Looking in the Wrong Places

Hear now a word from the Gospel of Matthew,

the 13th chapter. 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 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 nest in its branches. He told them another

parable. The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that

a woman took and mixed in with 3 measures of flour until all

of it was leavened. The kingdom of heaven is

like treasure hidden in a field which

a man found and reburied. 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 and 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 become a disciple in the kingdom of heaven

will, like the master of a household who brings out of his

treasure that what is new and what is old.

The word of the Lord. Thanks be to God.

I was preparing the folks back there, just letting them

know that it's a 13-page sermon today.

But as I got my eyes checked over the week, the font is

a little bit bigger, so rest

at ease.

Several years ago, I took a trip to London.

I traveled across the pond, and it was there that I visited the

British Museum. And if you've

never been, it's almost just an overwhelming experience.

There are corridors upon corridors, galleries galleries upon

galleries of stuff.

After several hours of wandering through gallery after gallery,

I realized that I was only halfway through,

and so I found me a bench to

sit down, to rest a little while, and as I was resting,

I found myself staring at a landscape,

a picture, a painting of a beautiful landscape.

I don't remember the title, I don't remember the artist,

but what I do remember is someone coming up beside of me and

saying, isn't that such a lovely painting?

It was Julie. Her name tag read

Julie, and underneath that it was curator.

I said, oh yes, it is a lovely painting. And she smiled and

she says, the detail is quite remarkable.

Did you notice how the artist captured the sunlight?

See how it kind of sparkles across the water there? I said, oh yes,

yes, yes, yes. And then

she pointed to the corner of the painting and she says, and my favorite part,

it can be easy to miss. It's if you take a look at that little

cottage there at the bottom of the picture there, of the painting,

do you see how the sunlight just kind of reflects off the

window? And without thinking,

my Southernness slipped out and I said, well,

ain't that something?

She smiled and I knew then that she knew exactly where I

was from.

To which she said, enjoy your day, and she walked on.

At first I had missed it completely, that shimmer, that glimmer

of light on the water, that tiny reflection of sunlight in that window,

but once I— but once she showed me,

I couldn't stop seeing it. The painting hadn't

changed, Only the way that I saw

it. And perhaps that is exactly what

Jesus is doing in our gospel today. Jesus is not

merely telling stories, Jesus is teaching us how

to see. People expected

God's kingdom to arrive with unmistakable

power and spectacle, but instead Jesus points to

the ordinary. The kingdom of heaven is

like a mustard seed. A mustard

seed? What could something so small

possibly have to do with the kingdom of heaven? It's so tiny that if you

put it right in your hand, it would just fall right through your fingers.

It's that small. But yet,

Jesus begins there. The mustard seed

can become a flourishing shrub large enough

for birds to nest.

Jesus paints a picture of astonishing contrast beginning with

small beginnings to abundant

endings. The disciples

could hardly imagine where this little movement of fishermen

and tax collectors, ordinary people,

and a carpenter from Nazareth could lead.

Jesus offers them words of encouragement,

do not overlook the small things, do not overlook

the little beginnings.

Then Jesus says, the kingdom of heaven is like yeast.

Yeast?

What does yeast have to do with the kingdom of God? A woman mixes it

into some flour and nothing dramatic seems

to be happening. She seems— she simply goes about

her work and quietly and patiently the dough begins

to rise. Jesus never seems

anxious about the slow things. Of the

kingdom of God. Give it some time.

I remember standing in our kitchen as a little young'un

watching my mother bake some bread, and she says,

now Spence, come over here, and if you'll stand by this oven, you will

watch, you'll get to see what happens to this bread.

And so little Spence got a little chair, pulling it on over,

and I just sat there and watched.

And I watched,

dangling my feet, I watched a little more.

Eventually, I found myself wandering back into the living room watching

some television instead. Some things

happen too slowly to watch. The kingdom of heaven is

like yeast, and that is And that is difficult for people like us.

We measure nearly everything by immediacy,

whether it's attendance or budget, followers, productivity.

If something doesn't happen quickly, we wonder whether anything is

happening at all. Jesus doesn't

seem to be worried about the slow work

of God.

That love grows slowly,

that faith grows slowly, that forgiveness works

slowly, and so does the kingdom.

Then Jesus tells of a man working in a field.

He's not searching for treasure, he's simply doing his work.

He's plowing, he's digging, working another ordinary day.

And then suddenly, he discovers some hidden treasure.

Likewise, another man spends his life searching for fine pearls.

He looks everywhere, high and low, until one day he finds one beyond

all comparison. One stumbles

upon the kingdom, the other spends his

life searching for it. One discovers it unexpectedly,

and one finds it at long last.

Different paths, but the same joy.

Ah, the kingdom.

And then Jesus says that the kingdom of heaven is like a net,

like a stinky, fishy fishing net.

What could possibly— how could this possibly have anything to do with

God's kingdom? The net is cast wide gathering

fish of every kind, but notice what comes first,

it's the gathering.

The sorting comes later, we're really good at sorting,

but if we notice what happens first is that the net is cast

And the kingdom is open to all. The kingdom

is gathering all. It's in every one

of these parables, as short snippets as they are, that Jesus points to the

ordinary, uses the ordinary, a seed, yeast,

treasure, pearls, a fishing net, using ordinary people,

ordinary work, ordinary days. And perhaps

the kingdom has been here All along then,

perhaps what we need are eyes to

see. Martin Luther once

observed that God delights in hiding himself beneath

ordinary things, not because God enjoys

remaining hidden, but because that is where love

is found.

The world sees only water when

we gather in this place, but God

joins ordinary water with words of promise in

holy baptism. The world sees only bread

and wine when we gather, but Christ joins himself at

the table in, with, and under the elements, and through that there's

the promise of presence.

The world only sees some wood put

together, driven into the ground,

and there is a cross where we see

that God brings salvation to the world through

some wood. Perhaps Jesus has

been preparing us all along to

see things a certain way, teaching us

to recognize the kingdom hidden underneath

water and bread and wine and wood.

I'll share a story. He was a seminarian,

It was his internship year. His supervising pastor

called one afternoon and said, you need to go see Billy.

He's in the hospital, he's in room 212,

and he doesn't have very long. So the seminarian

went, and nervous as could be, went, and this

would be his first visit alone. Without the supervisor,

without the pastor, he was on his own. This poor pitiful seminarian

was on his own. The seminarian had sung

in the choir with Billy, he had sat beside Billy in Sunday school,

he had eaten supper at Billy's home, and he knew

that Billy's health was declining.

He knocked gently on the hospital door.

He poked his head in and he said, hey, Billy, it's the

seminarian. Billy looked

up, but memory was gone.

Facial recognition was gone. Conversations disappeared almost

as soon as it began.

The seminarian tried as

best as he could to To visit,

to be present, to listen.

The seminarian tried to make a conversation,

tried to fix what couldn't be fixed.

Finally discouraged and unsure whether the visit had accomplished anything,

he reached out into his communion

kit, and he placed a small little piece of bread into

Billy's trembling hands and quietly

said, the body of Christ given for

you, Billy.

Billy looked down at the bread, and with tear-filled

eyes he said, that's Jesus.

And to which I said,

yeah, that's Jesus.

Not remembering my name, not recognizing faces,

not knowing where he was at, unable to hold conversation,

yet holding some ordinary bread,

he was able to say, that's Jesus.

Even through the fog, even through memory's

darkness, there quietly, faithfully, there was

the kingdom of heaven hidden beneath

some ordinary bread.

Tomorrow, which is Monday,

you'll probably feel like it's an ordinary day,

You will wake up to the beams of sunlight slipping through the blinds, and you'll

maybe smell the making of coffee in the kitchen.

And at some point, you'll step outside onto the canvas of

God's creation.

And there, as you survey the portrait of your own life,

may you see beyond seed and yeast and treasure and pearls

and wine and bread and wood and And may

you notice, may you notice the

sun shimmering where

you least expect it, glowing,

glistening, gleaming, glimmering upon your life,

upon this world.

And may you find yourself saying,

That's Jesus.

That's the kingdom.

The painting hasn't changed, only the way we

see it has.

Thanks be to God.

Will you pray with me?

Gracious God, open the eyes

of our hearts that we may

see your kingdom hidden in the ordinary moments of our lives.

When the seed seems too small, give us hope.

When the work seems too slow, give us patience.

When the treasure is hidden, give us eyes to recognize its worth.

When we are searching, lead us to the pearl beyond all price.

When your nets gather people different from ourselves,

give us hearts as wide as your mercy.

Teach us to recognize your presence in water and bread and wine

and wood and neighbors and strangers,

in moments of joy and seasons of sorrow.

Tomorrow when we wake up to another ordinary day, may we notice

your light glistening all around us and with thankful hearts

whisper, that's Jesus,

for your kingdom is already among us. Through Jesus

Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the

Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

Amen.