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Sunday, November 01, 2009

Re-Imagining the Kingdom of God
by Ryan Canaday

By Rev. Jerry Herships

Matthew 13:31-32

31He told them another parable: "The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed, which a man took and planted in his field. 32Though it is the smallest of all your seeds, yet when it grows, it is the largest of garden plants and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and perch in its branches."

Sometimes Jesus simply didn’t make sense.  Right when we think he’s on to something, he loses it.  “The kingdom of God or the kingdom of heaven is like…” and we expect him to finish the saying in beautiful poetic structure with a comparison that all are able to understand. But this is rarely the case. Consider this senseless parable.  Jesus says, “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.” 

Not only are we contemporary readers baffled by the imagery, but I think even the 1st century Jewish peasants who were familiar with the imagery were baffled as well.  Had Jesus lost his mind? Proclaiming such a kingdom would be as senseless as telling the people to love their enemies and pray for those who persecute them, or telling someone while under the threat of a Roman solider to put away his sword. It would be a senseless as riding a donkey into Jerusalem—the center of power—instead of riding in on a warhorse. What are we to do with the parable of the mustard seed?

Jesus’ parables drew from situations and images familiar to the everyday life of 1st century peasants. Jesus re-presented familiar material in a very unfamiliar way so that the crowds would have to re-think God’s kingdom (or God’s empire) in light of the Roman Empire in which they were living. And although it might take only a minute to read; the parables were most likely long interactions between Jesus and an audience, who were probably talking back to him, interrupting him, debating with him, and even disagreeing with him. 

We can imagine what the crowd might have been saying after Jesus compared God’s kingdom to a tiny mustard seed: “But Jesus, mustard seeds do not grow to be trees; they grow to be weeds or maybe small shrubs. And we don’t want weeds in our fields!”  If Jesus had said the kingdom of heaven is like a Cedar of Lebanon (a very big tree), of course, everyone would have understood. The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed…this just doesn’t make sense!  We can hear Jesus reply: “Yes, this kingdom is unlike the kingdom you are familiar with—God’s empire is not like the Roman Empire.” 

The images of trees symbolize imperial power and rule. In the Old Testament, Assyria, Egypt, and Babylon are described as magnificent trees cut down by God. The 1st century audience would have understood this.  The birds of the air are also spoken of in the Old Testament. They symbolize the people of the nations who have lived under imperial oppression. The 1st century audience would have understood this as well. But it’s this problem of a mustard seed producing a large tree where all the birds of the air will make nests in its braches.  Branches…in weeds or shrubs? 

Jesus is persuading his audience to re-imagine a different reign—a different empire. The Roman Empire excludes the poor, the sick, the widow, and the orphan. Its laws create hunger and poverty.  Its tyranny destroys life.  Jesus is calling them to live a very different way, a way that is very different from this empire.  He is proclaiming the “good news:” with God, the un-imaginable is possible.  Yes, even the tiny mustard seed is capable of producing a tree and its branches will give life to all the suffering peoples.  Unlike the Roman Empire, God’s empire (the kingdom of God) supports life for the least of these.  The kingdom that Jesus proclaims is a kingdom marked by justice.  Could they imagine such an empire?  Can we imagine such an empire?  We can begin to make sense of this parable only when we begin re-imagining.  

Does this parable still speak today, to us?  Is it just as provocative now as it was then?  Are there similarities between the 1st century Roman Empire and the contemporary United States Empire? I can think of a few. Like the Roman Empire, the U.S. Empire desires peace. And like the Roman Empire, we so often seek peace through means of domination and the elimination of enemies. Who are the excluded in the U.S. Empire? Regardless of where you stand on the current healthcare debate, I think we can all agree that having 9 million uninsured children in the U.S. is a problem—a tragedy. Like the Roman Empire, we also have the poor and hungry in our midst. Jerry has probably spoken of this several times: right here in Denver, there are nearly 4,000 people who are homeless—more than 40% of them are women and children. If Jesus were to speak to our crowds, I wonder what he would say? Perhaps it would be very simple: “what you do to the least of these is what you do to me.”  If Jesus were speaking a parable to today’s church, I wonder what he would say?  Maybe it would have something to do with needing more braches on our mustard seed tree—branches that truly create space for the voice of the other.

So, I ask, what is the “kingdom of God like” in our context? Could we hear Jesus beginning the parable this way: “the kingdom of God is like Civic Center Park on Colfax & Broadway…” Now that’s a parable that doesn’t make sense! Can you imagine the crowd’s response: “Jesus, you must be a bit confused on Denver’s geography. Perhaps you meant Belmar Park in a nearby suburb—it’s clean, safe, and provides stunning mountain views. Or maybe you meant Wash Park—it too is clean and safe, and the people are mostly white. Jesus, surely you didn’t mean Civic Center Park.  “Those people” aren’t always clean; many of them may go a few days without showering. And it’s not entirely safe either—we hear that some of them may be into crack and heroin.” Jesus might respond, “It is time to re-imagine the kingdom.”  I have to tell you this story: after leaving Civic Center Park last Tuesday, just before flying to Israel, Jerry called me.  He said, “You’re not going to believe me, but I’m telling you anyway…two homeless guys started talking to me about the kingdom of God today. The first asked, ‘where do you think the kingdom of God is?’” Jerry replied, “I’d say it’s right here.” The man agreed, “That’s right!  It’s right here in this park.” 20 minutes later another man said something very similar: “The kingdom of heaven isn’t just some place after you die, it’s here—now!” I think the poor and homeless often have a better understanding of God’s kingdom than many of us do. 

Or maybe the kingdom of God is like the woman who entered the women cells of the county jail each week—not to convert them, not to condemn them, but to simply love them.  Nothing magical happened on these Tuesday afternoons, but this small seed of love began to grow. Now it is like a giant oak, and its branches provide safety for some single mothers who are unable to tuck their kids in at night; for some young ladies who have been abused and neglected; for the women who felt unloved their entire lives and now struggle to love themselves.  What is the kingdom of God like? The story begs to be told—the story begs to be lived.       

The parable of the mustard seed lends itself to interpretation. We, the hearers—the faith communities—must respond: “the kingdom of God is like…”  Allow me to make one suggestion in our response. Action is indeed necessary. But I think our groaning and our tears must precede our action. Healing cannot happen before grieving—to look squarely in the face of injustice. We stand in the midst of the empire and grieve for those who are unable to have life and have it abundantly. We cry with them and God hears these cries. Remember the story of the Exodus: God heard the groans of Israel while in Egypt, and God split the Red sea and made way for liberation.  Surely God will hear our cries.  May our tears lead us to the justice that rolls down like waters. 

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