There’s a phrase that you’ll all be very familiar with: ‘The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence.’ I’ve seen variations on that, such as: ‘If the grass is greener, then it’s probably artificial turf.’ Or: ‘If the grass is greener, then they probably water it more.’
We spend an extraordinary amount of our lives looking over the fence. We imagine happiness lies somewhere else. If only we had another job. Another house. Another relationship. Another church. Another stage of life.
There is always the temptation to believe that the kingdom of God is just over there, somewhere beyond our present circumstances. Yet the readings this morning gently challenge that instinct. They don’t tell us to look further. They invite us to look deeper.
Solomon asks for the right thing
When Solomon becomes king, God offers him an astonishing gift: “Ask what I should give you.”
Imagine hearing those words. Most of us would probably have a list ready: Health. Security. Success. Long life. Perhaps even certainty. Solomon asks for none of those.
Our translation says he asks for ‘an understanding mind’, but the Hebrew is even more beautiful. Literally, he asks for a listening heart (lev shomea).
Not simply intelligence. Not cleverness. Not information. But a heart capable of listening. Listening to God. Listening to people. Listening beneath the surface.
Perhaps wisdom begins there. Not in speaking. But in paying attention. And that feels surprisingly contemporary. We live in an age overflowing with opinions, but perhaps rather short of listening hearts. Simone Weil once wrote that: ‘attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity.’ Think about that for a moment. ‘Attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity.’ To whom do you give your attention?
The kingdom hides in ordinary places
Jesus then tells several tiny parables. A mustard seed. Yeast hidden in flour. Treasure buried in a field. A merchant discovering one beautiful pearl. Fish of every kind.
None of them are dramatic. There are no earthquakes. No thunderbolts. No spectacular miracles. The kingdom comes quietly. Almost secretly.
The Greek word that Matthew repeatedly uses is basileia – the reign, or kingdom, of God. It is less a geographical place than God’s life breaking into ordinary existence.
The mustard seed doesn’t look impressive. The yeast disappears altogether. The treasure lies beneath completely ordinary soil. In every case, someone has to notice.
That noticing is the turning point. The treasure had long been there. The field hadn’t changed. But someone’s eyes had. How often do we imagine that God is absent because we fail to recognise, to notice, where he is already at work?
Learning to recognise grace
I wonder whether that’s one of the great disciplines of discipleship. Not simply believing in God. But learning to notice God. Notice grace. Notice kindness. Notice courage. Notice forgiveness. Notice beauty. Notice those quiet moments that almost pass us by.
One of the Desert Fathers, Isaac the Syrian, once said: “Enter eagerly into the treasure house that is within you, and so you will see the treasure house of heaven.”
That sounds remarkably like Jesus’ parables. The kingdom is rarely absent. It is more often there but unnoticed.
Even our silence is noticed
Paul then takes us somewhere even deeper. Sometimes, he says, we don’t even know how to pray. Most Christians eventually discover that. There are seasons when words dry up. Faith feels exhausted. Grief leaves us silent. Questions remain unanswered.
Paul doesn’t tell us to try harder. Instead, he says: “The Spirit helps us in our weakness.” The Greek word for “helps” (synantilambanetai) is wonderfully vivid. It literally means to take hold together with someone.
Imagine trying to carry something far too heavy. Someone comes alongside. Not to take it away. Not to watch from a distance. But to lift it with you.
That is what Paul says the Spirit does. Even our silence becomes prayer. Even our sighs are heard. The Spirit notices what we cannot express.
Perhaps that is one of the most comforting promises in all Scripture. God hears not only our words. He hears our longing.
Wisdom begins with attention
Perhaps all three readings are saying the same thing. Solomon asks for a listening heart. Jesus invites attentive eyes. Paul describes a God attentive even to our wordless prayers.
The Christian life is not first about striving. It is about noticing. Listening. Receiving. Recognising.
That changes how we live. Instead of constantly asking: “Where is God?” perhaps we begin asking: “What has God already been doing here?”
The answer may be much closer than we imagined. In a conversation. A friendship. An act of forgiveness. The beauty of creation. The breaking of bread. A quiet moment of prayer. A burden shared. A kindness received.
The kingdom is rarely noisy. It grows like seed. Works like yeast. Waits like treasure.
Becoming the treasure
There is one final surprise. Jesus tells us about someone discovering treasure. We naturally assume we are the one searching. But what if, over time, something else happens? What if God is also shaping our lives so that we are the hidden treasure?
Not treasure because we become famous. Or successful. Or admired. But because quiet faithfulness begins to bless other people.
Think of those Christians who have quietly changed your life. A Sunday School teacher. A grandparent. A friend. A neighbour. A priest. Perhaps you are that person for someone else.
They probably never imagined themselves remarkable. Yet through them you caught sight of Christ. Perhaps that is what wisdom finally becomes. Not simply discovering the kingdom. But quietly embodying it. Not simply finding treasure. But becoming part of God’s treasure for the sake of others.
And perhaps that is the invitation these readings hold before us today. Not to spend our lives looking over the fence for something better. After all, it may be artificial. But to ask for a listening heart. To learn to notice the kingdom already growing among us. To trust that when words fail, the Spirit continues praying. And to become, by God’s grace, people through whom others begin to glimpse the hidden riches of heaven.
For those learning to notice
Blessed are you
who have searched
for many things:
for answers,
for certainty,
for a path
made plain.
Blessed are you
whose heart
still knows
there is something more
to seek.
May you be given
not every answer,
but a listening heart;
not the certainty
that leaves no room
for wonder,
but the wisdom
to recognise
God already at work
within the ordinary.
May your eyes
be opened
to the treasure
hidden
beneath familiar ground,
to the kingdom
growing quietly,
like seed
beneath the soil,
like yeast
within the dough,
like hope
taking root
before anyone notices.
And when words
will not come,
when your prayers
become only
silence,
or sighs,
or longing,
may you trust
that the Spirit
has not fallen silent,
but is already
holding your heart
before the Father
with a love
deeper
than speech.
So may you learn
to value
what cannot be bought,
to cherish
what cannot be hurried,
and to recognise
that God’s richest gifts
are often found
not at the end
of the journey,
but waiting quietly
along the road
you are already walking.
And may Christ,
the Wisdom of God,
lead you
ever more deeply
into the joy
of his kingdom,
until your own life
becomes
a hidden treasure,
quietly discovered,
and a blessing
through which
others
catch sight
of heaven.
Amen.
‘Learning to notice’ was delivered by Ian Banks at Christ Church, Walmersley on July 26th 2026. It was based on 1 Kings 3:5-12, Romans 8:26-end and Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52
Reference:
Weil, S. (1992). Correspondance éditée par Gilbert Kahn. Gallimard.