What Does the Kingdom of God Look Like in Your Life?

I’m walking the narrow cobblestone streets of Lucerne on another gray winter morning morning. As I head towards coffee and the bridges that cross the Reuss river in the old town I’m listening to Pray as You Go, a simple devotional app that reads a passage of Scripture from the lectionary twice, with pauses and a couple of questions for reflection.

The passage that comes through my ear buds this morning is Mark 4:26-34 about how the Kingdom of God is like seed scattered on the ground, and more specifically like a tiny mustard seed.

Jesus said, “How can I describe the Kingdom of God? What story should I use to illustrate it?  It is like a mustard seed planted in the ground. It is the smallest of all seeds, but it becomes the largest of all garden plants…”

Mark 4:30-32

I’m crossing the foot bridge now as soothing British voice says, “Both stories talk about the astonishing process of growth. What do you think this ‘Kingdom of God’ is?”

On the bridge is a scraggly old man I often see who approaches me saying something in German. I assume he’s homeless and asking for a handout, but it’s possible he’s selling insurance.

I mumble “Kein Deutsch” (no German) and hurry by, leaving the man alone as I listen to my lesson about JESUS.

I continue to reflect about how the Kingdom of God is wherever His love and His will prevail. I think about how this passage is a reminder that even tiny acts of love advance the kingdom in boardrooms and bodegas, hospice rooms and high school gyms, on Capitol Hill and in car pools.

Maybe scattering kingdom seed looks like asking questions rather than judging an acquaintance today. Maybe it looks like bringing a pot of soup to a new mom, or holding door open, or writing a note to an elected official, or speaking words of affirmation.

“Yep”, I think, figuratively giving Him a thumbs up. “Good reminder, Lord!”

And then as I step off the bridge, leaving the man behind, shame hits me like a wrecking ball. I realize I’m the priest who scurried past the beaten up man on the road to Jericho in “the Good Samaritan”.

I’m contrite and embarrassed, but I’m also not sure what to do.

“Lord. Please forgive me! But I don’t speak German! I don’t know what he wants! He may want to grab me or my purse. He may be mentally unstable. There’s no one else around if I need help.”

I picture Jesus on the bridge with this man, lingering with him.

I head to the bakery, buy a chocolate croissant, and bring it back. I look at this man, made in the image of Jesus as I offer what I have, and say one of my few German phrases:

“Einen schönen Tag Noch.”

Have a good day.

And I pray, “Lord help me to scatter kingdom seed today.”