My brother and I used to play a game where one of us would list some objects, then the other would guess what those objects held in common. For example, “school bus, pencil, traffic light.” Or “butterfly and radio station.”
Though it might seem like mere child’s play, this activity did more for us than help pass the time. Drawing connections between seemingly unlike things helped expand our imaginations. The mundane objects seen from the backseat of a station wagon transformed into something much more. The world was a playground in our eyes.
In the gospels, Jesus compares the Kingdom of Heaven to everyday things like a mustard seed, a fleck of yeast, treasure in a field, a rare pearl, and a fishing net. (Matthew 13:31-39, 44-52)
Like the car games of my youth, these passages have a similar effect on my imagination. They challenge me to forge connections I might not typically make, to think expansively, to be curious.
How is the Kingdom like a mustard seed planted in soil?
How is the Kingdom like a fleck of yeast stirred into dough?
How is the Kingdom like a treasure found hidden in a field?
And like the playtime of my childhood, mulling over these questions is more than a way to pass the time. These days, it’s a lifeline.
Reflecting on the reality of the Kingdom—a reality that, I believe, is already underway, always underfoot—helps me endure the equally real realities of life on this earth. Realities, as the Apostle Paul says, marked by trouble, poverty, persecution, danger, and death. (Romans 8:35)
In the midst of calamity, injustice, loss, disillusionment, weakness, and death, how is Jesus’ teaching about the Kingdom actually good news?
He told them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed, which a man took and planted in his field. Though it is the smallest of all seeds, yet when it grows, it is the largest of garden plants and becomes a tree, so that the birds come and perch in its branches.” (Matthew 13:31-32)
If the Kingdom of Heaven is like a tiny mustard seed that eventually grows into something far greater than our eyes can yet perceive, then the questions I carry about the effectiveness and meaningfulness of my labor in the world are moot.
I battle a daily lie that says, “your efforts are futile.” When I don’t see the fruit I long for in my work despite my best attempts, when hurdles or barriers appear, when unexpected setbacks slow me down, I am often tempted to give-up and label all my Kingdom-advancing labor “useless.”
But if the Kingdom is like a tiny mustard seed sown in soil, a seed that will someday yield a plant that becomes a tree that makes a difference in the world, then even my tiniest Kingdom-advancing efforts are not in vain. I can keep on sowing trusting that I’m partnered with a bigger Force that delights in creating and re-creating the world—no matter whether or not the “results” I long for are revealed in my lifetime. This is humbling. This means I can be human and God can be God. This is good news.
He told them still another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed into about sixty pounds of flour until it worked all through the dough.” (Matthew 13:33)
If the Kingdom of Heaven is like yeast mixed into flour, then I can trust that God is active, alive, and working even when I can’t see it, taste it, or feel it.
Some years ago, I took up bread-making. I worked over that dough for many hours, eventually arriving at the sacred moment when the oven door opened to reveal whether or not the thing had worked. I remember the miracle of those first loaves—the tiny bubbles on the crust, the crackling sound like some part of the creation wanted to sing. I remember those first slices—the beautiful pockets in the crumb, the taste of something warm and true and good.
I must have made fifty loaves of bread in those early months, and not once do I recall looking at that beautiful boule and saying, “Wow, look at that marvelous yeast!” Not once did I bite into a fresh slice and say, “Wow, what delicious yeast!” Not once, upon opening the oven door, did I say, “Wow, what wonderfully smelling yeast!” The yeast, like the Kingdom, is doing its work quietly in the background. The yeast, like the Kingdom, is present even if we cannot always perceive it.
If the Kingdom is like a fleck of yeast, I can trust that there are Kingdom ways unfolding in every pocket of the earth, bringing life and beauty, goodness and comfort to God’s people. I can live realizing my job isn’t to question the existence of “the yeast,” but to keep trusting it is already active and alive—especially on the days its more difficult to see, taste, or feel. This stretches my imagination. This helps me persist. This is good news.
“The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field. (Matthew 13:44)
If the Kingdom of Heaven is like a treasure hidden in a field, so incredible that a man would buy the whole field just so he could access his precious find for the rest of his days, then I am assured that the Kingdom is close by, and I have instincts that will lead me to it.
Last year, I began joining my husband D.J. on his wild mushroom foraging trips. Believe it or not, even in an urban environment like ours, there are networks of precious fungi waiting underfoot. In the woods, when the eye spots something tiny and orange in the distance, the mind dims and the body leads, slowly (but swiftly) moving in the direction of the bright glow. This initial approach is half the fun. The heart starts beating fast at the possibility of uncovering a forest floor gem. Then, kneeling down into the dirt to investigate the find, the foragers cry out in elation that indeed what they didn’t think could exist does in fact exist and THEY found it! What follows is a delicate and secretive process. The foragers take note of surroundings, marking this spot in their memory as a place to return to. Then they give one another a glance that could only mean, “Don’t tell anyone where we found these.”
When a mycophile finds a bounty, a gut instinct kicks in to keep the find location hidden. At first, this seems selfish. But I think it's an action that demonstrates something about what Jesus is teaching with his parable above. When you find something as remarkable as a chanterelle in Cincinnati, as remarkable as the Kingdom of God in daily life, you will do whatever you can to ensure it can be found time and time again for the rest of your days. So you buy the field. You mark the spot. You take note of how you arrived so you can repeat the steps over and over again. You invite other seekers to join you on the next hunt, because you want to be with them when they find and see the treasure too.
If the Kingdom is like a treasure hidden in a field, then I can trust it is both findable and will require some searching. I can live believing that others might want a portion of this treasure too, then spend my days inviting them into the field to seek and find as well. This gives me purpose. This is good news.
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How does Jesus’ teaching about the Kingdom inspire your imagination?
In what ways do you see the Kingdom as a mustard seed, a fleck of yeast, a hidden treasure?
How does this make a difference in your daily life?
Jesus often invites his followers into creative, imaginative ways, encouraging them to explore new depths of understanding, to find meaning in the seemingly mundane. And he asks those who follow to engage the possibility of discovery with joy, wonder, and hopeful expectation.
It strikes me that faith is a wild stretching of this cultivated imagination. Those who follow the ways of Jesus are invited to live each day believing something is true though we can’t always see it. To believe Someone is real, present, and active in the world even on the hardest days. To live believing death isn’t the end of the story. That the Kingdom of God is already afoot. That all shall indeed, someday, be well.
May it be so.