KCL Chapel
Luke 13.18-21
Autumn term Sermon Series
14th October 2015
THE KINGDOM’S DIMENSIONS
Jesus said, “The kingdom of God is like a mustard seed that someone took and
sowed in the garden; it grew and became a tree, and the birds of the air made
nests in its branches.”
A few years ago two new passports were delivered to my house, but both were
for the same person. Because both her parents are British, my daughter Lucy
received her British passport as a British citizen by descent. But because she
was born in one of Her Majesty’s other realms, Lucy also received her Jamaican
passport as a Jamaican citizen by birth. She finds herself in that position in
which, perhaps, some of you find yourselves... She has two citizenships. One
part of her, perhaps the dominant (because it's the culture, the heritage, of most
of her immediate family and friends) is British. But another part of her, often
dormant but always there, will for ever belong somewhere else.
Abraham and Sarah (about whom we heard in the first lesson) are the forebears
of all those who belong to two countries, two kingdoms. They had a citizenship
in “Ur of the Chaldeans.” Presumably they had some sort of livelihood, they
had connections, they belonged. Yet they also responded to the call of God
which told them they belonged somewhere else as well.
The LORD's call is clear: “Go from your country and your kindred and your
father's house to the land that I will show you.” Sarah and Abraham left the
Chaldeans and became the father and mother, the first citizens, of a new nation.
And much of the first part of what we term the Old Testament tells of how,
through colonization and conquest, Abraham's and Sarah's descendants, the
children of Israel, took possession (to use a biblical phrase) of the land of
Canaan, a land sometimes called the Holy Land.
I wonder, however, is this really the lesson of scripture? Jesus said, “The
kingdom of God is like a mustard seed that grew and became a tree, and the
birds of the air made nests in its branches.”
The problem with a literal reading of God’s promise to Abraham and Sarah is
that the dimensions become too narrow. For the land of which
their descendants took possession wasn’t empty; it was, as the Bible states, “the
land of the Kenites, the Kenizzites, the Kadmonites, the Hittites, the Perizzites,
the Rephaim, the Amorites, the Canaanites, the Girgashites, and” (lest we
forget) “the Jebusites.” Was it the word of God to these people, that they should
surrender their homes, their livelihood, the product of their labours, to these
invading forces?
The answer to that is, I suspect, more of an essay for the AKC than a sermon.
But it is appropriate for us this afternoon at least to be aware of the danger of
taking such texts of Bible too literally and equating possession of land with will
of God.
No, the dimensions of God’s kingdom are greater, and not literal (and when we
equate God’s kingdom, which is at hand and is within us, with any powers of
this world, even with the Church, then we are in great danger). For there's
always the danger, when we believe that God is with us, that we have received
the blessing of God, that the Christ of God is therefore not with the other, with
the different, with the non-conformist (and we especially need to be careful
about attacking non-conformists). The dimensions of God’s kingdom are wider
than we could ever imagine.
Yet there’s another danger. St Paul the apostle once wrote that “our citizenship
is in heaven.” We can grasp the idea that God’s kingdom is, by intention for all,
that its dimensions are wide (as it were), but then limit it in other ways. And one
of the most dangerous today is, I believe, so to spiritualize the kingdom of God
that it is, quite literally, of no earthly use.
We need not worry ourselves about the state of this planet, about governments,
about politics, about human rights and responsibilities, about animal welfare,
about the environment. We needn't think about the state of things in that holy
land of which I’ve spoken, for it's all worldly, material, and “our citizenship is
in heaven” (or we misunderstand Jesus’ words to Pilate, “My kingdom is not
from this world”). Yet to equate this spirituality with the non-material and with
a non-involvement in this world, is to misunderstand very Gospel we wish to
proclaim.
So, if one danger, when we think of the dimensions of the kingdom, is to
become too literal with the material promises of God (and thus to exclude
others), and the other danger is to become too spiritual (in the popular meaning
of that word), what shall we do? Well, here we come to the Gospel.
Jesus said, “The kingdom of God is like a mustard seed that grew and became a
tree, and the birds of the air made nests in its branches... It is like yeast that a
woman took and mixed in with flour until all of it was leavened.”
The first image Jesus uses would’ve been well understood by his hearers, for his
Jewish contemporaries would’ve known that the branch in which all found
safety was a metaphor for Israel. According to the prophets, Israel was to be a
place of hospitality and inclusion for all, not a holy-huddle for a select few, not
a land possessed (if land can truly be possessed) by a religious elite. The
dimensions of this kingdom are to be broad and for all; all are welcome.
The second image Jesus uses is also clear, but also radical and, some would say,
threatening. To change the metaphor – manure is useful only when spread
around, not left standing, smelly and rotten, in one place. Yeast is mixed in,
kneaded in (forget that breadmaker; try it yourself), it grows, it flourishes, but it
brings life to the whole.., and then it is gone, and the yeast and the flour, the
water, the sugar, the salt, all have gone, and what’s left is something new.
My daughter Lucy belongs to two realms – one obvious and daily, one not
always so but for ever part of her life and heritage, and which defines her. Jesus
challenges us, from the securities of all the things to which we belong to
something new. To a kingdom of God which, as we’ve heard these last weeks,
is at hand, is within you, and which has dimensions which are limitless. They
began with God’s simple call to Abraham, but they become an invitation to all.
As inclusive as a tree whose branches have space for all; as radical as yeast,
which dies that something new might come.
Revd Dr Keith Riglin,
Chaplain to the St Thomas’ Campus