"How Would You Describe the Kingdom?"
A Sunday Sermon Preached by
The Rev. Thomas C. Leinbach
July 27, 2008 - Harwich, Massachusetts

Preaching Text: "The kingdom of heaven is like…" (Matthew 13:31, 33, 44, 45, 47)

Over the last few weeks, the lectionary has presented us with several of Jesus' parables. Today he again uses everyday activities in order to make sense of the things of God, things otherwise far from obvious, as far from us, in fact, as heaven.

Then again, living some two thousand years later, such references can seem a bit stale if not downright irrelevant to the way we live today. After all, Jesus was speaking to a peoples living in a largely agrarian, pre-modern society. So while we can visualize a tiny mustard seed growing into a large tree, it somehow doesn't have the same immediacy for those of us whose experience of mustard is confined largely to opening a jar purchased at the grocery store. The image's overall impact suffers in translation.

We then move on to a parable about bread and yeast (or leaven). I can still remember one of my friend's first attempts at baking bread back in college. A few of us, just to make a point, picked up our hockey sticks and used it as a puck. As I said, just to make a point! Nonetheless, unlike most of us today, to an ancient population whose diet required that bread be made in the home, such an image would have spoken vividly.

How about the parable of the treasure found in the field? Well, in Jesus' day, before banking was widely available to ordinary people, it was common to hide money and valuables in the ground. (Remember the "worthless" servant who hid his talents in the ground for fear of losing it?) Adding to the story's strangeness, in those days, if a person found buried treasure, it legally became theirs! Here "finders keepers, losers weepers" takes on a whole new meaning! Yet in the America of 2008, such a scenario is all but lost to us.

As for the pearl, while still prized, it has none of the magic and wonder it once held for those living back then. For them, a pearl was a rare and remarkable possession, its beauty and value placing it at the top of the list of desired items. Thus a pearl of exceptional quality was an exceedingly valued commodity indeed.

Jesus' next parable focuses on fishing, something which admittedly hits a bit closer to home. Then again, not many of us have had direct, day-to-day experience with commercial fishing or the techniques involved. So the metaphor doesn't necessarily relate to our experiences in the same way.

Though the image of a "master of the household" bringing old and new items out of his treasure has, to be sure, a certain obviousness to it, it still requires our imagination rather than presenting a common instance of concrete, everyday experience.

Of course, we needn't have direct experience of these various activities to make sense of what Jesus is saying. In the parable of the mustard seed, we readily understand that faith, even a faith born of small beginnings, can grow into something mighty, something offering strength and security to our lives.

Similarly, we know that yeast hidden in dough has the power to completely transform the finished product from something hard and dry into something soft and tasty. The implication for our faith lives seems obvious. Faith has the power to transform our lives, even faith that otherwise appears hidden.

In the parable of the hidden treasure, again note the idea of "hidden-ness," the finder gives up everything in order to purchase the field; he is staking his claim on a certain future. In our faith lives, giving up everything for Christ promises a future far grander and joyous than the things this world provides. Giving up lesser habits and ambitions is pursued with the real expectation of certain reward.

Regarding the parable of the precious pearl, we all understand that Jesus is urging us to marshal our life energies in the service of what is the greatest and most precious good in life: the kingdom of heaven. Any and all sacrifice is worth the value of possessing this, life's greatest gift.

In the parable of the catch and the separation of fish, we understand that Christ is discussing the simple truth that actions matter and that we way we live our lives ultimately will be judged, just as a fisherman separates out the suitable fish from the unsuitable. The image is clear and enjoins us to re-consider our lives.

Finally, Jesus uses the image of the household ruler bringing from his treasure old and new items. This is a needed reminder that our spiritual lives benefit from both tradition as well as the new things God is doing, from what God has done in the past and what God is doing in the here-and-now.

All these parables, metaphors taken from everyday life, from farming, homemaking, fishing and commerce, form indelible images that point to something not otherwise obvious: the kingdom of heaven. With each one, Jesus is asking his hearers, and us, to think about this evocative and ever-elusive question: what is the kingdom of heaven like?

Now if my hunch is correct, and we often fail to hear this underlying message in part because of such outdated metaphors, the obvious question is begged: what modern-day events or activities would make his point clearer?

In Jewish belief, the idea is paramount that God is found in everything. The saying goes, for instance, that when you slice open an apple, you'll find God inside. God is there to be discovered.

I like that. For so often when we slice open an apple we find little more than the inside of the apple!

The trick in life, simply put, is finding God in the midst of everyday events and situations. So often we get caught up in the minutiae of life that God, the source of all of life, is forgotten. Jesus' metaphors, if nothing else, ground us in everyday life and tell us that God is found right there in the midst of even the most mundane of events.

A couple of Sundays ago, while still on vacation, Linda and I drove out to Tanglewood to hear the Boston Symphony Orchestra in a matinee performance. It's something we both love but rarely get to do, since the performances start at 2:30 p.m. and the drive from the Cape is roughly three-and-a-half hours. I'll leave it to you to do the math!

In any event, after attending an early church service, we left Harwich and arrived in Lenox just as the first movement of Haydn's "London" symphony was beginning. The drive had been hectic, not at all relaxing, filled as it was with mostly my anxiety about missing part of the concert. It was nothing short of a mad dash to get into our seats.

And as we did, we could feel the disapproving frowns of those around us, those who otherwise had arrived in plenty of time! Sliding into our seats, I found it ironic that after our restless, hours-long drive we now were in a place where absolute silence and stillness was required…or else! As our minds and bodies continued to race at the speed of light, we were forcibly reminded that, at least here, such a thing as coughing is permitted only between symphonic movements!

But then the music began to change everything. At first, I could barely concentrate. The music sounded lush and beautiful, but that was it. Yet in time, it began to alter my sensibilities. I closed my eyes and listened intently. Suddenly I was part of the music and just about everything seemed to change.

Though they had been there the whole time, I suddenly became keenly aware of the sound of birds chirping outside the open shed. I also became aware of the wind that swelled, at once rustling the trees only to end as abruptly as it had begun. I heard the errant cough from somewhere across the way, no doubt to the consternation of the ever-present sound police!

The music seemed to reach deep into my soul and pull out emotions and feelings buried and forgotten. Listening to the middle movement of Bach's keyboard concerto almost brought tears to my eyes, its beauty being of such stunning and immense delicacy and intricacy. I actually could feel my blood pressure drop. I also came to realize just how tight my muscles had become, and this only as the tension in them began to dissipate.

I could go on. The point is simply this: that in the midst of our daily obsessions and busy-ness, we rarely take the time to stop and really look or really listen. We are pulled seemingly to and fro, moment by moment, without giving the divine around us and within us much thought. Yet in those moments when we allow ourselves to stop, the empty spaces suddenly seem overflowing with the beauty and profundity of God. With the same alertness of spirit that enables one to slice open an apple and discover God there, we thus are able to move through this God-filled world acutely attuned to the reality and inner workings of the divine in and through all things.

As I contemplated what to make of these parables for this morning, and what I would say to you about them, I became keenly aware of something I think about often. It's an occupational hazard, I suppose. But during vacation, as I attend to things generally lost amid the busy-ness of everyday life, I'm reminded of how often, deep in my bones, I really do tire of hearing myself talk! Most preachers, I think, feel this way.

For the assumption, too often, is that we pastors are supposed to provide definitive answers to life's deepest questions. Yet it's been said, rightly, I think, that there's far greater value in formulating the right question than in attempting some sort of precise answer.

So I thought I'd ask: where specifically do you find God in your life? And how would you describe the kingdom of heaven? If it was you who was charged with offering to others a parable that accurately portrays your sense of it, what everyday event or circumstance would you use? If you were to take the time each day to listen to your life intently, what would the things of your life say to you, and how might you share them with others?

Five times this morning Jesus said, "The kingdom of heaven is like…" How would you fill in the blanks? What is the kingdom of heaven like to you? How does God speak to you personally in the here-and-now?

The truth is that God is hidden in everything - in an apple, in the wind, in the song of a bird, in a Bach concerto, in a cough, in a tear or a laugh, in a frenzied drive at 65 miles-an-hour, and, yes, even here in this church, right now, with its ancient metaphors and even, perhaps, in the tentative ramblings of its all-too human preacher.

Every moment has the potential to remind us of God our Creator, Christ our Redeemer and the Holy Spirit, our Sustainer. And in every moment is the potential for experiencing joy, offering praise and giving heartfelt thanks.

Amen.