When it’s popcorn and chocolate time…

We often think that the parables Jesus told were told to everyone, but it would appear there were a handful where the premiere was held in private…

Such an occasion is in Matthew 13. The crowds had turned out in full that day, packed along the shoreline, listening as Jesus spoke in parables. He told them deep, meaningful parables – stories with a spiritual meaning- about seeds that fell on different kinds of soil, about wheat and weeds growing together, and finished with a parable about a net cast into the sea.

And then, with the sun going down, the crowds drifted home and the day ended, Jesus and his disciples went back into the house. A moment of quiet. A moment to reflect and the inevitable – questions.

I’ve often wondered about those times, outside of the well written narratives of scripture—what it was like to sit with Jesus after the dust had settled where it was just him and the twelve, debriefing, asking questions, wrestling with what he had said and peoples wide-eyed responses, and then eating hot popcorn with chocolate Minstrels and melted milk chocolate buttons. They were intentionally left reflecting and musing because hearing isn’t the same as understanding—and Jesus knew that.

It’s in this setting, away from the crowd, perhaps with snacks and a bottle of Château Neuf de Jérusalem, that Jesus gives them a few extra meaningful parables meant only for them, including:

“The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which a man found and covered up. Then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field.” (Matthew 13:44)

That’s it. Just one sentence. No build-up, no explanation. Silence…

Later, Jesus will ask them, “Have you understood all these things?” And without hesitation, they say, “Yes,” which is almost funny because they clearly don’t.

A Treasure Worth Everything

Jesus had spent the day speaking about the kingdom, but now, in private, he shifts the picture… The kingdom isn’t just a seed or a net—it’s treasure, and not just any treasure. It’s hidden, buried beneath the surface, and not obvious. Not visibly shining or glowing, sitting out in the open for anyone to grab.

It’s short and to the point: a man stumbles across it, and in an instant, he recognises its worth.

He sees what no one else sees. And what does he do? He covers it up, and without hesitation, he sells everything he owns to buy that field. He doesn’t sell one or two things—his laptop, guitar and maybe his old mobile phone. Not some things. Not a few things. Everything.

His house, his livestock, his security—it’s all on the table. He lets it go, not because he has to, but because he wants to—because when you truly see the treasure, the cost doesn’t feel like a cost; it feels like joy.

The Cost of the Kingdom

Now, imagine the people around him in the imaginary parable. Watching. Whispering. “He gave up everything… for that?” To them, it’s just a field. Just a stretch of dirt. They don’t see what’s beneath the surface.

This is what Jesus is pressing into his disciples. The kingdom is worth more than everything else combined. More than their careers, their homes, their comfort, their plans, or their safety.

But Jesus isn’t just talking about them. He’s talking about himself. If you step back and look at this from another angle, you start to see something staggering.

Jesus is the man in the parable.

He left the throne of heaven, walked away from glory, and gave up everything—not out of duty, not out of obligation, but for joy. The joy of redeeming what was lost. The joy of buying back the treasure buried in the dirt.

And that treasure? That’s us. You. Me. Regardless of how you see yourself.

Let that sink in. It’s a parable, if you will, about God.

The cross wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t a tragic ending to a good man’s life—it was the price, the full payment for the field. Jesus saw what no one else saw. He saw a broken, sinful world—and he said, “That’s worth everything.” So, sent by the Father, he went all in.

So now, Jesus looks at his disciples—these men who have followed him, who have left behind their boats, their tax booths, their old lives—and he asks, “Have you understood all these things?” And they, of course, in the awkwardness of the moment, say, “Yes” but raise an eyebrow to each other.

And in retrospect, looking back, we know they don’t understand. In the days ahead, when the cost becomes real, they will hesitate, question, run. And when asked figuratively if they have a sword, out comes the armoury.

It won’t be until after the resurrection, after the Holy Spirit comes, that they finally see as they should—after the Holy Spirit awakens their understanding. And when they do, they will not hold back. They will freely and willingly give up everything—joyfully—because now they know – and now they see the treasure for what, or who, it really is.

And here we are, mobile phone in hand or sitting in front of our computer screen, engaged with the same parable, facing the same question.

Have we understood?

Or are we still standing at the edge of the field, holding onto things that won’t last, wondering if the trade is really worth it? You are not alone…

But the answer is, it is worth it… He is worth it.

The God Who Speaks in the Storm…

“At this also my heart trembles and leaps out of its place. Keep listening to the thunder of his voice and the rumbling that comes from his mouth. Under the whole heaven he lets it go, and his lightning to the corners of the earth. After it his voice roars; he thunders with his majestic voice, and he does not restrain the lightnings when his voice is heard. God thunders wondrously with his voice; he does great things that we cannot comprehend.” (Job 37:1–5)

I love this kind of stuff! There are moments when life becomes a storm—when the weight of suffering, uncertainty, and fear presses in so heavily that it feels like God is silent, but Scripture tells us otherwise. God is not distant—passive—He is speaking, and when He does, it shakes everything.

Elihu, one of Job’s dubious, fun-filled, optimistic counsellors, is standing before Job in the wreckage of his suffering. He isn’t offering comfort wrapped in ‘fluffy bunny’ clichés. He points to the storm, to the voice of God thundering over creation. This isn’t a still, small whisper; it’s raw, unfiltered power—the manifest presence of the Almighty, not a theory or a well-thought-through idea. It’s a reality that makes the heart tremble.

The Fear That Changes Everything

This is not the comfortable, domesticated God so many have come to expect. Elihu’s response isn’t curiosity—it’s terror. “At this also my heart trembles and leaps out of its place.” He knows that when God speaks, everything shifts. This is a test to the thinking. Elihu is speaking of a powerful, uncontainable, fully omnipotent, holy, unique God who surrounds Himself with light.

Elihu’s terror, anxiety, and ‘overwhelmedness’ are the right responses. Throughout Scripture, every encounter with the presence of God brings a holy fear. When God led Israel, the mountain shook. When Isaiah saw Him, he cried out, “Woe is me! For I am lost.” When Jesus was transfigured, a voice from heaven declared, “This is my beloved Son; listen to him”—and the disciples fell to the ground in fear.

The same thing happens in Mark 4. A violent storm rises on the Sea of Galilee. You know the story well. The disciples—many of them fishermen who know these waters—believe they are about to die, so they wake Jesus, desperate, accusing: “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” And He rises, rebukes the wind, speaks to the sea, “Peace! Be still!”

And in an instant, the chaos surrenders. Here’s the part we can’t miss: the disciples’ fear does not vanish. It shifts. “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?” They were afraid of the storm—now they are terrified of the man standing before them. They realise what Elihu knew—God is not just present in the storm. He commands it.

The Call to Repentance

If God’s voice shakes the heavens, what does that mean for us? When God speaks, it is not just to comfort. It is to convict. Job, after encountering the full weight of God’s presence, does not argue. He does not defend himself; he repents and utters one of the most tender prayers in the Bible:

“I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you; therefore I despise myself, and repent in dust and ashes.” (Job 42:5–6)

The same thing happens elsewhere at every ‘left-flick’ throughout Scripture on the Bible app. Every encounter with Jesus forces a decision—will you bow, or will you resist, flick again until you get a less demanding verse?

The manifest presence of God does not leave people neutral. It either softens the heart or hardens it.

And that is the danger in our time. We want God to move, but do we want to be undone in His presence?

The Cross: The Greatest Thunder

Job 37 shows us the voice of God in power, in judgment, in unstoppable might, but the greatest storm in history was not on the Sea of Galilee—it was at the cross. It was the moment when darkness covered the land, when the wrath of God and the mercy of God collided in the broken body of Jesus. In that moment, there was no whisper. There was a cry, a roar: “IT IS FINISHED.”

That was the thunder that split the nuclear atom of history in two. The storm of separation, sin, shame, guilt, and judgment crashed against Christ so that we could stand in the presence of God without fear—reconciled, forgiven, holy, and blameless. The voice that once shook the mountains now speaks to us through the Son, calling us to life, to holiness, to surrender.

And for us?

We are living in storm-tossed days. The world is shaking. Watch the news—see friendly world leaders facing a common warhorse enemy, arguing with each other, angry that one has not said ‘thank you’ for military assistance even when they have, frequently. Chaos surrounds us like a thick, toxic cloud. The temptation is to panic, to believe that God is absent. What are we to do? Job 37 tells us something different: God is speaking—and may we have ears to hear because when God speaks, it is not just for information—it is for transformation.

He thunders so that we would tremble. He speaks so that we would repent. He commands the storm so that we would see Him clearly.

This is not a God to be managed, negotiated with, belittled, or told to be thankful if we serve Him—or even as a holy, omnipotent and omniscient Divine Being to answer to mere mortals when the question of suffering arises. He is not a theological concept. He is holy, unquenchable fire. He is rushing, roaring, violent wind. He is a voice that shakes the earth and makes mountains tremble.

And for us? He is our Father, our God, in whom we live and move and have our being!

For me – the manifest presence of God in our gatherings? Yes, please! We are His, and He is ours, and His banner over us is love.