Woman’s Work
Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52
He put before them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in his field; it is the smallest of all the seeds, but when it has grown it is the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches.”
He told them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with three measures of flour until all of it was leavened.”
“The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which a man found and reburied; then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field.”
“Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls; on finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it.”
“Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a net that was thrown into the sea and caught fish of every kind; when it was full, they drew it ashore, sat down, and put the good into baskets but threw out the bad. So it will be at the end of the age. The angels will come out and separate the evil from the righteous and throw them into the furnace of fire, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.”
“Have you understood all this?” They answered, “Yes.” And he said to them, “Therefore every scribe who has become a disciple in the kingdom of heaven is like the master of a household who brings out of his treasure what is new and what is old.”
Sermon
Here we have five parables. Some might be familiar, with others a little less so. Oftentimes, we stick to just the parable of the mustard seed, or just the parable of the pearl of great price. But today, the lectionary has grouped each of them together — drawing our attention to them not in isolation, but as a whole. There’s something we gain from reading them together.
That begs the question… what do we find uniting these texts? What meaning seems to span across them?
Well, to start, it might seem obvious, but Jesus tells us what these parables are all about: the kingdom of heaven. Yes — it’s about the realm of God. That place where everything exists according to God’s plan. We might call it harmony. Perfection. Right-side-upeddness. The kingdom of heaven is where we find God’s plan blossoming.
Imagine a life, and planet, and society where nothing goes wrong. Imagine a place good beyond your wildest imagination, where the prayers of the people are only joys, and never concerns. Imagine God being so close, so present, so real, that you never wondered where God was in your life.
This kingdom of heaven is what Jesus is trying to fix our attention on.
And among other things, what is Jesus trying to say about this kingdom of heaven? About this realm and fruition of God’s plan?
Across each of these parables, the kingdom of heaven is hidden. It’s like a seed planted deep in the ground. Or yeast, invisibly worked into dough. Or buried treasure. Or a net, submerged deep into the sea.
Even though each of these parables has its own distinctive meaning, this hiddenness of God’s kingdom is part of what binds them together. This hiddenness is challenging news for us, but it also has the potential to free us.
So often, we desperately long to see the plan of God — to see how the kingdom of heaven is unfolding in our personal lives. We look for signs of direction, and purpose, and little “God moments” or “God things” that prove that everything happens for a reason.
But if we take these parables seriously—and we take this hiddenness seriously—we come to the realization that sometimes, we can’t see the kingdom of heaven coming about. Maybe we aren’t able to see the gardening that God is doing.
When we let go of this need to connect all the dots, and let go of this compulsion to find evidence that everything happens for a reason, we might find acceptance unfolding within our hearts. Because if the kingdom of heaven is hidden from us, we can rest in the fact that it is still growing, even when we can’t see it. God is still doing something, even when it feels like God has stopped trying to fix things.
So when we feel stuck on a merry-go-round of health issues, we don’t have to put on a brave face and look on the bright side. Rather, we can accept that cancer diagnoses and progressive diseases and chronic illness absolutely suck. And yet, God is still at work in our lives. God is still lovingly tending and pruning and watering the seeds of the heaven within our lives and this world.
When addiction seems to consume everything and everyone around it, we don’t have to say “everything happens for a reason” and figure out some sort of positive spin. Rather, we lament. Or bring holy anger to God. Or pray for rescue, and hope in heaven even when it seems like a lost cause. Because even though we struggle to see God in any of it, it doesn’t mean God has abandoned us. Sometimes it means God is working in the very soil beneath our feet, desperately striving against all odds to grow the seeds of heaven in rocky, shallow, brokenhearted soil.
We might not see any reason to hope in our lives. But just because we don’t see it, doesn’t mean there’s not a reason to hope anyway.
“If the kingdom of heaven is hidden from us, we can rest in the fact that it is still growing, even when we can’t see it. God is still doing something, even when it feels like God has stopped trying to fix things.”
But let’s turn our attention to one of these parables: the parable of the yeast.
Like the other parables, it’s certainly about this hidden kingdom of heaven, that seems to grow slowly, invisibly, unexpectedly. But it has some other qualities that make it remarkable, despite this parable being overlooked historically.
Jesus is pointing to a kingdom of heaven in really weird, whacky, unexpected places. For starters, he points to yeast. And Jesus mentions yeast elsewhere in the gospels, and we might be more familiar with his other mention of it. In Matthew, Mark, and Luke, Jesus offers a warning: “Watch out, and beware of the yeast of the Pharisees and Sadducees.” (Matt. 16:6-12)
In the gospels, but in the broader context that Jesus lived in, yeast was not a good symbol. It was a symbol of corruption: of something that slowly, invisibly changes and transforms anything it touches. A little bit of corruption, or a little bit of yeast, affects the whole. You can’t unleaven bread once yeast has made its way into the dough.
After using this strange symbol of corruption, Jesus also says that the kingdom of heaven is brought about by a woman. In this ancient context, Jesus is placing a woman at the epicenter of divine activity. Through this comparison, Jesus is arguably describing God—the God who brings about this kingdom of heaven—as a woman. Yes, this woman, who can’t testify in a Jewish court of law, who doesn’t have a vote, who doesn’t have a voice, who is disenfranchised from the entire economic system, this woman is how the kingdom of heaven is baked up.
And then…this parable is intensified even further by the nature of the work itself. For his ancient audience, Jesus isn’t describing the kingdom being brought about by “real” work, like farming, or craftsmanship, or buying and selling. The kingdom of heaven is brought about by domestic work. The work of a housewife. “Woman’s work.”
The kingdom of heaven is brought about by this labor that had no economic value attached to it, no status, no respect, no honor to it. It was thankless, invisible work that was taken for granted by society and the powerful.
This yeast—invisibly changing the dough—and this woman—invisibly laboring in mundane, ordinary ways—are the locus of God’s own divine, saving work in the world.
“The kingdom isn’t being brought about by ‘real’ work, like farming, or craftsmanship, or buying and selling. The kingdom of heaven is brought about by domestic work. The work of a housewife. ‘Woman’s work.’”
When I was interviewing here, one of the members of the Pastor Nominating Committee asked, “how can you tell if someone is a person of faith?” I considered the question, and as I remember it, I gave this answer: “You know someone is a person of faith by seeing how they treat their barista or restaurant waiter.”
And I think that’s pertinent to this parable.
Because God’s work in this world—God’s hidden, mundane, thankless work in this world—happens through those people and tasks that are anything but glamorous. God’s transformation happens in unlikely places, through unlikely people, in unexpected tasks. God shows up as a woman doing domestic labor, working yeast into bread for her family, who may not notice the sacredness of her love and provision.
After all, isn’t that what makes churches thrive? Not by doing the fun, glamorous ministry. But the unglamorous, underappreciated, undervalued ministry.
Patching holes, installing bollards, calling insurers, and getting masonry estimates aren’t glamorous jobs. They don’t always receive the thanks they deserve, or the respect they earn.
Counting offerings after worship, poring over paperwork, lining up volunteers for children’s sermons, or editing together iPad videos aren’t always seen as the ministry they are.
Because we often forget that making bread, that doing the thankless, ordinary chores, are precisely how God shows up in this world. How we treat those jobs, and the people who hold those jobs, are how others will know that we are people of faith.
When we see God in our baristas, and cleaners, and volunteers, we will start to reorient our hearts around the kingdom of heaven.
And when we help others do those tasks, and share in their burdens, we become more than mere laborers; we become co-conspirators in the very work of God.
“This yeast—invisibly changing the dough—and this woman—invisibly laboring in mundane, ordinary ways—are the locus of God’s own divine, saving work in the world.”
On the days when we feel overcome by the suffering of the world, maybe this is how we gain a little bit of security in its midst. When families start to fall apart, or finances start to choke us, or our grief or anxiety threatens to consume us, maybe we take a swing at baking some bread with God.
Because even though we can’t see the kingdom of heaven—even though we’ve lost track of where God put that mustard seed—it doesn’t mean we can’t pick up a watering can anyway. Maybe we cast our nets into the sea even though we don’t see those fish swimming below us. Maybe we do our best to be friends to bakers, and baristas, and waiters, and the Galilean fishermen of our lives.
I don’t know that it will fix anything. Or make the yeast work any faster.
But God doesn’t let it go to waste. God uses it to grow those seeds, and make loaves rise, and lift up nets full of fish. Because even when we don’t see it, or feel it, or know it, God doesn’t let anything go to waste in the kingdom of heaven. Not even “women’s work.”
