How To Seek (And Find) The Kingdom

In pubs, coffee shops, and all the places we aren't looking

While I’m taking a much-needed Sabbath pause this week, I’ve got one more essay from the archives for you. Stumbled across this one when I needed it again, which felt like another verse of the same song.

You might have a story like this, too. I’d love to hear it.

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Let me tell you a story about the kingdom of God.

Let it start small—like a mustard seed or a lost coin. See if it blossoms into something bigger or adds up to anything more.

Once upon a long-ago time, on a rare warm day, in a rare free hour, my husband and I went to lunch. Alone, which means together, without the many delightful children who ring round our kitchen table day and night.

We sat at a pub and relished juicy sandwiches, cold drinks sweating in the sun. We laughed, we talked. As we finished and readied to go—back to work for him, off to school pickup for me—we asked the server for the check.

She shook her head with a smile.

You’re all taken care of.

We looked at each other, confused.

Someone bought your lunch. You’re free to go. Have a wonderful day.

We looked at each other again, even more confused. We looked around the restaurant. Who? Why? Then I remembered: we’d run into neighbors when we first arrived, chatted about school and sports.

“It must have been our neighbors?” I offered, hoping she’d let slip the secret.

Oh no, she laughed. Not your neighbors. She smiled again, then left us to our wonder.

Why did she laugh? Was that a clue? It must have been our neighbors. But we saw them leave right after we arrived: how could it be?

I started scanning the room, scheming. The older couple at the next booth—maybe it was them? Had we reminded them of themselves from long ago?

Or had it been the family at the other table, the ones whose conversation had been so rough at times that I raised my eyebrows and tried not to eavesdrop? Was this a reminder not to be quick to judge?

My vision of the room rippled and changed. Anyone could have been the generous gift-giver. Any stranger could have been kind as a neighbor.

Anything was possible.

//

I stepped into sunlight after we said our goodbyes, still shaking our heads at such a small, surprising turn. The boost of kindness shared, unearned, enjoyed.

A single thought flashed into my mind at the intersection, waiting at a red light:

This is what the kingdom feels like.

How strange; I shook it off. It was only a thoughtful turn, not a transformed world.

As I cruised the interstate, I noticed I had a few extra minutes before carpool began. Could I zip through the coffee shop and grab a drink for the afternoon’s work? I decided to chance it, took the turn to the drive-thru, ordered a chai, pulled up to the window.

A teenager leaned over the ledge and handed me the cup.

You’re all set. They bought your drink.

She pointed to the minivan ahead of mine. I saw my friend’s hand wave as she drove off, heading to the same school where I was going.

I burst out laughing. I laughed so loud the barista must have thought I was crazy. People buy coffee for strangers sometimes; it happens; just smile and go.

But to have this happen twice? In one afternoon? When I’d never had it before?

This is what the kingdom feels like.

The quiet thought showed up again, unbidden as I turned back toward the road. This time I said out loud (to my empty minivan): “Honestly, God, what is that supposed to mean?”

Receiving what is given. Accepting what is unearned. Friends and strangers taking care of each other. Kindness as currency. Small acts as seedbeds.

What more could you want?

Plenty, I wanted to protest. I want the Kingdom to mean monumental: casting down the mighty from their thrones, lifting up the lowly, giving food to the hungry, sending the rich away empty.

Yes, that, too. But this, too.

A mustard seed of kindness. A coin of compassion. A pinch of leaven to make the day’s dough rise.

Sometimes on grouchy afternoons, when I’m tempted to abandon all hope at the current smoldering state of the world, I float back to that day of sunlight, surprises, small hints about the Kingdom of God.

Does transformation start this tiny? A seed planted. A meal given. A drink offered.

Meager and mighty. Preached long-ago and pulsing among us. Impossible and possible. Already and not-yet.

You’re all taken care of. Someone bought your lunch. You’re free to go. Have a wonderful day.

For behold, the kingdom of God is among you (Luke 17:21).

Life is short, indeed. Carpe this.