nothing in common with these folks – but we don't need to worry about it. Because, as the final parable says, God's angels will sort it all out in the end. And they will use God's judgment - not ours – and that is a good thing, because our judgment can be lousy. As the Episcopal priest Robert Capon says, in the final sorting, it is not the inherent goodness or badness of the fish, as we might see it, that matters, it is their acceptability to the fisherman. Their usefulness, their beauty in God's eyes.

This one is, you might have noticed, a parable of judgment. But the judgment is not a threat, it is a promise. It is good news that God will eradicate all evil: every disease that afflicts us, every murderous impulse that takes hold of us, every selfish and craven habit that consumes us. We will all be cleansed of the evil that harms us.

And yes, I suppose if we are unwilling to let go of that evil - well, then we will be cast out right along with it.

But hear me when I say: the kingdom of God is for everyone. And this is what I might have said in response to the questioner at my ordination exam. Do I find a biblical foundation for universal salvation?

I knew then that what he was concerned about was whether the church was going to let a minister into their ranks who might believe that Muslims and Hindus and Buddhists could possibly go to heaven along with us. Whether men who love men and women who love women and people who, somehow, just have a different sense of who they are, different from what the world might see – he wanted to ascertain whether I thought all these people are welcome in God’s kingdom.

I began my answer that day saying that I honestly did not know if there is clear biblical support for universal salvation. But I also said that what I did know – was very certain of – is that it is clearly God’s desire that we are to love all of God’s children, in the same way God loves us all. Period.

And that, I believe, is how the kingdom of God works.

The kingdom is a wondrous and mysterious thing. It is radical, subversive, powerful – it is always and everywhere. The kingdom of God opens its arms wide to God’s creation with absolutely unconditional love. It is patient, as St. Paul describes God’s love. It is power made perfect in weakness.

The kingdom of God has been given to us. We have been allowed into the secrets of these hidden things – yeast and seed, pearl and treasure. The question is this: what will we do with all this?

I have heard it said that where the will of the king is calling the shots, there is the kingdom. So, is the will of God calling the shots in your life? Will you be an effective agent, witness, model for the kingdom in this world?

Will you?

Photo by Marin Tulard on Unsplash

Entitlement

 

Genesis 25:19-34

Matthew 13:1-9

When we were little, my older sister and I convinced our younger sister that her duty as the youngest child was to wait on us; run down to the kitchen and get us a snack if we were hungry, even run down to the 7-Eleven if we had a sudden craving for Doritos or Laffy-Taffy. We had our moments when we were bad, I am ashamed to say.

Older siblings often dominate the younger ones because they’re bigger, smarter, stronger – at least for a while.  But sometimes even when things even out; when the younger siblings are as big and strong and smart as the older siblings they still let themselves be dominated, simply because they are used to it.  It’s the way things have always been. 

If you ever see a younger sibling gain any advantage over the older sibling, it’s probably because they carefully watched and listened and schemed, like Jacob.  Even though they were twins, even though they were born minutes or even seconds apart – the story says Jacob was born grasping Esau’s heel – still, everybody knew and respected that Esau was the elder and Jacob the younger.  That’s just the way things are. In family.

The story about Isaac’s family is a story about family unhappiness. Brothers and sisters fail to treat each other with care and respect; mothers and fathers choose favorites and the children can’t help but notice it. It’s our human nature – we are flawed, imperfect beings who fail to love as we should.

The story of Esau and Jacob is a puzzling one because it’s just hard to figure out what to make of these characters.  Would Esau really trade his birthright for a bowl of soup?  Would Jacob really withhold food from his brother unless he gave him his birthright?  And is this really a binding legal transaction?

To the third question, I really don’t know.  It seems to be mostly symbolic; it’s not as though there was any magic involved, like a Freaky Friday sort of thing where the two people switch bodies with each other.  But it does seem to indicate consent on the part of Esau to give over to Jacob the right to his inheritance, presumably the traditional double share that the first son is entitled to.  It is remarkable that he gave it up so casually. And cheaply.

The scripture says he despised his birthright.  In the way we understand what it is to despise something, I don’t believe we really see that in the story.  A newer translation, the Common English Bible, uses the phrase “showing just how little he thought of his birthright.” I think that makes more sense to us.  Clearly, Esau thought little about his birthright. 

He didn’t trouble himself to think about it, to appreciate it, to truly value it.  Maybe Esau took his birthright for granted, never questioning that it was his.  After all, his birthright was his natural right, wasn’t it?  He couldn’t really give it away to his brother any more than he could give his brother his natural red hair.  By the laws of nature it was his and his alone. Right?

Well, the message that the story in Genesis seems to be driving home is:  the way we think things should be is not necessarily the way God ordains that they should be.  And that God enjoys stirring the pot now and then to remind us of that. Don’t get too complacent; don’t be too self-assured about your rights, your entitlements. 

By what right do we have anything at all? It is a question we might ask ourselves, because I think we all – at some time, about some things – have that sense of entitlement.

We get this sense of entitlement from growing accustomed to certain things.  The culture we live in, the people around us; what we have always known and had and learned to expect.  It trains us to see a thing as our due – instead of seeing it as gift.

And if we ever do think of the ones who don’t have all these things that we are somehow entitled to, we tell ourselves that in some way they are different from us, and perhaps less deserving than us.

This sense of entitlement inevitably leads to resentment, because when we are no longer getting that thing we feel entitled to get – well, that feels unfair.

Don’t think this applies to you?  You never have this sense of entitlement?  Maybe. But next time you feel resentful or irritated about something, ask yourself this: Am I resenting this because I feel entitled to something else? 

In the end a sense of entitlement hurts us because at some point we will be grieving the loss of that thing that maybe we never really had, but somehow believe we should have.  And oh how much better our lives would be if we had that thing. But again, by what right do we have anything at all?  Our God-given right, perhaps?

Esau may have felt entitled to what he had.  But Jacob did not. He knew he had to plan and grasp; Jacob knows that none of these things will be given to him.  He will have to use his heart and mind and strength to get anything.

Esau thought it was his God-given right to carry the promise, to receive the inheritance, to be the chosen one – but it wasn’t. That would belong to Jacob, who certainly had the God-given talents to seize it and hold it and succeed with it – this will be apparent in the rest of the story.

The stories of Genesis show us again and again that God’s plan was often not what God’s people expected. That the word of God frequently turned their world upside down.

Thousands of years later, Jesus told a little parable about what it is like to hear the word of God. It is like seed being sown. Some of it fell on a path and was quickly devoured by birds. Some fell on rocky ground where it failed to put down roots. Some of the seed fell among thorns and was choked. But other seeds fell on fertile soil and brought forth an abundance of grain.

After this, Jesus raises the question: what kind of soil are you? Are you complacent, entitled? Or will you recognize that everything is, truly, gift. And your responsibility is to care for and nurture the gift you receive? To be good soil for the gift.

May we lose our sense of entitlement and gain the joy in remembering that it is all gift.

May we practice gratitude for all these gifts, forgoing resentment about the gifts we don’t have.

May we follow the light and listen to the word that guides us on the path God lights before us.

The Kingdom is Near

Luke 10:1-11

This week, I remembered a sermon I listened to a few years back. The preacher talked about hiking in the redwoods of California with his wife. It was a peaceful experience; it felt like nothing else mattered but just being there in that moment. 

When it was time to leave, they got in their car to drive home. They turned on the radio and heard the news of the day: a mass shooting. War in Ukraine. Leaks about Supreme Court decisions. Toxic politics in primaries of one state after another. And just like that, their peace was gone.

As soon as they reentered the world, their peace evaporated, and they wondered if what they had been feeling was really peace at all. Or maybe just an illusion.

Do you ever feel that way? That the only way to find a moment of peace is to escape from the world we live in?

In the gospel of Luke, we are in a section in which, as Luke tells us, Jesus has set his face toward Jerusalem. We know what this meant for him – in Jerusalem was his death, so this means he was beginning to look beyond this world. This seemed to be a bit off-putting for some people, but for Jesus it was essential. He needed to set his face toward Jerusalem.

To prepare his disciples, he began sending them out on their own, to try their hand at ministry. First, he sent out the 12 who were closest to him, his inner circle. Their mission was to proclaim the kingdom of God and to heal. Later, in this passage, he sends out a much larger group to go in pairs to all the places he, himself, intends to visit. He sends them with instructions to bring peace with them and virtually nothing else – no purse, no bag, no sandals. Just peace. And healing. And the message that the kingdom of God has come near.

The kingdom of God is near. And just as it was a bit off-putting for some of the people Jesus approached, it probably had the same effect on some towns and villages the disciples entered. 

Jesus gave them instructions about what to do when their message was rejected. I suppose that some people didn’t understand what the kingdom of God had to do with the world in which they lived.

I don’t blame them. Sometimes, it can seem like the peace of Christ is just a temporary escape from the world in which we live. 

I suppose the fact that we find the world’s problems challenging is nothing new. I know that there have always been hard times, but it does seem hard these days to find our equilibrium. 

I have been reading the work of a German sociologist, Hartmut Rosa, who offers some intriguing thoughts about all this. His book is called The Uncontrollability of the World – a good title, I think. Modern people have a tendency to believe that we can control the world, but, alas, the world stubbornly remains beyond our control.

Rosa has put a name to something we experience now in our lives: the contraction of the present. The length of time in which our past experience can reliably predict our future is shrinking. Change comes faster than ever before, meaning that our ability to feel comfortable in our knowledge of how things work, how things will go, is shrinking. We feel more unsure about everything. We grow more distrustful of institutions. The ground beneath our feet is shifting.

And we react by getting angry. I spoke to you last week about anger as something that can be useful, but only if we also have the courage to do something about it. Anger by itself is just letting off steam, and if you turn on the TV, it seems like everyone is doing a lot of that. It almost doesn’t even matter what you choose to listen to, what news source you decide is reliable. They are all angry. And we get angry too.

There is not much that happens these days where you don’t feel like you have to pick a side. Take a position for or against, and if you’re against it then you’re angry about it. We feed our anger every day. 

And, instead of supporting one another as we go through a hardship together, we attack one another. We distrust one another. We distrust our institutions. Conspiracy theories, accusations, and attacks are constantly in the air. It feels like our whole system is broken. And there is no peace.

But, that preacher I was listening to, who talked about the peace he found in the woods, then quickly lost? He said that he thinks true peace is a whole lot more than just the nice feeling you get when you’re not fighting with anyone; true peace is the presence of real justice. And it seems like justice is in short supply in our world. 

There are so many kinds of injustice, which are all interconnected. Martin Luther King said that injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere; that we are all caught in an inescapable network of mutuality. That is to say, we are all in this together. If we try to separate ourselves from the needs of the world, we do harm to ourselves as much as to the needy. Justice is complicated. The need is overwhelming.

And so, this preacher said, when we feel overwhelmed we sometimes just decide to pull back. We feel inadequate to the task. Let someone else, someone better equipped, try. And when we pull back, we leave a vacuum that will be filled by more injustice, more hate, more violence. The answer, this preacher said, is for each of us to take back our moral autonomy and be a force for what is right, for justice. And this is where we may find that ever-elusive peace.

It was an inspiring sermon. This was not a Presbyterian preacher, though. This was not a preacher from any church, actually, or even any other religion. This was a sermon delivered at a gathering called Civic Saturday, where you find people who maybe have no desire to be a part of religion, but they still have a very human hunger for meaning. For meaning that is found in community. They come together for the mutual support of one another, for healing, for inspiration, and then they go out into the world and try to make a difference. 

They are a lot like church – without Jesus. But there may be another important difference: They might have a greater sense of urgency about bringing peace to this world – what we as Christians would call the kingdom of God. They may or may not believe there is something to look forward to after this; regardless, though, they are looking for that kind of peace and love right here in this world.

I don’t know if Civic Saturday gatherings are still going on – I hope they thrive and continue to serve this nation well. 

But I also need the church to say loud and clear, “The kingdom of God is near.” And to do our very best to bridge the gap between this world and God’s kingdom, to make the kingdom more visible in this world.

I cannot think of a time when our nation has been more needful of Christians who will do this: bring healing, bring justice, bring peace.

I once asked a group of church people how they felt about the notion of being sent out into the world as Jesus sent out the 70 disciples. They all said they felt inadequate. And it’s true, we are inadequate. We are easily overwhelmed with the needs as we see them – the fighting, the toxic politics, the gross inequality, the ways we see our civic norms breaking down and raw power taking their place. It’s enough to make you withdraw into your prayer closet. 

But let us remember that Jesus sent his disciples out. He sent them with instructions to heal. He sent them with peace to share. He sent them with a little bit of the kingdom of heaven, which was more than adequate.

This weekend we celebrate the 250th birthday of our nation. It was 250 years ago that the Declaration of Independence was signed. I don’t know if you have read it lately, but it is worth taking a look at. 

When you read the document, you notice the sense of unity in it. The people of the original colonies are spoken of as “one people.” The idea of forming a new nation carried the clear sense of being united in purpose, even though they were quite different in other ways. The closing words of the document are: “for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.”

Two hundred fifty years later, we feel a bit of sadness that there is so much hostility between us. We are disappointed at the fact that we cannot really be united in our celebrations, because of how polarized our politics have grown. 

Some might believe the solution is to become a Christian nation – to make our laws explicitly Christian. Inevitably, that would be one particular flavor of Christian – something that not even all Christians could agree on. 

The best path for our nation is not to impose a set of religious laws for everyone, because our nation was created to ensure freedom of religion for all people. But the best path for us, as followers of Christ, is to do what he asked his disciples to do: send peace, everywhere we go. Be a little bit of the kingdom of heaven. Let them know that the kingdom has come near to them, carrying peace.

In the midst of a world that is struggling, a nation sometimes overwhelmed by fear and distrust and polarization, may we know that the kingdom of heaven is not for some time later. It is not for our escape. The kingdom of heaven is for here and now, and it is given to us. 

When you are overwhelmed, remember this: the kingdom of heaven is here.

May we share it.

All thanks and glory be to our God. Amen.

Photo: Joshua Earle on Unsplash