Tuesday, July 31, 2018

mustard seeds, quiet and unexpected invitation to the holy....

One of the thoughts that keeps returning to me as I listen again to the parable of Jesus and the mustard seed is how easily I can squeeze the holy out of my world. That is, in the beginning of our spiritual journey, even when we recognize our longing for intimacy with God, there is only a small place for the holy within. We're cluttered, distracted, unfocused and more. That's part of the wisdom of this parable, too: we do not need to start out heroically or with great strength for faith to grow. Opening to the sacred needs only a sliver of opportunity for grace to ripen and mature within us. With a modest effort - and persistence in real time - the kingdom of God can and will grow in us in magnificent ways. Part of the genius of this parable is that it tells us something important about ourselves as well as the holy. In each version - Matthew 13: 31-32, Mark 4:30-32, Luke 13:18-19 - I see four truths described obliquely:

 + First, the openness of our hearts always starts small. Most of us do not have a Damascus Road conversion experience like St. Paul. Rather, over time we notice a yearning within. Or an emptiness when we are quiet. Or an aching for a connection to meaning beyond our daily routine. This quiet desire for something more than the status quo is God's invitation to us. Like Elijah the prophet discovered, the Lord did not come to him in the big things - the earthquake, the wind or the fire - but in the still, small silence. (See I Kings 19: 9-13) One of the truths Jesus asks us to consider is when have we experienced these quiet and small invitations from God? If we're too busy, too stressed, to sleep-deprived and all the rest, we may not notice the still, small voice withing the silence.
+ Second, our openness to God's grace often begins with something outside of traditional religion. The mustard seed, after all, was considered ritually unclean for desert gardens; once rooted, it would quickly spread and crowd out more valuable produce. It is fascinating and odd, but rings true, that Jesus teaches that often God's small invitation to us comes in the most unlikely ways. It might be a song on the radio. Or a conversation in a bar. It could happen through the birth of a child or a humiliating experience at work or love. The still, small voice of God's invitation can show up in any place and at any time - and rarely occurs in worship. It can happen there, too but usually only after we've started to pay attention elsewhere. That tiny, unclean seed holds a lot of meaning for those willing to give it a bit of space.

 + Third, if we offer God a small place in our hearts, the very nature of God's love will grow within us.  All the mustard seed requires is a little dirt, some water and sunlight. The gardener doesn't have to pay much attention to the seed once it is placed into the soil. I was feeling this last night in my closing prayer: when I make a little bit of space and time for the sacred within myself, it grows. That is the nature of God's love. It matures. Ripens. Begins to bear fruit by grace rather than human effort. St. Paul likes to remind us that the presence of God within - the realm or kingdom of God - is a gift. And if we honor it, this gift will ripen into what the apostle speaks of as the fruit of the Holy Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. (Galatians 5) These virtues begin small, take a long time to mature, and produce mostly small acts of tenderness in real time. Cumulatively, however, what is small offers shelter to those in need like the birds of the air in the parable.

 + And fourth, while God's grace desires to spread within the garden of our heart, we have to do our part lest the shrub whither and die. This is one of the paradoxes of faith: grace grows within both by God's quiet presence and by our openness. That is all that we need bring to the Lord: an open heart. Without this, God's small invitations still arrive and God's blessings are still taking place, but we will be too busy, cynical or obsessed to receive them. I know in my own journey by faith that without making space every day for quiet and silence I can push the small presence of God away without even realizing it. In fact, it has happened over and again. Maybe for you, too? I am not talking about feelings - they wax and wane in their own mysterious ways. No, I mean being intentional about quiet reflection, contemplation and prayer. Not asking God for anything, but being still to receive in a relationship.

 I am grateful to have the time to sit in reflection - and write - these days. One old salt used to tell me, "Man, you have all the time there is so don't waste it." And for many years I knew this was true - and still wasted it. Then, that tiny seed would find a way back into my consciousness and I would start again. On Sunday, when Di and I played and sang with other artists on a stunning Sabbath afternoon, the closing poet, Grace Roman, offered up a new work. She is profound, passionate, brilliant and disciplined as an artist. She joined with me and a cadre of musicians, dancers and poets in January to ring in the new year with courage, resistance and beauty. With her permission, I share with you her poem, Tune In to This, as yet another small and brilliant invitation into the holy.

Tune in to This

It was a spiritual experience.
On a cold night in a crowded concert hall,
Something holy blasted through the speakers,
And burst into the room,
And danced into my collar bones.

In that sea of strangers I was home.
Together we wrote poems on the ceiling with our fingertips,
Listening,
Thinking as one,
Singing as one,
Pulsing and convulsing as one,
In that moment we were not just one species,
We were one organism - one being, together,
Hearts beating, together,
Feeling the music tickle like a feather,
Then beat down like rain,
Til it exploded like fireworks.

They say it sounded like fireworks
In Orlando, Manchester, Las Vegas
When holy places were violated,
When temples built to the gods of musical unity were desecrated,
When worshipers of melody were struck down as they celebrated.

Is this the world we’re living in?
That moment when you realize that your skin
Is such a thin barrier between you
And those who never learned how to speak
Without taking the voices of others away -
How could we not be afraid?
How could we not want to stay
In our individual, bulletproof bubbles of safety,
Not making a sound?
When fatal fireworks resound around the globe,
How could we not be stunned to silence?
But when we’re quiet, the sounds of violence grow louder by comparison.

Think of all the dissonance we’re carrying
In our collective short term memory,
Replaying every gunshot -
Every screaming, screeching truck,
Every newscast, news that your politicians
Are still stuck in the dark ages,
That there were more outrageous tweets sent at two in the morning,
Disjointed jabber jumbled into one constant, grating hiss -
Life’s soundtrack shouldn’t sound like this.

So take your sadness,
Take your fear - take that last drop of calm that you hold so dear -
Take all of it, don’t swallow it,
You’ve been holding onto it for far too long, now.
Let it breathe -
It’s time to turn it into song now,
Strong, now, together.

This world needs music more than ever.
make some.
Taste the vibrations.
Flourish from their nourishment.
If music be the food of love, play and on and on and honestly,
I don’t know if I’ll ever be able
To fully let go into the flow anymore,
Knowing that people have waged war on it.
Mourn for this.
But then, sing your sorrow
Into something glorious, transforming it -
Feel it beat down like rain.

Joy is not the absence of pain,
But the willingness to sing anyway.
at

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