Lydia and the seed of the Kingdom

After contemplating the awe-inspiring ruins in the Acropolis, Corinth, Mycenae, Thassaloniki and Philippi among others, our pilgrimage following the missionary journeys of St. Paul led us to a refreshing brook in Thyatira. There we rested by a quaint shrine dedicated to Lydia, the first Christian convert in Europe.

From Antioch, north of Israel, Paul journeyed westward across Asia Minor, then on his second missionary journey, crossed the Aegean Sea and set foot on Macedonia, northern Greece, now part of Europe. In Macedonia, Paul received a vision to head for Philippi where he was welcomed by a group of women, among who was Lydia.

We are not certain whether Lydia was a freewoman or a slave, a widow or divorcee. However, Luke in the Acts of the Apostles tells us that she, a dealer of purple cloth, welcomed Paul and his companions, Silas and Timothy, into her household. Eventually, with her entire household she was baptized by Paul.

That Luke mentions her by name signifies her important role. Since there were no Christian churches until the 4th c., the fledging Christian community in Philippi regularly gathered in her home to be catechized and celebrate the Eucharist (cf. Acts 16:40). It is very possible that not only was she a prominent member but the recognized leader of the Church in Philippi.

From Philippi, a city in ancient Greece, the Gospel spread throughout the continent. From a single initial convert, Lydia, the Christian community has grown to include billions of people through two millenia.

Our readings today are about small beginnings. In Ezekiel, the Lord declares that He would take and plant a tender shoot from the crest of a tree, which “shall put forth branches and bear fruit, and become a majestic cedar” (Ez. 17:22-23). And in our Gospel today, Jesus compares the Kingdom of God to a mustard seed, “that, when it is sown in the ground, is the smallest of all the seeds on the earth. But once it is sown, it springs up and becomes the largest of plants” (Mk. 4:30-32).

Gerhard Lohfink reflects on God’s action in history in relation to his universal salvific plans: “It can only be that God ‘starts out small’ beginning at a single place in the world. There must be a place… where liberation and healing begin, that is, where the world can become what it is meant to be according to God’s plan.

“So God has to start small, with a small nation. More precisely, God has to start with an individual …. The role of the individual remains integral to the people God wants to create. The people can never be a pure collectivity, never simple a mass… it is a people in which each is constantly called by God.”

I think the Kingdom of God grows gradually because God does not impose Himself or His plans upon us. God takes everyone and each one’s freedom seriously. Its growth is at times imperceptible because the Kingdom does not only involve the establishment of visible signs of peace and justice in the world, but also the conversion of every human heart from self-absorption to care for others and the earth, from slavery to vices and compulsions, hatred and pride to the freedom of Christ. Its growth cannot be linear because while it will only be fully established at the End Time it also takes place in history, which is unpredictable. At times, we each move closer to God; other times, we turn away from Him. Similarly, a generation can establish peace and commit to social justice at a particular point in a nation’s history which the next generation can dismantle and disregard.

Hence, we are prone to bewail the seeming absence of the Kingdom or its slow growth. Hence, we are tempted to turn the Kingdom into a human project, an ideology we can program and control, forgetting that it is God’s gift to the world, God’s initiative which calls forth human cooperation. And because it is the Lord who plants the seed, it is the Lord who will nurture its growth. In God’s kairos, the seed will flourish into a majestic tree.

And after visiting the ruins of the cities and temples of the Hellenists, the Mycenaeans, the Romans, the Ottomans, I couldn’t but be humbled to realize that all human civilizations, no matter their power and grandeur, perish. At the end of a long day visiting the ruins of once mighty civilizations, my co-pilgrims and I would gather in a room to celebrate the Eucharist. The Spartans and Caesars are gone, but Christ lives on. The Greek and Roman empires lay in ruins, but the Christian Church, like a tiny seed, continues to flourish.