To what shall we compare the kingdom of Heaven?

I’ve always loved farmers markets. This is the first summer since we moved back to Tennessee that we haven’t had a spot at the one in Jackson, and I miss it. I miss helping people pick out the right tomato plant. I miss the banter and the gorgeous, locally grown food and flowers. Several years ago I realized why I find farmers markets so appealing. Visit one anywhere in the U.S. and you’ll find a hybrid or an EV parked next to a vehicle with a not-so-efficient gas engine. UT Vols stickers and Alabaman stickers and Jesus Loves You stickers all cling to vehicles in the same parking lot. Homeschool families mingle with public school families, clamber for a basket of fresh, local strawberries or perfect summer tomatoes. People speaking languages from five continents stand patiently in line for a donut the size of a child’s head.

Farmers markets are one of the few places where we can gather together and forget that we’re supposed to be mean, that we’re supposed to mistrust people who are different from us. We forget, for an hour or two, the hyperbolic voices that divide the world into people who are right and people who are wrong. Pacifists sell pastries to veterans; vendors holding views across our political spectrum are content to accept EBT (formerly known as food stamps) for their wares. People of all ages share their art with the community, and everyone claps for a tentative 10-year-old singing or dancing for the sake of community creativity. I love the farmers market because for those few hours we revel in God’s creation and creativity as reflected in our nearly infinite human diversity. In the hours the market is open we don’t care who you plan to vote for, come over here and smell these peaches. Rejoice with us in the absolute glory of fresh, summer produce and the God whose world this is.

In his parables, Jesus consistently overturns people’s expectations. When a man in agony sits bleeding in the gutter, those whom we’d expect to be righteous fail a basic test of righteousness (caring for a person in need) while the one we’d least expect to be holy proves himself the hero. Another throws a banquet and invites the folks who’d appear in polite society, but the folks who respond to the invitation are the kind of folks who these days might face arrest for not having a home. When we read the parables, we always see ourselves as the returning prodigal while Jesus asks us to repent of being the older brother. The kingdom of heaven is always surprising, always showing unexpected grace, always wider than we can imagine. As often as Jesus looks to overturn expectations through the parables, perhaps we should hold our own expectations a little more loosely. Even the makeup of the original 12 disciples defies expectations. Zealots and tax collectors, following the same rabbi? How often can we say the same about our own congregations?

The kingdom of heaven isn’t a membership warehouse, a discount store, or an elite natural grocer. It’s a farmers market. A surprising and unlikely collection of people who find welcome and common purpose regardless of our differences. Unlike most upstanding citizens of his time, Jesus didn’t cross out of Samaria to avoid the wrong kind of people. He spoke with a woman at a well, ate with local leaders and local charlatans. He gathered the perpetually unclean and the religious leaders whose preoccupation with cleanliness clouded their eyes to true holiness. In our quest to be faithful, to make sure we’re following an orthodox path, we can very easily do the same. We can place so much emphasis on human characteristics and human loyalties that we position ourselves to be surprised by Grace that sees past all the barriers we’ve tried to enforce. It’s that Grace that invites us to join others from the other side of all the metaphorical and literal walls humans have built into one eternal celebration of God’s goodness. I have not seen heaven, though my soul longs for it. We can, as the song goes, only imagine. And I imagine something that’s a lot like a farmers market. A place where we celebrate the Giver of Abundant Life and enjoy a world unmarred by sin. A place where the strawberries are always in season, a place where flowers and art and music are freely offered and joyously shared, where the donut line is never too long and the sun is never too hot. And most of all, a place where humans from all walks of life thrive together. To what shall we compare the kingdom of heaven? Like all parables, this analogy offers only a glimpse of the kingdom, a finite idea that helps us understand an infinite reality. But to me, the Kingdom of Heaven is like a farmers market.

Mary Beth Eberle is the pastor at Grace UMC Jackson and the Director of the Wesley Foundation at UM Lambuth. Contact her at freerangepastors@gmail.com.