There is something wonderfully understated about the kingdom of God.
We tend to imagine that if God is going to do something important, there ought to be trumpets.
At the very least, there should be an announcement.
Preferably printed in the bulletin.
Perhaps with a reminder the week before, because experience has taught the Church that even the Second Coming might suffer from poor attendance if it were not properly advertised.
But Jesus seems remarkably uninterested in our enthusiasm for spectacle.
Again and again, he describes the kingdom of God using surprisingly ordinary things: seeds, bread, yeast, vineyards, sheep, coins, meals, children, neighbours.
Apparently, God has chosen to redeem the world using precisely the sorts of things we routinely overlook.
Which may explain why we sometimes miss the kingdom altogether.
The Great Temptation of Somewhere Else
We are now well into this strange little stretch of November between the great company of saints and the approaching feast of Christ the King.
The saints have reminded us of those who have gone before us.
Christ the King will remind us where everything is ultimately headed.
And here we are in the middle.
Waiting.
Watching.
Wondering.
There is a temptation in seasons like this to assume that the important thing is still coming.
Once Advent begins.
Once Christmas arrives.
Once the Church year turns.
Once circumstances improve.
Once the difficult conversation is finished.
Once the doctor calls.
Once the children settle down.
Once the parish gets organized.
Once the kitchen renovation is finally completed, which according to ancient Christian tradition occurs shortly after the resurrection of the dead.
Then, perhaps, life will begin.
But one of the great spiritual discoveries is that God rarely waits for ideal circumstances.
God appears in the life we actually have.
Not the life we planned.
Not the life we imagine everyone else is enjoying.
This one.
Today.
The Kingdom Has a Habit of Sneaking In
Jesus once said that the kingdom of God does not come with things that can be observed in the obvious way.
People will not be able to point dramatically and say, “There it is!”
Because, Jesus says, the kingdom of God is already among you.
That is an astonishing claim.
It means that while we are waiting for God to arrive, God may already be sitting at the table.
While we are praying for the kingdom to come, someone may already be living it beside us.
Someone forgives.
The kingdom comes.
Someone feeds a hungry neighbour.
The kingdom comes.
Someone sits quietly beside a grieving friend without attempting to explain the inexplicable.
The kingdom comes.
Someone refuses to repeat the delicious piece of gossip they have just received, thereby performing one of the more advanced miracles of Christian discipleship.
The kingdom comes.
Someone chooses kindness when irritation would have been easier.
Someone tells the truth when dishonesty would have been profitable.
Someone welcomes the person everyone else has overlooked.
Someone prays for an enemy and, perhaps even more impressively, manages not to add instructions for God about precisely how that enemy should be improved.
The kingdom comes.
Quietly.
Almost unnoticed.
God Seems Unreasonably Fond of Small Things
This is difficult for us because we are impressed by size.
We count attendance.
We count money.
We count followers.
We count views.
We count buildings and programs and accomplishments.
And there is nothing inherently wrong with counting things. Even the Book of Numbers eventually found a publisher.
But God seems strangely unimpressed by our statistics.
Jesus speaks instead about mustard seeds.
A little yeast.
A widow’s coins.
A cup of cold water.
Five loaves and two fish.
Things so small that sensible people would hardly bother mentioning them.
Yet the Gospel insists that these are precisely the places where God’s kingdom begins.
Perhaps this is because love usually begins small.
A phone call.
A casserole.
A hand on a shoulder.
A name remembered.
A door held open.
A prayer whispered when nobody else knows.
None of these will make the evening news.
But heaven notices.
And sometimes the kingdom of God advances through something as simple as one human being deciding that another human being matters.
Christ the King Is Coming
Soon we will arrive at Christ the King Sunday.
It is a magnificent feast.
Christ enthroned.
Christ reigning.
Christ gathering all creation into the purposes of God.
But there is a wonderful irony hidden inside the feast.
The King we celebrate is Jesus.
And Jesus does not reign the way the world expects kings to reign.
His throne is a cross.
His crown is made of thorns.
His royal court includes fishermen, tax collectors, women of questionable reputation, children, lepers, foreigners, and several disciples who appear to have spent much of their ministry misunderstanding nearly everything.
Which should give the rest of us considerable hope.
The kingdom of Christ is not built through domination.
It grows through love.
It does not conquer through fear.
It transforms through mercy.
It does not announce, “Look how powerful I am.”
It kneels with a towel and washes feet.
That is our King.
And if we want to recognize his kingdom, we must learn to look where he taught us to look.
Among the poor.
Beside the lonely.
Around the table.
In acts of forgiveness.
In unexpected generosity.
In ordinary people choosing extraordinary kindness.
Perhaps Nothing Spectacular Will Happen Today
November 14 may not become famous.
Historians may not devote entire chapters to it.
There may be no trumpet blast from heaven before supper.
The clouds may remain stubbornly ordinary.
And that is perfectly all right.
Because somewhere today someone will forgive.
Someone will feed another person.
Someone will make peace.
Someone will speak courage into another person’s fear.
Someone will pray.
Someone will choose compassion.
Someone will discover that they are not alone.
And somewhere, perhaps without anyone noticing, the kingdom of God will come a little closer.
That may be how Christ reigns most often.
Not with spectacle.
Not with thunder.
But quietly.
Patiently.
Gracefully.
One life at a time.
So perhaps our prayer today need not be, “God, show me something extraordinary.”
Perhaps it can simply be:
“God, teach me to notice where your kingdom is already coming—and give me the courage to join in.”
Because the King is coming.
And, wonderfully enough, his kingdom is already here.
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Companion Prayer
God of mustard seeds and ordinary moments,
open our eyes to your kingdom already among us.
Teach us to recognize Christ in small acts of mercy,
quiet kindness, generous tables, and unexpected grace.
Give us courage not merely to notice your kingdom,
but to join in its coming.
Through Jesus Christ, our servant King. Amen.