Kingdoms & Seeds

1 Samuel 15:34-16:13 | Psalm 20 | 2 Corinthians 5:6-10,[11-13],14-17 | Mark 4:26-34

Last week I spent some time talking about Saul, and this week we hear again the story of David’s anointing. We witness again the obedience of Samuel, and we hear the not-so-common phrase that the LORD was sorry that he had chosen Saul as king. We’re also reminded that God doesn’t see as humans see, that God knows our heart. This and so many other stories in our Old Testament reveal something to us of the nature of God. These stories show us how we as people relate to the Almighty, how we are in relationship with God and how God expects us to be in relationship. It’s interesting to me to read the stories paying attention to such revelation and see how it applies or how it’s changed in our current time.

In the New Testament, particularly in our gospels, it’s likewise interesting to me to learn about what God reveals to us about the kingdom of heaven. We have the person of Jesus–God incarnate–showing us in word, example, and in his very being. In particular, the Word lingers for us in these parables that reveal to us the kingdom of heaven if we have eyes to see and ears to hear.

Today, the kingdom of heaven has something to do with the seed that’s fallen to the ground and sprouts from the earth–we know not how. It grows and bears fruit, and we are there to harvest it. It’s true: we don’t exactly understand the miracle of life, but we witness it. We know when someone is living into their gift, thriving as the child of God they’re created to be. It’s not without work, germination, discernment, and time, but it’s also the most natural thing in the world.

And the kingdom of heaven is like the mustard seed, growing from the smallest of seeds to the greatest of shrubs, bearing branches that give refuge for the birds of the air to make their nests in its shade. This is a beautiful image, one of the most concise parables we get of the kingdom (and the shortest lesson in Godly Play!). The mustard seed is tiny, about ¼ of the size of a poppy seed. While in Jerusalem, walking along the sidewalk, our guide said, “Ah, here’s a mustard tree. Who is it that wanted to see a mustard tree?” “Me!” I shouted, my hand waving in the air. It was flowering with its bright yellow flowers and looked to be relatively young, though it was taller than me, and some of the flowers had died, leaving the dried seed pods behind. I plucked one off and asked my friend to hold out his hand so I could break it open; when I did, I sprinkled the tiny black seeds into his palm.

These tiny seeds grow into the greatest of shrubs, providing a refuge, a sanctuary, for birds of the air. These birds can be looking for a new home, a safer place, better living conditions, protection from other creatures that might do them harm. They seek asylum. They find this in the kingdom of heaven.

We were told recently–in defense of the practice of separating families at the border–that the laws of government should be obeyed because they are ordained by God to fulfill God’s purpose (siting Romans 13:1). Let’s be perfectly clear here: we’re given witness of the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus in the gospels, and the rest of the New Testament canon is showing us how we live into our commission to go forth into the world, proclaiming the Good News, baptizing and making new disciples for Christ, being the Church. Paul gives testimony to how hard this was and continues to be. Our Scripture recognizes laws that govern. Jews lived by Torah law and had to navigate within Roman rule as well. Jesus was pretty clear in rebuking both when they trespassed God’s will, when God ceased to be first and foremost and when the people failed to love their neighbors. As Stephen Colbert was quick to point out, Romans 13:10: “Love does no wrong to a neighbor; therefore, love is the fulfilling of the law.” The law of the land in the kingdom is what we expect: to love God with all our heart, mind, soul, and strength and to love our neighbors as ourselves. Are we extending our branches as sanctuary and refuge? Are we revealing the kingdom of heaven here and now?

The Poor People’s Campaign: A National Call for Moral Revival believes that as a people united across the spectrum, we can find true center and manifest in our communities something that looks more like the kingdom of heaven and less like societies built with walls, clearly marking the haves and have-nots. The kingdom of heaven grows we know not how but has a great Love at the center of its power, and that love knows no bounds. Last week at the campaign, we rallied to the theme that “Everybody’s Got a Right to Live!” Everybody’s got a right to education, affordable housing, living wage jobs, and income. Everybody has a right to a quality of life worth living. In 30 states, folks rallied, and in Arkansas, we gathered at the steps of the capital, having been denied permission inside because of previous guideline violations. After the rally was over, there was a conscious decision made by some to stand at the capital and chant and sing, to take the message into the people’s house. We knew this wouldn’t happen. We knew that after the third warning we would likely be arrested. Ironically, it was after we were arrested that we were actually able to go into the capital and sing a song: “Somebody’s hurtin’ my brother, and it’s gone on far too long . . . and we won’t be silent any more.”

“What good does this do?” people have asked me. What point did you make? Major news media outlets weren’t there. If you aren’t on Facebook or don’t get the online newspaper articles, chances are you didn’t even know about it (unless you read our newsletter on Wednesday). For me, as a person of power and privilege in society, it’s my call out to say that I’m paying attention, to say that I’m willing to put myself out there for the least of these, to disrupt the typical order of things to point out that something isn’t right. “They’re arresting clergy now?” a friend asked me. Since the first week of the campaign; I’m not alone in this.

Still, this isn’t the way for some. At the Continuing the Conversation on Wednesday, I got the same response, similar questions, but I also shared this story I read about on Blavity:

This was one woman’s response in a situation that could have gone entirely different. Further in her feed and comments, she said she looked at the security guard who was watching them, and she shook her head as if to say: “Not today. You don’t get them today.” Instead of letting them get caught or turning them in, sending them right on down the pipeline, she spoke to them. She asked them questions. They are 13 and 14 years old. They needed the deodorant for practice but didn’t want to burden their fixed-income grandmother, who is their guardian since their mother died. They hugged Nanasia and cried. She gave them her name and phone number in case they ever needed a Big Sis or Auntie again.

This is an example of a different kind of direct action, an act of kindness made at a very personal, intimate level. You still don’t know what the long-term effects are: maybe one of those kids will grow up to be president or a Big Brother. Maybe when he’s older he’ll see a kid in distress and give him a hand up.

We’re always scattering seeds. We can’t know exactly how they’ll grow. We won’t all be mustard trees, thankfully. Creation shows us great diversity that provides sanctuary in all kinds of ways. But we’re all given gifts, talents, treasures, and choice. How we use them makes all the difference. If you’re struggling to know whether you’re on the right track, set your mind on the kingdom of heaven, and in prayer, ask yourself if it rings true of love of God and love of neighbor.

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Seeds & Weeds

Genesis 28:10-19a | Ps. 139:1-11, 22-23 | Romans 8:12-25 | Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43

A lone thistle from All Saints’ property.

A few years ago, I recall talking with my dad on the phone as he was out checking the cows, and he was complaining in colorful language how there was another … thistle in the pasture, another weed that–given the smallest window of opportunity–would multiply quickly and continue to contaminate the hay field. It reminded me of when Casey and I laboriously tended to our lawn in Conway, the lawn of the first home we purchased. We wanted to be organic, so I pulled weeds by hand on the lawn that Casey mowed in a certain pattern. Someone told me that one weed would spring forth seven more, at least, if not caught before it matured. I couldn’t imagine pulling up a thistle by hand, definitely not without gloves. Any time I would see thistles along the roadside or in a nearby field, I’d think of my dad and his battle with the thistle, his weed archnemesis, and wonder if that landowner felt the same way, exasperated at trying to get rid of them.

So when I picture the scenario of the parable Jesus gives us today, I imagine the servants looking suspiciously at their master as the weeds–and of course I picture thistles–grow above the wheat. “Trying to cut corners, were you?” they might be thinking. He bought the cheap seed, huh? Got a good deal? Because they had only planted what had been given to them. They had done their job right.

But the master isn’t a fool. He knows what’s going on. While everyone was sleeping, the enemy flung the invasive weed seeds throughout the crop. There was at least a 50% chance for the master to get aggressive in getting rid of the weeds. A chance that he would destroy the weeds and crop alike. To let the weeds and crop grow together would require more work and use valuable resources. There’s a chance the whole field would end plowed up, given up on.

The God of Jacob, who promised to be with him and keep him; the God of David, who is inescapable and knows the way that is everlasting; God, who revealed Himself in the person of Jesus as a sower of good seeds, is not a God of chance.

God knows.

The master knew what was up, what the stakes were, what the stakes are.

We struggle with omniscience. Because if God knows all, what does that mean about our free will? What kind of choice do we have? But if we listen carefully to our treasured parable today, we hear that the Son of Man is the sower of good seed. God, creator of all Creation, saw from the beginning that Creation is good. And that God knows everything means that God knows all variations on a theme of our choosing–from a reality where Adam and Eve stay obedient to a reality where only giving of God’s self brings redemption to the world. The great I AM knows all that is, has been, and will be, even though our human brains cannot even compute the infinite possibilities of the infinite variables at play in the actions and reactions taking place in all the world throughout the cosmos. And Creation is Good.

But what of evil? THE enemy?

Are we Episcopalians even supposed to be talking about evil and the devil? Yes. Because when were the seeds of the evil one sown? When everyone was asleep. When no one was aware. When no one was paying attention. Not until the deed had been done did anyone notice, and did you notice how quick everyone was to put the blame on the master? You planted the bad seed, didn’t you? It’s your fault. We want to do that, too, don’t we? When things go wrong, when life gets hard, we want to say God did it. Or if we’re trying to maintain a sense of faith, we’ll say, “God has a plan.” But it is so out of our hands that we’re just the innocent servants in the field, doing what we can with what we have. We’re just objects in the cog of the machine. Where here, God’s there, and if we’re doing everything right and staying faithful and obedient, evil is nowhere near us.

(If this is what you practice in your life, we need to sit and visit and hash out our theology a bit more.)

Every bit that God is faithful and devoted, inescapable and everlasting: God is Love. This Love is not only all-knowing, but it is also ever-present. So we can lay our head on a rock in the desert and receive a dream that blurs the distinction between heaven and earth and know that the LORD is in this place. We can bare our heart and soul, fears and doubts, joy and praise, and the unconditional Love never fades. We can hope with all hope and stand in the midst of the field when danger is all around and know that we are ultimately okay.

In the goodness of Creation, there was from early on the ability to be against God, to disobey, to interrupt the relationship of unconditional love. That we can do anything means we have choice, and love fully lived into is of free will, otherwise it is not unconditional, true, wholehearted love. And when Jesus tells us to love our enemies, it’s yet another example of Jesus telling us to do what God has already done.

God knows this. But the Devil doesn’t understand Love. The Devil doesn’t understand the devotion of a loving Creator who will go to great lengths–even through death and resurrection–for the sake of the good seeds that have been sown.

Does that mean that the weeds are automatically to be burned in the fiery furnace? We are so hasty to point out the faults of others, to label “us” and “them,” and to judge in general. Given texts that have language of reaping and burning, weeping and gnashing of teeth, we have an arsenal to broadcast fear. I want to be a righteous one, not an evildoer, and if being a “good seed” is too hard, well, I may as well not care at all. Why believe in something that dismisses me out of hand? The Enemy is clever, right? Is apathy worse than fear? It’s not any better. But if we think we are castaways, why bother?

Do you hear what our God who knows is saying today? I won’t hurt the seeds, even those sown by the enemy. I’ll let them grow. My workers will tend to the field, as I command them. The choices that are made will create the end result. Never am I not here. Never have I dismissed them out of hand. Even my enemy’s children have the option to choose love.

While I was in seminary, I had the privilege of being close to Nashville where Becca Stevens began the Magdalene House, a place for women to escape drug addiction and sex trafficking, lives on the streets. The founding principle is that love heals, and I have a couple of shirts and stickers of my own that promote Magdalene House and the social enterprise they started to give the women opportunity to learn and work. As many of you probably know (since we have models based on the Magdalene House in our state), the enterprise is called Thistle Farms. In addition to bath and body products, Thistle Farms sells paper products like greeting cards. In the handmade paper are bits of thistle, particularly the flower. The very weed that was the bane of my dad’s pasture is the very flower sought out by Becca and the rest of the Thistle Farmers. Becca says,

“To me, being a thistle farmer means that the world is our farm and our job is to see the beauty in the areas that have been abandoned or deemed unworthy of cultivating. Our fields include alleys, lots behind malls, railway clearings, and the poorest sections of town. When we harvest a thistle, we see the beauty in all of creation and that nothing should be left to be condemned.”

When she speaks to groups in Tennessee, she’ll often say that if we notice a place where thistle are growing, to let them know. Whether she’s talking about the thistles or the women who need healing, it’s hard to say, but God knows.

And we know, thanks to Jesus Christ, that we bear the burden of responsibility not to judge what is good seeds or bad weeds but to keep our focus on what is of Love. We stand in the midst of the field and know that there is so much more to this life that we don’t know than what we do. We believe even when we can’t fully understand that the boundaries between the realm of the angels and the depths of hell are not that far apart and that the promise of an end of an age happens more often than we realize and continues to happen only as God understands until the reality we perceive matches God’s dream for the kingdom to come. A dream where love is the pervasive reality, a place where love not only heals but also where love always wins and grows among us all.

 

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Seeds Are Everywhere

And so our mothers and grandmothers have, more often than not anonymously, handed on the creative spark, the seed of the flower they themselves never hoped to see — or like a sealed letter they could not plainly  read.
— Alice Walker, leading quote to the current Literary Mama edition

I pulled into our driveway yesterday, looking to my left where in our front yard is an island of trees, three large maples that the older three kids have claimed as their own.  Below the dense canopy there’s a hosta that survived the summer drought a couple of years ago, lots of creeping ground cover and even more monkey grass.  What I noticed mostly, though, is the variety of seedlings emerging on the periphery of this island.

maple_seeds_estock_commonswiki_149661_tn.jpg
Naturally, the monkey grass extends its boundaries as far as it
can, and the honeysuckle, a bush on the other side of the driveway, is generous with its seeds, too.  We have more than enough maple seedlings, but occasionally an oak will appear or redbuds.  Last summer I transplanted a wild tea rose (that’s what I’m calling it, anyway) that this summer has grown tremendously and throws its thorny stems every which way.

Now there’s one of those pear trees that are so popular in subdivisions (and that I can’t stand when they’re in bloom because they absolutely stink!) growing on the edge.  It came from our neighbor whose own tree was blown over in a storm.  I thought about transplanting the tree into the neighbor’s now vacant ring.  After all, she had wanted a tree like that.  I don’t.

And isn’t that the way it goes.  Often we are given that which we’d rather not have.  Wouldn’t life be easier if my mind weren’t so open.  Wouldn’t tending to the yard be easier if things didn’t grow so rampantly?  But gardens are beautiful in their bounty and growth (even if the raspberries are weighed down now),  and being open allows you the potential to receive more than you knew was possible.  Sometimes we just have to take the seeds we’re given, let them grow, help them as we can, and enjoy the harvest.

Nurture nature and yourself, your gifts and talents.  We may just be surprised at what pops up next.

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