The kingdom of God (or the presence and power of God in our world) is a joyous thing for two reasons. First, it is something that grows “of its own accord,” whether we are awake to it or not. Second, when it grows, it grows almost imperceptibly, from nano-scale beginnings into something surprisingly grand.
To use another image, the kingdom of God is like the universe. Gaze at the evening sky long enough and you might notice something inexorable about the movement of the heavens. I mean, on their own steam, stars and galaxies do spin about at dizzying speeds even as you sleep, whether you gaze at them or not.
Secondly, the kingdom of God is like the universe when it was small. All this vastness seems to have been seeded from an infinitesimal point (also called a singularity by mathematicians, whatever that means). Amen, I tell you, the kingdom of God is like that tinier than tiny singularity. The stars you see strewn all over the evening sky once came from an explosion of that pinhead singularity. Amen I tell you, the presence and power of God is like the universe which surrounds you and which you know so little about.
How then can we rejoice over a kingdom that is likened to growing seeds or expanding universes?
In the first instance, by inference we know that if the kingdom of God grows “of its own accord” even while we sleep, even if we know not how, then the presence and power of God in our lives is something utterly gratuitous. It is given to us as gift, whether we are conscious of it or not. This benefaction is not a function of what we know or do or deserve.
It is like my recent trip to the dentist. The drowsiness must have been more compelling than the toothache because while my cavity was being treated, I fell asleep. When I woke up, the work was done. Incidentally, this also happens to me in the barber shop. I sit still and, whether I am awake or not, the work gets done. How can that not be a joyous thing?
Moreover, if God’s presence and power is like a growing seed, then there is a certain seasonality or ripeness to grace in our lives. Which means there is no short-circuiting the process of healing or redemption, even of forgiveness. That is consoling to most people who usually take a while to get things going.
“Of its own accord the land yields fruit, first the blade, then the ear, then the full grain in the ear. And when the grain is ripe, he wields the sickle at once, for the harvest has come.”
Which means if you want to be happy, you will first learn to be patient. You will first have to grasp the pace and rhythm with which real things grow in this world. You cannot rush the ripeness. There is a season to everything, including grace. Even love, like taste, is learned.
Because the kingdom of God is like a growing seed, there is at least direction (and even a sort of fidelity) to its growing, even if it takes time. To discern this direction, it helps to have a vision and a hope of what seeds can become. In other words, it helps to have some conviction (however tentative) about one’s destiny.
In the second instance, knowing the kingdom of God to be like a nano-seed that grows to something grand can be a source of gladness specially if you’ve been desperately looking everywhere for God. You may have been enthralled by the big stuff, thinking kingdoms cannot but be cosmic in scale. You may have grown big enough to believe that bigger is better, and that size matters. That would be frustrating because, strangely enough, in this world at least, small things are more plentiful than big things. Sand grains outnumber pebbles, as pebbles do stones, as stones do rocks, and so forth and so on.
For all the grace and impact of institutions and systems, we sometimes forget how these are forged from sparks that fly from the human heart. The prophet Elijah looked for God in the trembling of the earth, in the spectacle of fire and wind. He finally found God in a whisper.
Mother Teresa said it another way, “Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love.” To find God in all things, Ignatius Loyola counseled us to train our sights on las cosas pequeñas, the little things.
Little things like seeds that grow slowly are what the kingdom is like. The kingdom of God is not something instantaneous and immediately big.
We can find joy in all this because of what I call the grace geometric. The progression happens even as day follows night follows day. Whether you are awake to it or not, grace grows upon grace, as love flows upon love, as a seed grows to a surprising grandness in the ripeness and fullness of time.
* * *
Fr. Jose Ramon T Villarin SJ is President of the Ateneo de Manila University. For feedback on this column, email tinigloyola@yahoo.com