The Kingdom of God

is not the soil. It’s the weed parting loam between lots, snaking through sod not yet rooted to earth.

The Kingdom of God

is not the seed. It’s the husk gone to ground when the seedling sheds its vestments and stretches toward the sun.

The Kingdom of God

is not the tree. It’s the shrub reaching ragged branches through the neighbor’s fence, imposing sprouts in your lawn.

The Kingdom of God

is not the plant. It’s the dodder entangling the plant. It’s the morning glory’s herald, the mistletoe’s kiss, the broomrape’s tongue persuading the earth to give way.

(After James Goldberg)