The Kingdom: Unseen Power

Our church year began months ago in Advent, with John the Baptist standing in the wilderness and proclaiming that the Kingdom of God has come near. Since then, we have been winding our way through the life and ministry of Jesus, watching closely to see exactly how that Kingdom breaks in through Christ’s love and ministry.

It’s easy to see the Kingdom fulfilled in miraculous moments. When Jesus is out performing grand miracles—walking on water, feeding the multitudes, raising the dead, and walking out of the tomb on Easter morning. In those moments, when transformation is instant and miraculous, the Kingdom is easy to spot.

However, once we move away from the miracles—when the dramatic demonstrations end—the Kingdom can feel a whole lot less prevalent. In the quiet moments after the noise fades, our hearts can get sleepy. Doubts creep in. Frustration, angst, and despair set in.

The highs of Christmas, Easter, and Pentecost are wonderful. They allow us to loudly celebrate the love of our God, resting in the works of grace and mercy. But when those seasons end, we are left in Ordinary Time. Looking around at our sanctuary draped in Ordinary Green, it can be easy to forget the quiet work of God.

It’s tempting to assume that the Kingdom of God only happened instantly alongside Jesus in the Gospels, and then somehow stopped with Christ ascending. We look at a cold, divided, and often scary world and wonder: Where is God in the middle of all this? Is our faith actually making a dent, or are we just wasting our time?

John’s proclamation that “the Kingdom of God is here” was never meant to be a temporary show. It was a rallying cry that God is turning the world again—that a new way of love is reigning over our hearts and over the earth. God decided that the work of the Kingdom would no longer be stored far away in heaven, but entrusted to all the hearts willing to listen.

We are the people of God. Whether we feel ready for it or not, God has called us holy and beloved, charging us with the task of loving this world whole—of being grace, mercy, and compassion for everyone who needs it.

And I get it: it feels like a monumental task. We look at the scale of the world’s problems and cry out, “Why on earth has God chosen me? What can I possibly do with my one life?”

Think about what it’s like to build a puzzle.

A 1,000-piece puzzle takes time and tremendous patience. When you first dump all those pieces onto the table, it looks like complete chaos. You pick up one single, oddly-shaped piece, and it feels completely insignificant against the massive box top.

And everyone tackles a puzzle differently, don’t they? Some people obsessively sort and build the flat border pieces first to establish boundaries. Others group by distinct colors and start right in the middle. And some brave souls just grab pieces at random and go for it!

It’s different work, different entry points, and different paces—but it’s all moving toward the exact same outcome: a completed, beautiful picture.

The Kingdom of God works much the same way. We don’t all have the same gifts, the same roles, or the same methods. Some of us are called to be the sturdy border pieces—building safe structures of justice and community. Others are called to bring vibrant color in the middle through art, mercy, or caregiving. But we are all placing our small pieces onto the table of God’s world. The bigger picture we are building together isn’t ours to design—it’s the picture of God’s peace.

When we get frustrated by how long it’s taking or how small our piece seems, we are usually judging the puzzle before it’s finished. We confuse intrinsic value with public popularity, or we start measuring spiritual work using the world’s yardsticks—size, speed, noise, and immediate return on investment. In our world, the loudest voice often “wins,” and success is measured by grand scale. So when our quiet efforts don’t yield instant victories, we either lose heart or we start trying to control things ourselves—becoming harsh judges who try to sort out who is “in” and who is “out.”

But don’t let the world’s metrics distort your expectation of how God works. It feels unfair to read miraculous Bible stories and assume God’s love only happens in a flash or gives instant results.

In our Gospel reading today, Jesus gives us parable after parable—saying the exact same truth in five different ways. Where the world demands instant, loud results, God takes time. God operates invisibly and transforms quietly.

• The Mustard Seed & Leaven: Just like that single puzzle piece, the Kingdom doesn’t begin as a towering monument. It starts like a tiny seed buried in dark dirt, or a pinch of yeast worked into forty pounds of flour until it disappears. It operates deep beneath the surface—fermenting beneath the surface, quiet, relentless, and completely transformative.
• The Hidden Treasure & The Pearl: The Kingdom isn’t a rigid chore; it’s an unexpected discovery of such extravagant value that finding it fills us with profound joy. Giving up our old ways of measuring success to cling to it doesn’t feel like a sacrifice—it feels like finding true life.
• The Net & The Scribe: The Kingdom is like a wide dragnet cast into the sea, bringing up every kind of fish. And here is the shift: our job is simply to cast the net for righteousness, not to sort the catch. The sorting belongs to God.

The Kingdom of God is not a heavy burden we have to construct by our own anxious strength. It is a gift that claims us. Long before we were looking for God, God was already seeking us—giving up everything to gather us into love.

Seeking the Kingdom means seeking righteousness—which isn’t about rigid legalism, but about right relationships. It’s love in action. It’s opening our eyes to see the invisible ways grace is already leavening our neighborhoods through simple acts of mercy, hospitality, and daily faithfulness.

Like the wise scribe Jesus describes, we are invited to bring out of our treasure chest “things both new and old”—honoring the deep roots of our faith while staying alert to the fresh, surprising ways God’s Spirit is moving among us right now in Ordinary Time.

So have no fear. If you find yourself looking around this week wondering where God is, remember that the Kingdom of God comes with less theatrical worldly fanfare and far more quiet power. It asks us to trust that the path toward peace is being paved, and that mercy and justice are following alongside us every single day.

As we go out into the world this week, may we:

1. Trust the Small Beginnings. Bring your piece to the table this week—no matter how small or hidden it feels. Stop discounting your quiet prayers, your small acts of kindness, or your local efforts for justice. Buried seeds are not dead; they are growing. Fermentation takes time.
2. Cast the Net Wide. Stop pre-sorting people or deciding who is worthy of welcome. Cast the net of radical grace and hospitality for everyone, and leave the sorting to God.
3. Re-Evaluate Your Treasure. Take an honest look at where your heart and energy rest. What old priority can you let go of so you can step fully into the deep joy of God’s unfolding Kingdom?

Go into this week with patient expectation. God is already at work beneath the surface—quietly, stubbornly, and beautifully bringing life, hope, and wholeness to every corner of creation.