The Mustard Seed Prose Poem

One of my favourite images of the Kingdom of God,
and the church is the mustard seed, the tiniest of seeds.
This tiny seed is hidden in the mystery of the dark earth.
It grow slowly and progressively over many years
until it becomes a huge tree. See the birds come
and build their nests in its branches,
the creatures of the field, buck and deer, sheep
and cows come and nestle in its shade,
and people come too to gather the fruit
of the trees and from other trees,
they go home,
home is a place of herbs, and culinary delights,
of flower and bread, of aromas arousing hunger
where people sit around a table, they light candle,
remember past friends, anniversaries.
There they gather family, create a feast around food,
meagre or plentiful, they enter into conversation,
listen to each other,
they play music, tell stories of their day,
of their families, their friends,
they play games – there they enter into
and develop culture and a sense of belonging –
for here they belong.
They are the tree – come from the tiniest seed,
They offer so much – roots and trunks,
branches and leaves and aromas, and shade
and shelter for the healing of themselves
and others in a spirit of abuntu,
abundance and thankfulness.