'Jesus said, “The kingdom of God is as if someone would scatter seed on the ground, and would sleep and rise night and day, and the seed would sprout and grow, he does not know how. The earth produces of itself, first the stalk, then the head, then the full grain in the head. But when the grain is ripe, at once he goes in with his sickle, because the harvest has come.”
He also said, “With what can we compare the kingdom of God, or what parable will we use for it? 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.”
With many such parables he spoke the word to them, as they were able to hear it; he did not speak to them except in parables, but he explained everything in private to his disciples.'
--Mark 4: 26-34
Do any of you know what the opposite of a green thumb is? Because that’s what I’ve got it! Around the time Kristen and I were engaged we tried planting a vegetable garden in a raised bed on the side of our house. We planted corn, tomatoes, green beans and okra. To our utter astonishment, the corn sprang up immediately, so did the tomatoes, and the okra were huge. I was so excited that something I planted finally flourished, but then everything died because the soil was too rocky and shallow. It also turns out that you don’t want okra to get huge. Who knew? In the years since Kristen has had some success growing herbs or caring for plants, but I remain utterly bumfuzzled by the whole enterprise.
I think that’s because there’s a mystery to it all, something that is outside of our control. We can water and be sure seeds get proper sunlight, but at the end of the day, we don’t know what’s going on. Take the farmer in Jesus’ first parable today about the Kingdom of God, someone who scatters some seeds, goes to bed, then wakes up and finds them flourishing but doesn’t know how it happened. Ain’t that the way of God?!
A common theme we hear preached in churches is how we are called to plant seeds of the kingdom of God. This is part of the already-not yet aspect of God’s kingdom, which is present here on earth – represented by the seeds we plant – and has also not been fully realized – represented by the unseen harvest that is to come. We sow these seeds not knowing how they will grow but still hopeful that the harvest will indeed come, even if we are not the ones who will benefit from it.
To be honest, that is how I have viewed my own role during this interim time at the parish where I currently serve in Central New York. I plant seeds and work with these good folks to till the soil while I’m here, trusting that the harvest will come, even if I am not personally around to see it. I believe that this is an essential part of what it means to claim Jesus of Nazareth as our Lord, our Savior, our teacher, and our friend. We are part of something so much bigger than ourselves, so old, whose seeds were planted by our ancestors so long ago. They didn’t always know what they were doing, but look at the harvest now! The same is true for us. How often would we say we know what we are doing? But like the farmer who plants and goes to sleep, we trust that there will be some sort of harvest in the morning. Surely, when I look around this place I not only see what these folks have reaped from the seeds sown by their forebears, but I also see the seeds being planted for the future of this particular community of faith. It’s a wonder to behold, and let me tell you, it starts small.
As small, Jesus might say, as a mustard seed. I love so many things about this particular parable. For starters, I love Jesus’ use of hyperbole. The mustard seed isn’t the smallest of all seeds – there are many that are smaller, including orchids. Then there’s the irony of the whole image and its subversive nature. Empires such as Rome were often compared to large trees, like a mighty oak. Even the prophet Ezekiel describes the empire of Babylon as a lofty cedar. These were firmly rooted, unshakable in their might and power. Surely the kingdom of God must surpass even these, right? Jesus instead compares the kingdom to a mustard seed that not only starts small but turns into…the greatest of all shrubs? You sure about that, Jesus? Because mustard plants were weeds, invasive and unwanted. THIS is the kingdom of God? An ugly, shrub-like weed?! Indeed. Mustard plants may have been ugly, but they were handy; used as medicine and food and one of the sticks served as a toothbrush! While empires are large and impressive to the eye, the already-not-yet kingdom of God starts small but benefits its people.
While the already-not yet nature of the kingdom may not make much sense – how can something be both already here and not yet here? – there’s a similarly confusing dichotomy at work in us, and it has to do with our role in planting the very seeds of which Jesus speaks. Those seeds, which will grow into the ugly-beautiful, mighty-humble, majestic-meek kingdom of God, have been placed into our hands. Every single one of us has been given them, by parents, teachers, clergy, friends, enemies, folks fer us and folks agin’ us (as we say down south). And these seeds look like what exactly? They look like manna – the reassurance that God always provides as long as we remember that there is enough to go around for everyone to have what they need. They look like mercy – God’s promise of forgiveness and kindness, even to those who don’t seem to deserve it. They look like grace – remembering that we don’t have to try so dang hard to earn love. They look like resurrection – the Good News that life always comes after death, which is something we must practice every day. Yes, the seeds are in our hands, and they almost always start small, so it’s up to us to plant and till and care for them.
But what isn’t up to us – the other side of this confusing dichotomy - is how and when those seeds will grow or what they’ll even look like. That is entirely up to God. Just like the farmer cooperates with the soil, sun, and water, knowing that it takes time and space for anything to come into the fullness of its true nature, we must cooperate with God and remember that whatever is yielded is not up to us. Yes, there is active waiting on our part, but whether something grows into the tallest of trees or the frumpiest of shrubs isn’t on us. We are told such things are up to God, and we say we believe it, but our actions often prove otherwise. We call this functional atheism, when we say something is up to God but we act as if it’s up to us. Against such self-importance stands the sometimes subtle, hidden presence and power of God. Do we have enough freedom from ourselves to let God do what God is going to do?
Before we left that house where I grew oversized okra, we tilled the soil one more time and threw down a bunch of random wildflower seeds. We had no expectations of anything growing because of the soil, but wouldn’t you know who won the pony, the day we left that raised bed was full of wildflowers. Sometimes God gives growth when we don’t expect it.
We are invited to let go of expectation and the oversized sense of responsibility that we often place on our own shoulders. We are called to do our part, but in the end it’s God’s kingdom that is being sown, not ours, and whatever seed you plant, no matter how small you might think it is, matters. This is a kingdom that always starts small, but one that subverts the very notion of what a kingdom is supposed to be. We may not know how it happens; we need only take what has been given to us – seeds of manna, mercy, grace, and resurrection - plant and nurture them, and get out of our own way, so that God can do what God always does.
