Ordinary Kingdom

Sermon for the Ninth Sunday after Pentecost, Year A

Church of the Epiphany | Washington, DC

Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52

In a poem titled ‘On the Parables of the Mustard Seed,’ the poet Denise Levertov reflects on this morning’s gospel lesson…  Whether faith is a an exceptionally rare thing, she wonders:

Who ever saw the mustard-plant,  / wayside weed or tended crop, / grow tall as a shrub, let alone a tree, a treeful / of shade and nests and songs?

And to her question, I truthfully can’t say I have ever witnessed a grand mustard tree myself, either... Who amongst us has seen the thing Jesus describes in his parable?

So, it would seem then that the kingdom of heaven is perhaps an implausible, miraculous thing… Which is much how Levertov’s poem concludes with the following:

Faith is rare, [Jesus] must have been saying, / Prodigious, unique — [...] / as if from a mustard-seed / a great shade-tree grew. That rare, / that strange… [...]  / The waitingkingdom of faith, the seed / waiting to be sown. 

The kingdom of heaven, as the poet imagines, is full of expectation. Yet, it is unrealized. And I think this is part of what Jesus intends to suggest — but it is only part. 

Our lesson this morning follows after the parable we discussed last week on weeds and wheat. As Jesus suggests there, do not discard or dispose of that which God intends to harvest. 

The former bishop of Massachusetts, Tom Shaw, was fond of saying, “God is very frugal. Wasting nothing.” Don’t pace limits around what God can or will do—because even the smallest, most insignificant things are opportunities for God’s work. And today we hear something of the same reminder in this set of five parables.  

Each describes faith in different ways, and a few themes rise to the surface… 

First, this kingdom has something of an invasive quality… As much as we might use this story to admire the tiniest of seeds that grows into a great tree, mustard was considered a weed. It would easily overtake other crops, and so it was rarely planted intentionally but instead managed as an inconvenience.

And then of course there is yeast, thought to make things impure, whose presence was considered corrupting. At the time yeast was not contained in a jar, but instead created from an old loaf of bread that had been left out to mold. It was unpredictable; either too much or too little would easily spoil one’s baking. 

Evidently, the kingdom of heaven shares a similar quality to English Ivy or lantern flies.

But before we dismiss it as a nuisance though, there is another theme: this same kingdom is invaluable. It is a pearl. Its quality is rare, much like Levertov suggests in her poem, it is a thing only some are fortunate enough to find. And then after searching and finding this precious treasure, it’s worth giving up everything in one’s life just to hold onto this invaluable worth.

When Jesus mentions treasure and fine jewels in this way, we might imagine great wealth and perhaps even royalty. Maybe this kingdom is like a grand castle. But alongside qualities of being invasive or invaluable, this set of parables in Mathew’s Gospel makes another suggestion… 

The kingdom of heaven is really quite ordinary.

Faith shows up in ordinary people and places. In these parables, Jesus’ stories center on the labor of a housewife (largely an afterthought in society), and then of a merchant (widely considered dishonest), and then of fishermen (widely considered unpleasant). 

For whatever we might want to say about who Jesus is and what his reign looks like, when he’s actually teaching and living he is entering into the salt of the earth, so to speak, and telling stories of real people and the ordinary moments of their lives.

This is much the same way the whole Bible talks about the nature of faith, and those God chooses to use. From Moses to Mary, the Spirit of God moves through those considered “lowly.” What is viewed as meek, small, and foolish becomes the very means through which the world’s wisdom and strength is shamed. 

It is in the seemingly unlikeliest of places and people that the kingdom of heaven is revealed.

Jesus tells people throughout the gospels that the kingdom of heaven is close at hand. It has come near to those longing for it. Even in the normal days of normal people, the kingdom draws close—the reign of heaven brushing up against them even in their experience of the ordinary.

Because nothing exists apart from this reality Jesus describes. And that should change the way we think of the “ordinary.”

As Brian McLaren writes, “Jesus forms a movement of people…[who] believe that they don’t have to wait for this or that to happen, but rather that they can begin living in a new and better way now, a way of life Jesus conveys by the pregnant phrase kingdom of God.”

These people, McLaren suggests, “see their entire lives as an opportunity to make the beautiful music of God’s kingdom so that more and more people will be drawn into it, and so that the world will be changed by their growing influence.” 

We can see evidence of the kingdom of heaven is what God has done in the past, and in what God promises to do in the future. And it is unfolding even now, in this present.

All of us participate in that unfolding, and the kingdom bursts forth through our lives.

Through the “beautiful music” we make—whether that be literally offering the gift of song, or in baking and serving bread, or in tilling a garden. All of it matters—no matter how ordinary, normal, or mundane. 

“God is very frugal. Wasting nothing.” It is not merely the extravagant things the reveal God’s kingdom, the large and impressive, but the whole of our lives. 

Even the smallest and most simple things done faithfully sow a seed.

And with time, small actions done with great love will surely become a place with broad branches—a treeful of shade and nests and songs, where people come to belong in Beloved Community.

This, Jesus’ gospel proclaims, is what the kingdom of heaven looks like. And though I have not seen a great mustard plant, I have seen the very thing Jesus describes.

In all things then, let us offer the oblations of our life and labor. 

Amen