“The Kingdom of Heaven Is Like…”
Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52
Allen Huff
Jonesborough Presbyterian Church
8/17/14
A pastor friend of mine recently posted an article characterizing
churches that the author labels “ineffective.” According to the article, the
telltale mark of an ineffective church is a conspicuous turn inward. Inward-focused
churches tend to do things like wage “worship wars,” to spend an inordinately
high percentage of budget on facilities, and to pour more energy into holding
off change than into sharing the gospel.1 When a congregation
becomes entrenched in minutiae and power struggles for self-preservation, it loses
its faith because it has lost – or maybe it has even sold – its soul.
It is easy to say, “Well, that’s never going to be us.” But
no congregation intends to become
self-absorbed and ineffective. It is the kind of thing that sneaks up on a
group of people. Like botulism, it enters inconspicuously enough, then burrows
in to do its damage.
In the first century, says commentator David Waugh, “leavening…was
created by setting aside a portion of leftover bread to spoil…Not spoiled
enough, it is worthless…Allowed to spoil too long, it not only ruins the bread
but can result in food poisoning…Only a small portion,” says Waugh, “like a
mustard seed – is needed to leaven flour.”2
It can be difficult to trust that a small amount of
something can make a difference. That is true whether we are asked to trust
that some tiny act of love can do a world of good, or that some apparently
innocuous act of selfishness or fear will ultimately destroy an entire body.
More frequently than I like to admit, I wrestle with those
doubts. It usually happens when I open the paper, or turn on the computer or
the TV. And I don’t refer just to reports about war, and poverty, and such. Just
as disheartening is how much time, energy, money, and creative passion get
spent in pure consumerism and in cultural black holes like celebrity worship. When
witnessing all the attention to and praise of famous people, to their
ostentation and their extravagance, I often think, “Jesus doesn’t stand a
chance, anymore. If only he would tweet!”
I feel tiny and irrelevant in a world that will scream its
head off when Miley Cyrus or Ryan Gosling walks onto a stage. For those who
need a different reference, think Marilyn Monroe or Cary Grant. At that point
all of Jesus’ talk about mustard seeds, yeast, and pearls begins to fade into
cozy, wistful nostalgia like rotary phones and outhouses.
When church leaders, clergy and lay, allow such despair to overwhelm,
we inevitably lead congregations into the spiritual vacuum of self-righteous survivalism.
In that vacuum, a church mistakes life-support for life; but on life-support, all
we can do is turn inward and to try to fend off everything we hate and fear.
Then we wait for death to rapture us to “heaven,” our forever reward for being
good, or at least for not doing too much wrong – which often becomes a cover
for not really doing anything at all.
The Kingdom of Heaven has patience, but not for mere
survival. It is like a tiny seed, says Jesus, which grows into something tall,
and broad, and welcoming. It is like yeast writhing imperceptibly within the
dough, giving a brand new kind of life and purpose to flour. It is like giving
up all the best for something better. And this Kingdom is not up there somewhere. We inhabit the
Kingdom of Heaven in and through what often appears to be risky and rather un-churchlike
ways of being and doing, ways that the survivalist mentality will misunderstand
and even condemn. Isn’t this the way Jesus lives among the religious and
political authorities of his day?
Wendell Berry, long after creating his fictional town, Port
William, KY, wrote a stunning parable about a formative, Kingdom of Heaven moment
in the history of that community. Prior to this event, Port William has much in
common with other isolated backwaters. Violence often has its way on Saturday
afternoons when there isn’t much else to do. The county sheriff considers Port
William “beyond the law’s reach and certainly beyond its convenience – a source
of … never forseeable bad news.”3
Berry’s short story, entitled “Pray Without Ceasing,” recalls
a particular crime, the murder of Ben Feltner by Thad Coulter.
One Saturday morning, Thad visits Ben seeking help. Thad is
about to lose his farm, his home and his life’s work. The two men are friends,
but Thad’s whisky-drenched rants cause Ben to send him away until he sobers up.
Feeling shunned, Thad rages. That afternoon, in town, in front of many
witnesses, Thad Coulter rides his mule up to Ben Feltner and shoots him once in
the forehead.
When Ben’s grown son, Mat, sees his father’s body, and
hears the report of witnesses, he tears out on foot in the direction of the
killer’s escape. His Uncle Jack catches him, however, and holds the young man
back. During that brief struggle, a transformation occurs.
“Jack felt that his arms would pull apart at the joints. He
ached afterward. Something went out of him that day, and he was not the same
again. And what went out of Jack came into Mat. Or so it seemed, for in that
desperate embrace he became a stronger man than he been. A strength came into
him that held his grief and his anger as Jack had held him. And Jack knew of
the coming of this strength, not because it enabled Mat to break free but
because it enabled Jack to turn him loose…To Jack, it was as if he had caught
one man and let go another.”4
Thad “escapes” to the sheriff’s office in the county seat. Turning
himself in, he confesses to having killed his best friend. Learning of this, the
men of Port William gather into a vigilante crowd and go to the Feltner house.
They claim the right and the desire to avenge the murder that has happened in
their town. With Mat’s approval, they will take their rope and travel to the
jail that evening.
Mat Feltner, standing on his father’s porch and surrounded
by family, holds a long silence before the offer.
Finally he speaks. “No, gentlemen. I appreciate it. We all
do. But I ask you not to do it.”
His mother steps forward and asks the same. “Let us make
what peace there is left to make,” she pleads.
Then Mat invites the crowd: “If you want to, come and be
with us. We have food, and you all are welcome.”5
The story is narrated by Andy Catlett, the grandson of Mat
Feltner. However, because of the powerful yeast, and the mustard-seed grace of
that moment, Andy is also the grandson of Thad Coulter’s first cousin.
“My grandfather made a peace here that has joined many who
otherwise would have been divided,” says Andy. “I am the child of his
forgiveness.”6
Port William discovers a treasure, a most valuable pearl. The
discovery costs Ben Feltner his life. Claiming it costs Mat Feltner, and the
entire Port William community, the poisonous desire for revenge. Yet it creates
a re-defining memory within and for an entire community, a memory that reveals
to a group of neighbors the deeper and more gracious identity within them. It
is a memory that has the power to resurrect their God-imaged humanity. For
those who see, hear, and understand, it becomes a Kingdom of Heaven memory that
changes and redeems everything.
I certainly pray that it does not entail murder, but this
very week we will have the
opportunity to plant a mustard seed, or to knead a little yeast into some
dough.
This very week there is great treasure to be discovered in
some unexpected place. We may have to part with something as precious as pride
or rage, but no one makes it to Easter Sunday without passing through Good
Friday along the way.
And now, Jesus’ question: “Have you understood all this?”
Have we?
1http://www.churchpastor.com/2014/07/10-behavior-patterns-inwardly-focused-churches/?utm_source=facebook&utm_medium=fbpage&utm_campaign=cpupdate
2J. David Waugh, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting
on the Word, Westminster John Knox Press, 2011, p. 287.
3Wendell Berry, “Pray Without Ceasing,” Fidelity,
Pantheon Books, 1992, p. 46.
4Ibid., pp. 36-37.
5Ibid., pp. 57.
6Ibid., p 59.
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