thoughts on the mustard seed...

For the past few weeks, there hasn't been a lot within me that's warranted a written expression. There have been feelings, of course, and some reactions to the madness that continues to infect the United States, but others have said it better than I ever could. A poem by Carrie Newcomer. The wise and insightful summary of Scripture that Diana Butler Bass shared from the work of the late Marcus Borg re: Attorney General Jeff Sessions' bastardization of St. Paul's pastoral wisdom in Romans 13. But it was their words that were essential - not mine.



Like St. Lou Reed railed in his over-the-top musical rant, "Starman," from the masterpiece New York, the world simply doesn't need more  empty, wasteful acts of self-importance: 

We who have so much to you who have so little
to you who don't have anything at all
We who have so much more than any one man does need
and you who don't have anything at all, ah
Does anybody need another million dollar movie
Does anybody need another million dollar star
Does anybody need to be told over and over
Spitting in the wind comes back at you twice as hard...

So it is with a measure of hesitation, therefore, that I lift up these thoughts on a sweet, sunny morning in the Berkshires. As is often the case, it was something in the words of Jesus in today's Gospel that called to me. (See: Mark 4: 26-34.) The ancient Psalmist of Israel spoke of a similar longing with perfect poetry:

As a deer longs for flowing streams, so my soul longs for you, O God.

My soul thirsts for God, for the living God...

Deep calls to deep at the thunder of your cataracts;

all your waves and your billows have gone over me.

By day the Lord commands his steadfast love,

and at night his song is with me,

a prayer to the God of my life.

"Deep calls to deep..." With a tender clarity, the deep but simple words of this morning's Gospel called out to a deep and simple place in my heart: "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.

Parables are the way of the Lord for me these days: ordinary, mystical revelations that take time to ponder - and behold - before their nuanced truths become clear. For over 40 years I have been thinking about this mustard seed and its wisdom continues to illuminate. Fr. Thomas Keating used to say the tiny mustard tree stands in contrast to the mighty cedars of Lebanon: one is a fast growing, ritually unclean scrub bush, the other a majestic tree of great stature used to build parts of Israel's first Temple. Jesus is challenging our illusions of power and importance. Certainly during his ministry, Israel was anything but powerful. It lived as an occupied and subjugated territory within the Roman Empire. One truth this parable suggests is that any nostalgia for the past - whether sentimentality for days gone by or an addiction to illusions of grandeur - does not advance the cause of God's presence in our lives.  

In truth, God's presence in the world is revealed in little things - even a mustard seed. God's presence can also be encountered in unexpected places like that scrubby little mustard tree crowding out other plants in the garden. What are the places of nuisance or annoyance in my life? Is the One who is Holy inviting me to look at them more carefully? How might they lead me into greater love? Hope? Trust? In that light, I've been thinking a lot about my movement out of local church ministry from the perspective of this mustard seed. For a long time, I was angry and hurt over the pain of this departure. I was ready to go - but not because of burn-out or any frustration as some have wrongly concluded - but rather because God had called me out. Living into this truth was complicated for us all and a variety of mistakes were made by everyone myself included. 

What I am starting to see, however, is that even through the harsh duplicity of some players - and the inability of others to show support when I felt at my lowest - God was still leading me. It was not the journey I wanted, however, but one shaped by an inner humiliation essential for my soul. I had to learn to honor being without power - and know both its pain and truth from the inside out - if I was to mature in tenderness. At the close of my sabbatical, I knew I was being called out of one ministry and into another. I was just too arrogant and confused at the time to realize that the new way would be shaped by the Cross. Step by step, this hard truth was revealed: if you want to ripen in gentle love, you must let go of your old ways and let my love be your guide. Like Jesus told St. Peter at the close of St. John's gospel: when you were young you went where you wanted and did as you saw fit; but now that you are older you must let another lead you by the loins and take you into those places where you do not want to go. I wanted to move into the way of radical tenderness, but apparently I first needed a three year course in humiliation before I was empty enough to trust God at my core. I still wrestle with this but such is another truth of the mustard seed.

There is also this from Fr. Mark Simone: 

Ezekiel’s cedar may have symbolized a majestic and ancient Israel, but it was also a plant that grew slowly and was all too easily toppled. The kingdom that Jesus revealed grew fast, recovered quickly from damage and flourished anywhere it sprouted. Jesus also called attention to the mysterious way seeds sprout and grow. That something so tiny could give rise to something so much larger than itself suggested divine activity. After sowing, a farmer had little more to do until harvest. “Through it all the seed would sprout and grow, he knows not how.” 

The disciples of both Jesus’ day and Mark’s needed a reminder that the success of their mission was in God’s hands, not their own. Their cooperation was important for planting and harvest, but the growth came from divine power. Jesus’ disciples today also need to trust in the promise of small beginnings and in the power of grace. The kingdom contains as much mystery as a tiny seed, and its growth is as inexorable as kudzu. Many of us dream great dreams for the church and the human community, but the kingdom is ultimately God’s dream, not ours. Our role is to till and sow and then look on in wonder as God brings it to fruition.

So often as a straight, white, bourgeois male I believe - and act - like what I want is the will of God. This is white male privilege speaking, not the parable of the mustard seed. I have lived in this privilege most of my life and it will always infect my perception. But infection, habit and culture need not be the whole or only truth: the mustard seed shows that God's grace is bigger, more mysterious, and even more inventive than all of my wounds. And that is worth saying out loud. Thanks be to God.