Parables

Seeds, Shrubs, and the Kingdom of God

Mark 4:26-34

[Jesus] also 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.


Instead of passing out mustard seeds to everyone, like I’ve done before – in classes and worship where this parable is concerned – I thought I’d do a little searching online for pictures and images of mustard plants to remind us more of what Jesus is talking about in this morning’s Gospel.

But I will start with a picture of a mustard seed.

They’re small, just like Jesus says they are. Not the smallest seed you and I might ever see, but maybe they were the smallest seeds known to Jesus, and his people, and to the region where he was living back in the day. And I found some pictures of the plants these seeds turn into, too, since that’s much of the point of Jesus’ parables this morning.

And what I found may or may not be as interesting or as surprising to some of you farming, gardening, green-thumbing types as it was to me.

When Jesus talks about this mustard seed becoming something worthy of a nest, I was expecting something more like a tree. But mostly what I found were pictures like this:

… and this:

… and this:

This is why it’s funny that Jesus ever even talked about the mustard seed at all. See, we’re used to hearing agricultural illustrations and farming metaphors in the Bible and from Jesus, but when we hear about trees, we’re used to hearing about something much more substantial. And so were the people listening to Jesus way back when.

Like in the book of Daniel, there’s talk of a tree, “great and strong” whose “top reached to heaven and was visible to the end of the whole earth.” This tree was used to describe a kingdom that ruled all the peoples of the world. In Ezekiel, which we heard this morning, too, and in the Psalms, there’s talk of the “mighty cedar of Lebanon” that symbolized the power of the kingdom of Assyria. And there is talk about “oaks of righteousness,” too. And, of course, there are those images of the “Tree of Life” and the “tree of the knowledge of good and evil” from way back in Genesis and the Garden of Eden.

So in all of this, I picture trees – big, strong, tall, hefty kinds of trees. Something like this, maybe:

a sizeable sequoia.

…or like this:

a giant redwood you could drive a car through.

or even just this:

a big old oak tree, strong enough to hold your favorite porch swing.

But no. Jesus talks about mustard – the smallest of all seeds that grows up to become something great. But not really the greatest of trees, though. I don’t think he’s talking about a sequoia, or a redwood; a high and lofty cedar or a giant oak of righteousness, either.

In the Gospels of Matthew of Luke, Jesus talks of a tree when he tells the parable of the mustard seed. But this morning – in Mark’s Gospel – he doesn’t go that far. This was a bush (SLIDE 8). A sizeable shrub. A flowering hedge of a thing. And so, just like so much else in God’s way of being in the world, Jesus shows us the kingdom in a way that’s surprising and unexpected and not at all the way the rest of the world might think it should be.

And I think that’s his point when he compares the kingdom of God – and our part in it – with a mustard seed and the bush that it becomes.

We sleep and rise, night and day and the seeds we’ve planted will grow – like they did for the guy in this morning’s first parable – by the grace of God, nothing more and nothing less. We don’t have as much to do with it as we’d like to pretend a lot of the time. And this is good, gracious, liberating news, if you ask me.

We’re just people – lowly, broken, sinful, sizeable shrubs of a people – planting our seeds in the world wherever we live and watching God do with them what God will do, and being amazed more often than not at what God can grow and produce and harvest with whatever worship, learning, and service; whatever forgiveness, grace and joy we’ve been able to scatter around us as we go – measly little bushes though we may be.

And there’s evidence of this everywhere:

Last weekend, in Louisville, the Indiana-Kentucky Synod of the ELCA, elected our first Black Bishop, Pastor Tim Graham, who told us that the very next day following his election, he’d be celebrating something like 24 years of sobriety. The serendipity of that makes me wonder about – and marvel at – all of the seeds of grace he has planted – and that were planted in him – up until to that moment, over the course of those 24 years. And all of the seeds yet to be scattered and bushes and branches yet to grow and bloom because of it.

I hope you saw or heard about Cross of Grace’s presence at our first ever PRIDE parade and celebration downtown last weekend, too. Amanda and Angi did a lot to organize and plan for the day, but simply showing up, simply being there, simply representing a congregation of Christians for the sake of the LGBTQ+ community that has more reason to fear than to welcome us, was the Kingdom of God alive and well in the world. Simply passing out stickers and suckers and “Mom Hugs,” was nothing more and nothing less than the scattering of seeds for those who received them – and in at least one case, I heard – were brought to tears because of it all. And from those seeds, I have to believe that some kind of shelter continues to grow.

And our annual SonRise Vacation Bible School did it again, too, last week … planted more seeds and grew more grace for me and those who joined the fun, I mean. We simply eat and sing and tell stories and share communion and try to come up with – sometimes silly – ways to tell of God’s love. And our friends – with different, limited physical and intellectual abilities – receive it with such faith – to the degree that one of them asked to be baptized at the end of it all. It’s a lot of work for the likes of Sharon and the other leaders, but from those simple seeds of story, song, and silliness, the Kingdom lives and moves and blooms in beautiful ways.

That’s why it’s so amazing that God uses us – shrubs and bushes like you and me – when there seem to be so many bigger, better trees out there in the world. You know what I mean? And, unfortunately, too many of us Christians do know what I mean.

See, I’ve come to know that what keeps too many of us from living out our faith most fully as followers of Jesus, is a lack of esteem and understanding about how qualified or capable or gifted we are to do whatever it is God hopes for us to accomplish.

We tell ourselves and pretend that we don’t know enough… that we aren’t talented enough… that we aren’t sure enough… We aren’t sober enough… We don’t have enough time… We aren’t wealthy enough… We aren’t leaders enough to lead… Or teachers enough to show someone else the way… We have too many questions of our own to even try to offer answers for somebody else…

To ourselves, we’re just “seeds” or “bushes” or “shrubs” too much of the time and we keep ourselves so small in our own eyes that we forget just how worthy we are in the eyes of God.

We keep waiting to become “trees” – mighty enough, strong enough, smart enough, faithful enough, wealthy enough, whatever enough – to do something more, to be something more, to offer something more – we forget that God used a “tree” to accomplish the greatest grace of all time, for the sake of the whole wide world.

If God can turn a mustard seed into a shrub… If God would dare turn a tree into a cross… If God can turn suffering and death into resurrection and new life… What can’t God do with the welcome and hospitality; with the love and forgiveness; with the good news and grace each of us has to scatter, to plant, and to grow in the world wherever we live?

Amen

Bouncers and Bridesmaids

Matthew 25:1-13

[Jesus said,] “Then the kingdom of heaven will be like this. Ten bridesmaids took their lamps and went out to meet the bridegroom. Five of them were foolish and five of them were wise. The foolish took no oil with their lamps, but the wise took flasks of oil with their lamps. As the bridegroom was delayed, they all became drowsy and slept. But at midnight there was a shout, ‘Look! Here is the bridegroom. Come out to meet him.’

“So the bridesmaids got up and began to trim their lamps. The foolish said to the wise, ‘Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are going out.’ The wise replied, ‘No. There will not be enough for you and for us. You had better go to the dealers and buy some more for yourselves.’ And while they were out, the bridegroom came and those who were ready went with him into the banquet and the door was shut. Later, the others returned and, knocking on the door, cried, ‘Lord! Lord! Open to us!’ But the bridegroom replied, ‘Very truly I tell you, I do not know you.’

“Keep awake, therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.”


The fun and faithful thing to do with any good parable is to imagine where we fit into the narrative of it all. In the one about the Prodigal Son, we’re supposed to wonder if we are the son who ran off with all of the father’s money, or the older sibling who stayed at home, followed the rules, and pouted about the father’s generosity. In another parable we’re supposed to wonder if we are the one sheep who got lost and separated from the fold, or if we’re part of the 99 who huddled safely with the rest of the flock. Are we the hardest working laborer in the vineyard or are we the ones who show up long after lunch and still get paid a full day’s wage? Are we the priest, the Levite, or the Good Samaritan in that story about the guy who gets beaten, abused and abandoned by robbers on the road to Jericho? You get the idea.

And this morning is no different, though it does seem a bit harder to distinguish where we should look to find ourselves here – or who’s who at all in this strange story. The more traditional and obvious interpretations of the parable of the ten bridesmaids invite us to wonder about whether we’d find ourselves in league with the wise or the foolish. Are we wise, faithful and prepared, with enough oil to keep our lamps lit and be on time for the wedding banquet? Or are we foolish procrastinators, running out of oil and running to the store for more oil, just in time to miss the party?

Isn’t that what it seems to be about at first glance? Like someone is suggesting we keep awake, be prepared, keep our lamps trimmed and burning; that we keep the faith, practice our piety, do all the right things; so that when the bridegroom comes – who is clearly Jesus in this scenario – we’ll be welcomed into the party.

But this traditional interpretation requires us to wonder if Jesus is a jerk – like the bridegroom seems to be in this story; like he’s some sort of bouncer at the bar, checking IDs and deciding who gets in and who is kept out of the pearly gates of paradise, rather than the loving, generous, merciful, forgiving, gracious host I’ve been told my whole life to expect to greet me when the time comes. It’s a nightmare to suggest Jesus would leave us locked outside the Kingdom’s door, saying “very truly” that he doesn’t even know who we are.

Because, think about it, Jesus promised, earlier in this same Gospel, “Ask, and it will be given to you; search, and you will find; knock and the door will be opened for you. For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened.” So that can’t be the guy standing at the door this morning at the wedding; the guy who lets the first five, wise ones in, and pretends he doesn’t even know the other late, foolish bridesmaids who ran out of oil. Are you with me?

This can’t be the same Jesus who, just two chapters earlier in this same Gospel, warned the scribes and Pharisees, “…woe to you … hypocrites! For you lock people out of the kingdom of heaven. For you do not go in yourselves, and when others are going in, you stop them.” Why would Jesus chastise gatekeepers and door-lockers in one breath and then invite us to imagine him to be one of them in the next? I don’t think he would. And I don’t think that’s what he’s doing this morning.

In a blog I read this week, a pastor named Michael Krey confirmed something I’ve preached before about this parable – that it’s fair and faithful to see the bridegroom at the door in this parable, not as Jesus at all, but as Peter – as Cephas – the rock on whom the Church is built. And he made it seem more obvious and concrete than I have ever thought before.

Remember that story about Peter? In this same Gospel, Matthew, Chapter 16, after Peter declares, with great faith, that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of the living God, Jesus says that he’s right, and that, because of his faith, his name going forward would be Cephas, which means “Rock,” and upon that rock, he would build God’s Church; that he would give him the proverbial keys to the front door… I mean the keys to the wedding banquet… I mean the keys to the Kingdom… along with the power to bind and loose sins, and ostensibly, then, to choose who’s in and who’s out; who’s wise and who’s foolish; who wins and who loses; and so on and so on.

And if all of that’s true… if Peter is the one working the door and if Peter represents the Church… and if we are the Church – you and I… THAT’S where we find ourselves in this parable in the end. And THAT leaves us to wonder some pretty big stuff – not about how wise and foolish we are, like so many bridesmaids. But, we’re left to wonder, instead, how we manage the blessings of the Kingdom we’re called to share.

Who are we keeping out and who are we welcoming in? Are we a place that plays host only to the wise and the well-healed; those who have all the oil, if you will; all the resources; those who refuse to share with those the world would call foolish? Are we throwing a party for the wise bridesmaids who don’t have time or space or grace or mercy for the less fortunate; the less privileged; the late… or less desirable… or lazy… or whatever else the world encourages us to call those we don’t deem to be worthy of God’s fullness?

If you prayed over the course of this weekend’s 36 Hour Prayer Vigil, or if you paid attention to the materials we shared regarding this morning’s Commitment Sunday, or if you’ve just been around here for a while, I hope you have received the message that we are trying to share our oil and the light of our proverbial lamps with the world around us in as many ways as we can manage.

Remember, we’ve transformed our Building Fund into a Building and Outreach Fund, since we paid off our mortgage over a year ago. And that means we have plans to be prepared and ready, like so many wise bridesmaids, by saving some of our money for future expansion, and by saving for maintenance and repair needs, as they come. It also means we’re committed to giving 50% of those offerings away, outside of ourselves, to the tune of about $80,000 this year alone.

For me, that’s our way of saying, this isn’t all or only about “us,” by any stretch; that we’re always working to make room for more. That we’re always being called to give outside of ourselves. And that we’re forever being challenged to open our doors and our hands and our hearts to whoever comes knocking, looking for the banquet of grace we enjoy in this place, on behalf of the world.

Which brings me back to Peter, and the challenging invitation it is to see ourselves, in him, as God’s church in the world, manning the door to the Kingdom among us. See, the other evidence and justification we have for imagining that bridegroom to be Peter, is the last, awful thing he says to the bridesmaids he keeps locked outside of the wedding banquet. Do you remember what he said? “Very truly I tell you, I do not know you.”

Peter did that one other time, remember. Or three other times, actually, when he denied Jesus just before the crucifixion. “I don’t know the man,” he declared when he was accused of being one of Jesus’ disciples. The denial of the bridesmaids in the parable this morning is a foreshadowing of Peter’s denial of Jesus, himself. And it’s a warning for us, just that same, that that is not who or how we’re called to be as God’s Church in the world.

So may this parable be an invitation, not just to be wise instead of foolish and prepared at every turn; not just to store up and share our oil in faithful, responsible ways; not just to wait patiently and with hope for the coming of God’s Kingdom and, indeed, to recognize it in our midst.

But may this parable be another invitation to look for Jesus, himself … in the outcast among us … knocking at the door when we least expect it. And may it be encouragement to do our best to be prepared, with resources and with grace, with hospitality and with hope, to welcome him in to the feast that is his in the first place … and that is ours to share … always, for the sake of the world … until justice rolls down like water and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream for all of God’s children, just as it has been promised to you and to me.

Amen