The Kingdom of Heaven is Like...

A Sermon preached by The Rev. Dr. Steven L. Thomason

at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in Fayetteville, Arkansas, on July 24, 2011.

The Scripture Texts for the Sixth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 12, Year A are:

Genesis 29:15-28
Psalm 105:1-11, 45b

Romans 8:26-39
Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52

Matthew 13:31-33,44-52

Jesus put before the crowds another parable: "The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in his field; it is the smallest of all the seeds, but when it has grown it is the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches." He told them another parable: "The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with three measures of flour until all of it was leavened." "The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which someone found and hid; then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field. "Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls; on finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it. "Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a net that was thrown into the sea and caught fish of every kind; when it was full, they drew it ashore, sat down, and put the good into baskets but threw out the bad. So it will be at the end of the age. The angels will come out and separate the evil from the righteous and throw them into the furnace of fire, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. "Have you understood all this?" They answered, "Yes." And he said to them, "Therefore every scribe who has been trained for the kingdom of heaven is like the master of a household who brings out of his treasure what is new and what is old."

From time to time when I have a meeting in Little Rock or am traveling down into the river valley, I will occasionally take old highway 71 which parallels the interstate. The winding road requires that I slow down my pace, and the scenery is spectacular. Even the old buildings—roadside homes and businesses which have largely given over their livelihoods to the bypass provide the space to consider what once was, is now, and may yet be. The road runs parallel to the new highway, but it conjures up thoughts of a different time and place. Similar, yet different.

Such is the nature of parables, those little stories that Jesus used to engage people in parallel to everyday life—a story or, as we receive them in today’s gospel, a string of similes that resonate with what is common in life, so simple as to belie profundity, and yet they invite us into the slower lane, to pause and ponder deeper meaning and purpose.

The kingdom of heaven is like…a mustard seed, leavened bread, a pearl of great value, hidden treasure, and a fishing net cast wide…

Perhaps not so familiar images for us today, but the invitation is there for us as well, to slow down our pace, to consider the truths embedded in such simple sayings, and for those of us who would claim to follow the wisdom that this man offers from a different time and place, to consider what the kingdom of God is like—what it once was, is now, and may yet be.

Matthew offers the alternative language—kingdom of heaven—in deference to God’s holy name, but make no mistake, Jesus is speaking about God’s kingdom—the alternative way.

Jesus’ parables are part of a larger tradition arising from the ancient rabbinical practice of masal. A masal is a fiction that tells the truth—it points to some deeper meaning, and it was a poetic practice that ranged from simple proverbs to complex allegories. The Bible is chock full of these little gems.

The richness of meaning comes with the juxtaposition of two unlike things that, on the surface (and to the larger society) offer nonsensical rambling—the kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed… But for those willing to wrestle with the thing, an abundance of life comes rushing forth. They are designed to provoke us, to open new insights by considering that which is right before us—common, mundane, simple—but, oh, so profound when run in parallel to the business of life.

So what can we infer about the nature of God’s kingdom as extrapolations of these five little parables?

Well, first and foremost, that the kingdom is already sown by God the planter into the field. Mark’s version of the mustard seed uses the word ge from which we get our name for the Gaia Guild. It means both “ground” (or dirt) and “earth” which implies a comprehensive scope. The seed of God’s kingdom, small as it may seem, is there, and will develop into a full and glorious tree of life. It would have been language harkening back to the origins of creation, and to Isaiah’s promise of a peaceable kingdom while also projecting down range to the beautiful scene in the final chapter of Revelation, with its trees of life alongside the river of life to which all are invited.

So, it is hidden but hope-filled in its universal scope.

Next is the parable of leavened bread, but I want to save it for later.

So, what’s next? “The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field…and a pearl of great value.” There it is again—the great treasure is hidden, past tense, harkening back to the presence of God’s kingdom from the very beginning. Mysterious, yet present alongside things all along. But note what happens—the person finds it, hides it again, and then instead of buying just that plot of land where the treasure is hidden, he buys the whole field. And the same for the pearl merchant—he sells everything else.

But it is done with joy. Something about living in reference to the kingdom is worth giving up everything else. Now that is scandalous talk, make no mistake. It was for folks in Jesus’ time; it is for us now.

The kingdom of God is there, whether we act on it or not, always has been, always will be, but the joy to be experienced in being connected to it requires nothing less than the devaluing of everything else. But, remember, it is comprehensive in scope, so it is not like a little cordoned off section of life that we deal with for an hour on Sunday mornings, it’s no ring of Gollom to be held in one’s hand and adored as “my precious”—the kingdom is realized and evokes joy when it effuses and colors everything else in one’s life, and when it is seen in relation to the whole field—the entirety of creation.

Which brings me to the fifth saying: the kingdom of heaven is like a fishing net cast wide, teeming with fish of every kind, good and bad. It is resonant with last week’s Parable of the Weeds. Let it suffice here that we should leave the judgment of what is good and bad to God in the fullness of time.  We are invited to trust that in the infinite wisdom of a loving God who has seen fit to sow the kingdom into creation from the beginning, that in the end, all will work as it should.

Okay, I saved my favorite of the five parables for last. The parable of the leaven. "The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with three measures of flour until all of it was leavened." Let it be noted that Jesus, in the great tradition of masal, references God as a woman, and what’s more, she’s either a poor woman or a servant woman, who finds herself in the kitchen preparing bread.

And not just a little loaf or two. Three measures of flour—a bushel of flour, 128 cups to be folded in, which along with some 42 cups of water yields a dough weighing more than 100 pounds! Yes, there have been preachers and Bible study groups who have tried this at home…

She mixes yeast into it until all of it—the Greek word here is holon, meaning the whole of it—was leavened. You see the pattern here? This big lump of dough represents the whole world into which the yeast of the kingdom has been kneaded. But you can’t see the yeast, it is there mixed in, inseparable, integrated, infused, growing. Hidden, yet at work—always has been, always will be.

For us, the challenge is to be patient as the yeast works on the dough so that it rises into its fullness.

You all know I love words and their etymologies. The Greek word for “yeast” is zyme from which we get our word enzyme—a catalyst of chemical reaction. The yeast uses the flour—that is, you and me, and all of creation, and breathes out air pockets to grow us. When heated, the air pockets expand in our midst, changing us, and we rise to the occasion. It is a breath, a wind, a spirit that breathes over creation, as it has from the start. It’s a beautiful parable—a fiction that tells the truth about God and us.

The kingdom of heaven is present, eternal, comprehensive, hidden yet growing, precious, joyful, hopeful. And to all creation, God says, “Come.” All are invited. What good news that is! Amen.

References

Capon, Robert Farrar. The Parables of the Kingdom. Eerdsmans, 1985.

Keim, Paul. “Reflections on the Lectionary” Christian Century. July 12, 2011.

On Religion and Politics

On Religion and Politics

A Sermon preached by The Rev. Dr. Steven L. Thomason at St. John’s Episcopal Church in Fort Smith, Arkansas, on July 3, 2011.

Tuesday, September 6, 1774, and the Founding Fathers had gathered for the inaugural session of the Continental Congress in Philadelphia. A motion was made from the floor that the day should begin with a prayer. As John Adams reported in a letter to his wife Abigail, to which we are privy, the motion was vehemently objected to by two men—John Jay of New York and John Rutledge of South Carolina—who were both, it turns out, Episcopalians. Their reason for objecting was that they could not join in the same act of worship with the other delegates because “we were so divided in religious sentiments,” running the gamut of Christian sects.

Had their objection prevailed, political scientists speculate that all American public affairs that have followed since would have been void of any opportunity to commend our common life to God, but it was Sam Adams who spoke up and tipped the hall in favor of prayer.

Sam Adams, a Congregationalist from Massachusetts arose and said he was no bigot, and could hear a prayer from a virtuous gentleman of any religious persuasion who was at the same time a friend to his country…He moved that Mr. Duché, an Episcopal priest, might be desired to read prayers to the Congress and the motion carried.

Adhering to his Anglican pattern of prayer, Duché read the psalm appointed for that day—the 35^th psalm. “Plead my cause, O Lord, with them that strive with me: fight against them that fight against me...” The delegates were overwhelmed with the connection between Scripture and their current plight as they planned a revolt against their English rulers, knowing full well that they were launching a treasonous project which, if unsuccessful, meant certain death for them all.

But then Duché, diverging from his traditional practice of reading from the Book of Common Prayer, and as Adams recalled, “struck out into an extemporary prayer which filled the bosom of every man present.” In summoning a divine blessing upon their cause for freedom, religion and politics were intermingled that day…and they have been ever since.[1]

And it cuts both ways.

I have always found it curious, and more than a little ironic, that the liturgical calendar of The Episcopal Church provides for no observance of culturally significant holidays such as Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, but then designates Independence Day (July 4^th) as a Major Feast Day of the Church!

On this weekend when we remember the origins of our nation, and the nature of freedom which we celebrate, what if we also explored how our Christian Scriptures inform our notions of freedom as well. With that in mind, I’d like to set out three points first:

1. First, by way of explanation and disclaimer, I am not standing here in a “bully-pulpit” telling you what to think about freedom or any particular political issue. In our Anglican tradition, my role as a preacher is to offer food for thought rather than force-feeding you one perspective. Use your own God-given gifts of reason and intellect to conclude what is a right course of action in response to the gospel. And you won’t hurt my feelings if you disagree with me.

2. A person’s religion informs his politics, or it’s not much of a religion, but that is different than insisting that everyone must follow my religious preferences (which is what John Jay and John Rutledge essentially demanded that first day).

But there is a nuanced distinction to be gained here: When Thomas Jefferson spoke of the need for a wall of “separation between church and state,”  historians agree that he did not intend a separation between religion from politics. Jefferson saw the need for religious expression and political expression to be inexorably linked, but only in a way that did not demean others. Indeed, the Declaration of Independence speaks of a “Creator,” “Nature’s God,” “the supreme judge of the world,” and “divine providence.”

Note that none of those references were explicitly Christian (he and his compatriots had ample opportunity to use Christian language, but chose not to). Nevertheless, from the inaugural session of the First Continental Congress to the present day, religious expression has been interwoven with public life—and that is by design of the Founding Fathers.

3. Perhaps the fact that Independence Day is a Feast Day in the Church is enough to justify a topical sermon on the historical crossroads of religion and politics, but since the Christian Scriptures, and in particular the letters of St. Paul, also invite us to consider the responsibilities of Christian freedom, it is an exercise worthy of reflection. And besides, nothing resonates with Americans more than talk of freedom, I figure freedom is the theme of the day, and so that is my segue.

“For freedom Christ has set us free.” Paul wrote that twenty centuries ago. But just what does that mean? What did it mean for the early Church?  What does it mean for us today, especially given our own notions of freedom that are so deeply seated in the American psyche?

For the early Christians, Paul was imploring them to shuck off anything that burdened them to the point of distracting them from the real matter at hand, which was to love and care for one another in the name of Christ. Nothing else mattered; anything else should be seen as diversions, as yokes of slavery that were not life-giving.

There was real dissension among the early Christians over who must do what to be accepted in the Church. There were ethnic distinctions that were separating them from one another and from the love of Christ Jesus…Those of Jewish heritage had to do more than those of gentile origin—they had to adhere to the law…only Paul was telling them, as a Jew himself, the same thing that Jesus had said: “the whole law is summed up in a single commandment, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’” Just do it.

There can be no “other” in a Christian community, so don’t bite and consume one another about differences between you; through love become slaves to one another. Let the fruits of the Spirit nourish you so that you can nourish one another with the love of Christ Jesus that burns within you.

That hardly seems controversial, doesn’t it…but hold tight, because it hit home for the early Church who heeded the instruction, it transformed their lives even, and if we take it seriously, I bet it will for us as well.

My friends, I fear that when Americans speak of freedom these days, we largely intend a freedom from obligation to anyone else. I am free to do and say whatever I want, so long as I don’t hurt anyone else…only I am not so sure that much can be done or said anymore that doesn’t affect someone else. It’s a small, small world.

And so I will offer again, for your consideration: A person’s religion informs his politics, or it’s not much of a religion. You shall love your neighbor as yourself. Christian freedom comes with an undeniable sense of servanthood; it is not a freedom from responsibility to others; it is not an opportunity for self-indulgence. Christian freedom intends the fruits of the Spirit—love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control—traits that ultimately bear fruit when others experience them as gifts from you.

Hardly controversial when taken as an ancient letter written to other people in a different setting, but is there something here for us to chew on today?

Or is there anything in the scriptures that informs us as religious persons about the very real political issues of poverty, hunger, or war…?

I am reminded of something Abraham Lincoln once told some ministers visiting the White House during the Civil War. He said he was not worried whether God was on his side or not, “for I know that the Lord is always on the side of the right… It is my constant anxiety and prayer [however] that I and this nation should be on the Lord’s side.”[2]

It is dangerous to speak of politics and religion in the same conversation. I know it is. Such talk is fraught with chances to demand that we are right while others are wrong, or even worse, to claim that God is on our side.  I hope we see the folly in such hubris, common though it may be.

Is there a way, instead, to be guided by the fruits of the Spirit? The way, my friends, begins with prayer.

And so, in our Anglican tradition, let us pray for this nation, for its leaders, for the world and for its citizens, and for the cause of freedom, justice and peace.

Let us use the collect appointed for Independence Day in our Book of Common Prayer. Page 242. Would you join me in saying this prayer.

Lord God Almighty, in whose Name the founders of this country won liberty for themselves and for us, and lit the torch of freedom for nations then unborn: Grant that we and all the people of this land may have grace to maintain our liberties in righteousness and peace; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.  Amen.

---

[1] Meacham, Jon. American Gospel: God, the Founding Fathers, and the Making of a Nation. New York: Random House. 2006. p. 64.

[2] Meacham, p. 24.

Soul-Wounds

Poetry is the language of soul-wounds—

the onomatopoeia of vulnerability,

stirring deep within the marrow of meaning,

magma of transcendent contemplation,

boiling into the rift

of chaos

and fissured brokenness

giving voice

to its hot lava of effusive wisdom,

which serves to acquaint

heaven and earth—

body and spirit—

as companions to tread the dawn of wholeness

together,

to prick the Eustacean scales

of masked affectation off,

and to apply the balm of poetic purpose

to the wounds of life,

            because in doing so,

the ineffable mystery of healing

            reveals the unblemished

                    and beautiful creature

            you were divinely inspired

To Be.

Notes: The image of poetry as "soul-wounds" was borrowed from Christian Wiman, editor of Poetry magazine, who used that term in a recent interview to describe poetry. I was captivated by the image instantly. The references to "dawn treading" and "Eustace" are lifted from CS Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia, and are metaphors of life worthy of contemplation by adults as well as children.