His Kingdom Will Grow Here.


A friend of mine reflects on an experience he had during his time of formation for the priesthood. His house of studies was located in a large metropolitan area. There wasn’t much of a backyard. Actually, it was a stone-covered dirt parking lot with no extra space. However, they actually planned a garden, taking into account the area that would receive optimal sunshine.

 

He and two fellow students approached the superior with a plan for a small area to plant some squash, tomatoes and cucumbers. The only real cost involved was to rent a rake, a pick-ax and a hoe. However, getting the superior’s permission was still difficult. None of them will ever forget his response to the request. With a slightly bored, tilting of his head he replied, “You’re wasting your time. Nothing will ever grow there! But go ahead if you still want to.”

 

My friend wrote, “We had received permission from on high! So what if it wasn’t enthusiastic. We rented tools; raked four inches of stones into neat walls outlining the garden; hoisted the pick-ax and struck what must have been a former refuse area. A gardener’s dream—dark, composted, fertile soil just sitting there waiting to be discovered. We looked at each other with broad grins and repeated in unison, ‘Ah, nothing will grow there.’

 

“As you might have surmised by now, things did grow there, in our garden. In fact, twice we re-staked the tomatoes, topping them off, finally, when they were seven feet tall. They seemed more like tomato trees than plants.”

 

Here's my friend’s conclusion to the story: “Isn’t it amazing how much can be learned from planting a garden—about life, about people? How often have you said to another person, whether elderly, middle aged, a teenager, or a child, that nothing will ever grow there? Perhaps all that is needed is for someone to help that person rake away some of the stones that are covering up the rich, fertile soil-of-life, just waiting to be discovered.”

 

Now, on that first Easter Sunday, Mary Magdalene goes to the tomb and finds that the stone has been rolled away! But she’s convinced that nothing much will come of it. As a matter of fact, she thinks there has been a grave robbery: “They have taken the Lord from the tomb, and we don’t know where they have put him.” No, she didn’t think much would grow from the story of an empty tomb.

 

When Jesus was crucified, and then buried, I’m pretty sure that the wind was gone from their sails. They loved the Lord; they believed in him. They even declared that he was the long-awaited Messiah. But now, things were different. Their hero had been put to death, and they hid in fear, not only discouraged and disappointed, but probably worrying that the same thing would happen to them because they were Jesus’ followers.

 

In recent months, I’ve observed an increase in anxiety, and even panic, among those who are fearful about what is happening to our government and our society. Even for people who are not anxious, I think you still have to admit that the situation we find ourselves in is not normal. When people tell me that they’re not looking forward to Easter dinner with extended family because they just can’t talk to each other anymore, I think that is a problem.

 

I found a thoughtful, brief reflection in a magazine I get by a Vietnamese professor of New Testament. He writes, “In these uncertain times, I look for witnesses who will guide me to a more hopeful future. I do so because I cannot overcome my anxieties alone. I recognize the affective, spiritual and communal dimensions of healing and recovery. When we heal and witness together, we are emboldened to witness the life-giving hope of the divine with the other more than ever” (Dong Hyeon Jeong, “Lions, Jackals, and a Bloodied Lamb,” Sojourners, April 2025, p. 48).

 

“I look for witnesses who will guide me to a more hopeful future.” I believe we find such witnesses in the early community, when the followers of Jesus had to find their faith again. They didn’t try to renew their hope in isolation. They came together, gradually found their bearings, and realized that their hope for the future had burst forth from a tomb. That’s where we find hope: in their sacred story, which we read and share, together; in their anxieties and fears brought into the daylight for calming reassurance; in finding their purpose and their mission in life of bringing the message to all who were living in the dark of gloom and despair.

 

Jesus is risen! And so, we can’t believe that nothing will grow here! Let’s get to work, rake away the stones of death and despair, and plant some seeds that will grow into a society, a government, a nation, and a world where love and compassion once again rule the day. God is love. God is compassion. God is mercy. That’s our future. That’s the future of the universe. So, let us—together—refuse to be imprisoned in the tomb of fear, anxiety and despair. We have a kingdom to build: Thy kingdom come! Thy will be done, on earth as in heaven! Give us this day, and every day, the bread of hope, and kindness, and love. Jesus is risen! And if we welcome him, his kingdom will grow here.

 

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