From early in his ministry, Jesus told people that the kingdom of heaven was near. He didn’t mean the good place to which everyone wants to go after this life is done, he meant how the good place could be here. The important word there is good. The kingdom of heaven being here meant everyone living into the good that is in them, knowing the divine spirit in their heart and living that into the world. This world, not some other place.
The First Nations Version, an Indigenous Translation of the New Testament, translates that kingdom of heaven as “the good road from above.” I love that image. It implies the journey of life, the constant movement of how we experience it and reminds us that heaven isn’t just a destination at the other end of this life, but something we can actively live. This heaven isn’t just a moment, but a lifetime and more.
While living it every day as an example, describing how the kingdom works was a little tricky. So Jesus resorted to parables and he began with how all things begin, a seed.
The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed: the tiniest of seeds that grows into a bush so big that birds can nest in it. It’s a great metaphor for a common biblical theme, that greatness often comes from the smallest, or the least, of things. Plant the seed and it will grow into something much greater. Never underestimate the power of planting a seed.
But, hang on, some of his listeners might have said. The mustard is small, that’s for sure, but it’s not the smallest seed. It doesn’t grow all that big, either, certainly not big enough for birds to nest in. And, worst of all, it’s a weed. Sure, some used it for flavouring and colouring things, and it was a medicinal herb, but really it was more of an intrusive annoyance than anything else.
What if the point of the mustard seed isn’t just about size, but “ordinariness?” Nothing unique or exotic, but something you might see anywhere, at anytime, even just by the side of the road. What if the point of growing into a great bush isn’t about what we know can happen, but about envisioning something far beyond what we expect, imagining something greater than our own limited experience would allow? What if the point of using a weed is to suggest that we need to look again at what really is valuable to us? We call something a weed because we don’t see its value compared to a more useful plant, but that doesn’t mean it has no value – we just don’t see it. Perhaps others do.
Our lives are full of little, ordinary, everyday things. Even acknowledging that is problematic, isn’t it? What’s little, ordinary or everyday may be different for each of us. But every step moves us somewhere and it’s worth pausing sometimes to wonder about the simplest things we do and where they are taking us. And not just ourselves, of course. The truth is that Jesus didn’t do anything super complicated. Jesus made time for people, especially those that others didn’t. Jesus listened to people, especially those that others didn’t. Jesus cared for people as best he could, especially those that others didn’t. Jesus loved people, especially those that others didn’t.
Even the miracle stories can be understood to be less a divine action in the physical realm and more a divine action of love. When the possessed were exorcized of their demons, it was a miracle that Jesus simply gave them time, understanding and respect that restored their dignity and sense of personhood. When the blind received sight, it was a miracle that Jesus simply made them visible to the world and restored their place in it. When the multitude was hungry, it was a miracle that Jesus inspired such generosity and sharing with a simple gesture of offering all that there was, that all could be fed. Simple, ordinary acts change things.
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