“It’s good to try to remember moments that are easily forgotten because it is within those moments that I suspect Jesus’ words ring the truest. “The kingdom of God is among you,” he remarked to the grumpy, pedantic, questions of his opponents. More interested in indulging their high-brow religiosity, the scared little boys who grew up to wear big black hats exposed their ignorance of mind and absence of heart as they blithered on right before the great I AM.
People hide behind all kinds of things; doors, clothes, calories, and questions. Were they really all that interested in the Kingdom of God? I suppose they’re not so different from me. I’d rather ask questions about things I really don’t care about so that I don’t have to ask the question that I need so desperately answered; namely, “Am I worthy love?”
On rare occasions, I am present enough in a moment to catch a glimpse of the Kingdom. It’s there and gone so quickly. Most of the time, I miss it, or better said, I forget to name it for what it really is. But today, I realize that I can be present in my memories and feel my way toward Home ahead by living in the Home behind.
My mother played the slightly out-of-tune piano in our little Baptist church off Main Street. I sat next to my father; he wore a heavily starched white shirt, red tie, black slacks, and nicely polished black shoes. He was handsome in his late thirties, with a full head of hair, a good-paying job, and a gentlemanly smile. He’d nicked his chin an hour earlier at home, leaning over the sink shaving. He quietly unwrapped the silver around the stick of Big Red gum. The smell of cinnamon lingered and the warm morning light spilled through the stained glass as the G sharp rang perfectly. I leaned on him. He’s been gone for nearly fourteen years.
I didn’t know that while I was sitting there on the church bench, I was knocking on the door of the Kingdom of God. Maybe it was knocking on me?
