St. John’s Lutheran Church
Albany, New York
26 July 2026 + The Ninth Sunday after Pentecost
Proper 12 / Lectionary 17a
Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52
The Rev. Josh Evans

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So far,
“the kingdom of heaven” has been like:

A sower who went out to sow.
And as they sowed, some seeds fell on the path,
others on rocky ground,
still others among thorns,
and, finally, others on good soil.

And like:

Someone who sowed good seed in her field,
but while everybody was asleep,
an enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat.
“Do you want us to go do some weeding?” the slaves of the householder ask.
No.

And then, in rapid-fire succession, like:

A mustard seed.
Yeast.
Hidden treasure.
A pearl-hunting merchant.
A net full of fish.

Have you understood all this?

I imagine the collective look
on the disciples’ faces –
staring blankly around at each other
for a facial cue, a gesture, anything:
What do we say?

“Yes,” one of them timidly ekes out.
“Yes,” they repeat, another joining in,
and another, and another,
nodding, the collective group-think
offering a (hesitant) united front.

Have you understood all this?
Yes…? Yes. Definitely…yes.

Really?
I’m not so convinced.
And I don’t think Jesus was either.

There’s a reason we have seven parables
in the span of one chapter.
Different images,
different stories,
different explanations
will appeal to different people.

“Parables are not riddles with one correct answer,”
one pastor reminds us.
“They are invitations into deeper reflection.
A baker may hear something in the yeast that we miss.
A fisherman may notice details in the net
that escape someone who has never cast one.
But someone new to it all might hear possibilities
we’ve never even thought of.
Every time we return to these stories,
another facet of the kingdom catches the light.”

The kingdom of heaven is like
an extravagant sower
sowing seed, no matter the terrain,
because that’s what God’s love is like:
There is enough – and then some –
to go around,
so that all might experience it,
no matter who they are
or where they find themselves.

The kingdom of heaven is like
a field of wheat and weeds that are allowed to grow together,
not because the farmer is bad at their job,
but because the farmer is patient –
because that’s what God,
who is full of mercy
and abounding in steadfast love, grace, and forgiveness,
is like.

The kingdom of heaven is like
a tiny mustard seed
that takes over like an invasive species
until it is everywhere –
offering in its branches
a welcome respite for every bird of the air.

The kingdom of heaven is like
a woman who sneaks a handful of yeast
into “three measures” – around fifty pounds – of flour,
yielding enough bread
to feed the entire neighborhood.

The kingdom of heaven is like
someone who sells everything she has
to buy a single field with a hidden treasure,
or a merchant who likewise sells everything he has
to buy a single pearl –
because that’s how valuable and precious and life-giving it is.

The kingdom of heaven is like
a net thrown into the sea,
pulling in fish “of every kind” together,
before any talk of separation of “good” and “bad.”

The kingdom of heaven is
extravagant – sowing in abundance,
merciful – patiently tending to wheat and weed alike,
pervasive – offering shelter to all,
hospitable – offering bread for all.

The kingdom of heaven
is hidden in plain sight – among us here –
in the ordinary stuff of life,
in the places we least expect.

The kingdom of heaven
draws each of us in together –
the wheat, the weed, the good, the bad,
the doubting skeptic, the unflinching adherent.

The kingdom of heaven is subversive –
upending our expectations of what is possible,
always surprising,
reminding us of the wild, untamable nature
of God’s ways.

“Is this how the world is?”
we ask, as we look around
at the injustice, the brokenness, the despair
of it all.

“This is how the world can be,”
these parables tell us:
doubling down on the extravagant, abundant nature
of God’s limitless love
and fierce and tender mercy.

“What is the world like
when God’s will is done?”
the hymn sings
and the parables invite us
to consider.

This is what the kingdom of heaven is like:
too abundant to put false limits on,
too plentiful to be concerned with where it lands or who “deserves” it,
too surprising to be predictable,
showing up in the most ordinary of places –
in a field, in a kitchen,
in the waters, around the table –
pointing us to an extraordinary love.