Jesus’ words notwithstanding, I have to admit up front that I don’t always trust that seeds will grow. Like grass seeds, for instance. I spoke a few weeks ago about a large tree in our backyard that had to go. Once it went, it was clear that we had space to make a larger lawn, to remove some of the ivy that had nestled comfortably under the big spruce but now appeared to be encroaching on the lawn for no good reason. So after the tree was out I had someone come in with appropriate equipment to remove not only the ivy we could see, but its amazingly entangled root system below the soil.
I showed the gardener the line I wanted him to follow and he and two helpers went at it. I was glad not to be part of that effort. “Would you like us to seed the soil after we’ve finished?” he asked. “Oh no,” I said with confidence. “I can do that. I’ve done it before. I kind of like to do it.” All of which was true.
So I got some quality grass seed and, after proper preparation, scattered the seed from one end to the other. A gentle rain followed a day or two later. Perfect, I thought. Then heavier rains came. I could see that some of the seed had washed to one side or another. I think our backyard used to be the pond for the dairy farm that is now our neighborhood. The pond remembers and tries to come back with every heavy rain.
I applied more seed to the washed-away areas, but I wasn’t beginning to see any signs of green. In some areas I could see the little brown seeds resting listlessly on the top of the soil without sprouting and reaching down to develop roots that would provide them life. I began to lose confidence, though I didn’t lose sleep. It takes more than stubborn grass seed to interrupt my sleep. But I began to wonder if this would be the one time the grass seed I had planted wouldn’t come up. I guess I began then to take my eyes off the area – a little like the theory of the watched pot not boiling – when one day I thought I spied a hint of green. Indeed, something was happening. Not all over, but here and there. Unmistakable signs of green. Maybe I wouldn’t have to re-seed after all.
No reason to extend this story. Once the ground hinted of green the emerging grass seemed to take off, thickening like real grass first in clumps and then throughout the area. Now – just a few weeks later – I can’t tell the difference between the new grass and what had been established over time. I guess I should have trusted after all.
And that’s my bridge, my friends, to Jesus’ beloved little parables we’ve just heard again this morning that tell us so much about the Kingdom of God he came to promise us. These little parables are expressions of reassurance. They are invitations to trust in the grace of God.
If we were challenged to try to explain something people had never seen and could barely imagine, how might we do it? Jesus did it by taking things from everyday life and likening them to concepts and ideas difficult to grasp. He used parables.
Contemporary German biblical scholar Gunther Bornkamm writes: Jesus’ parables aim, as all parables do, at making things clear. They make use of all that goes on in the life and nature of [humanity], [its] acts and [its] sufferings. . . . And yet all of this does not make the parables what they are. They become parable and preaching only by the fact that the kingdom of God, which is by no means familiar and commonplace, is related thereby to everyday life.
Jesus had come into Galilee announcing the approach of the Kingdom of God, a teaching lost on many who heard his proclamation. “Where is it?” many would taunt. “What is it?” others would demand. Most big people didn’t sign on easily; the little people were more apt to linger around and listen for more. They knew that the kingdom they were living in – a kingdom ruled by Roman occupiers – was not a very pleasant place. An alternative offered by this man Jesus might be something a lot better. And, in fact, we cannot overlook the political aspect of Jesus’ teaching. He did set up the Kingdom of God in part as an alternative to the oppressive temporal rule of the Romans, though he was not a typical revolutionary seeking political and military strength. Rather he promised that God’s work would be accomplished – if you will – from the ground up.
The Kingdom of God, Jesus said, grows independently of human striving. We may plant the seeds now and then, but like seed that sprouts into healthy blades of grass according to its own plan, the Kingdom of God enlarges even apart from successful human efforts. The reckless confidence of the planter in the parable who plants and then sleeps through the night as the seeds go about their mysterious germinating business reveals that the creative force of God enlarges God’s reality. It is pointless for the farmer to seek to understand how all this happens. This growth is as beyond human understanding as it surpasses human ingenuity. His job is just to sow the seed – proclaim the message in word and deed – and then take up the sickle when it’s time to gather the harvest.
Wendy Farley calls us to a trust “so deep that we can sleep without anxiety [which] is much more useful to us than fussing over the little seed: dousing it with pesticide, repotting it, clucking anxiously over the amount of sun it has. The kingdom is like this sleepy, restful trust. It is not like the frenetic busyness of works righteousness, and it is not like the anxious attachment to particular moral or doctrinal positions, defending which we gladly expend all our energy.
“Being busy and dogmatic makes a lot of sense to [many Christians]. It fits with our normal way of being human. We achieve all sorts of goods by working hard and committing ourselves to our values: well-run offices, good grades, better schools, the politicians of our choice, svelte figures, neatly trimmed lawns, and so on. These are mostly reasonable things, and certainly nothing useful would happen if we did not work for it or if we remained indifferent to moral and political issues. It is just that this way of operating is not like the kingdom of God.
“Our difficulty arises in confusing the way of the kingdom with our ordinary way of doing things. Jesus is calling us to a very different way of being with ourselves, with one another, with [God], by asking us to recognize that spiritual growth and intimacy with God arise as naturally as seeds growing. The harvest will come without us having to work for it, because God adores us and it is this love that is the power of growth. It is this love that transforms the tiniest and most impotent-looking seed into a lush bush that gives rest and shade to the singing birds, just as it transforms our tiny, distorted awareness of God into a magnificent luminosity in which we ourselves and all the creatures we meet can rest.”
By the way, I would be remiss if I did not introduce to you a curious twist the Parable of the Mustard Seed invites us to consider. Amy-Jill Levine alluded to it when she was with us, and other biblical scholars have noted that the mustard shrub or bush was regarded as something most self-respecting gardeners of Jesus’ time would not have liked to introduce into their fields. You know, those plants that might offer a useful product but that tend to take over the garden once they get a hold on things.
If people of the establishment were grasping the nature of Jesus’ teaching, they would have heard the idea of the great, wonderful mustard shrub as a joke. And in some ways Jesus probably intended it so. The parable tells us about God and what God can do even with what some might consider irritating weeds. In God’s hand, even plants that some might not want in their garden become havens for those needing shelter.
In other words, God makes good even out of weeds. I don’t know about you, but sometimes I can feel about as effective and useful as a weed in a garden. My efforts seem futile, puny, and weak; my dreams and visions foggy and without focus. It’s then that I lose sleep, not when the grass seeds in my backyard refuse to sprout. That’s a minor issue. The bigger things that affect my larger life, my life with family and this church, not to mention the broader world which impacts us daily in so many ways – those are the things that threaten my sleeping though the night. That’s when I’m tempted to lose trust and hope. In short, to give up on the grace of God.
But time and again I have come to witness the dawn that follows the long, dark night. And then I am coaxed back to sleeping through the night so that I might have the energy to face the day, the inevitable rising of the sun with all its new challenges and, yes, joyful manifestations of God’s grace.
To tell you the truth, I have lost more than a wink of sleep these past months as we in this congregation have tried to re-shape our Sunday mornings of worship and education. And I know I am not alone, for I have talked to members and leaders in our congregation. I have witnessed the anguishing – and yet ennobling – discussion around our session table and in committee meetings. We have sown seeds and tended them. But beyond that we have prayed for God’s wisdom and grace to help us find our way.
Yes, human instruments have helped to guide us. A church-wide survey elicited much good response. Amazing response, really. And skilled and dedicated leaders have helped us interpret the data. We have listened to each other, striving to hear what others are feeling. We have needed to step into others’ shoes and walk through their life patterns a bit, experiencing something we may have forgotten or never experienced ourselves in a world offering different challenges than our own. And now it is beginning to appear that God’s presence –always a reality – is making itself known in ways that are bringing us together once again toward a more commonly shared walk of faith.
Some time ago – in another difficult situation made clear – I remarked to a friend in the congregation that what we were witnessing was the reconciling work of the Spirit. “Do you think that the Spirit works only in difficult times?” she asked. I wasn’t sure of the full intent of her question, and I think I gave an inadequate answer, but I’ve never forgotten the conversation. The answer I would give now is that the Spirit of God’s grace is active and working on our behalf in every moment, but it’s in the resolution of the difficult situations when we particularly feel our own weakness in the presence of God’s strength. We know this when we feel as if a burden we could not cast off ourselves has been lifted from us and we feel suddenly freed.
We could easily have sung one of our traditional Thanksgiving hymns this morning with these parables of the field Jesus used to prepare us for the coming of God’s rule. We know the hymn as “Come, Ye Thankful People, Come.” I offer the words of the second stanza as particularly appropriate: All the world is God’s own field,/Fruit unto God’s praise to yield;/Wheat and tares together sown,/Unto joy or sorrow grown;/First the blade, and then the ear,/Then the full corn shall appear:/Lord of harvest, grant that we/Wholesome grain and pure may be.
Sowing seeds and seeking God’s nurture for their growth reminds me of an e-mail that was copied to me a few weeks ago. All I remember at the time was being amazed and gratified and thankful for God’s grace in the midst of our congregation in a way that might have remained invisible except for the writer’s need to express her own thanks. The e-mail was sent to a former chair of our outreach committee by someone who, in effect, proved to be fertile soil for seeds sown rather quietly in our weekly Herald. There had been a notice of a need for tutoring in Chester. That invitation had seemed precisely what this woman was looking for. She answered the call, began to sow the seeds of love and nurture to starving children. A year later she was writing to thank the church for the opportunity she had been given to give to these children who had, in turn, given amazing gifts to her through her outreach to them.
It is like a mustard seed, which, when sown upon the ground, is the smallest of all the seeds on earth; yet when it is sown it grows up and becomes the greatest of all shrubs, and puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the air can make nests in its shade.
Amen.