Scott Crawford
John Calvin Presbyterian Church,
Metairie, Louisiana
Text: Mark 4:26-34 (and secondarily Psalm 20)
Title: “Rebuilding from a Mustard Seed”
Good things have small and humble beginnings. In the winter of 1818, the city
of New Orleans was home to all of 80 Presbyterians. Technically, they weren’t
Presbyterians, but instead, a hodgepodge of Protestants who wanted a
non-Episcopalian Protestant church in the city. They met one evening to call
their first minister, a young Princeton Seminary student named Sylvester Larned.
Those of you who know your New Orleans history will recall that this was a time
of horrible outbreaks of yellow fever. The young minister arrived and was a
smashing success. During his first summer in the church, Rev. Larned traveled
north to attend a meeting of the Presbytery of Mississippi. While he was away,
an endemic swept through the city and Larned was unable to return. Rumors
swirled within the community. Some said he had abandoned the church and fled in
fear. But that wasn’t the case. In his personal notes, he wrote later that he
would not be caught again in a similar situation. Quote, “I resolved that I
would never leave New Orleans again in a sickly season…Duty is ours, events are
God’s.” A year later, Larned, was true to his word. Another yellow fever
outbreak swept through the city. But he did not leave. Instead he was serving
in hospitals, ministering to the sick. That service, though, had a price. He
came down with the deadly disease. But it did not stop him from preaching. On
August 27, 1820 he preached on the text, “For to me, living is Christ and dying
is gain” (Ph1:21). Four days later he died. But the seed of the Presbyterian
church in this city was planted.
Today’s New Testament reading is a parable about the Kingdom of God. The
setting is early in Jesus’ ministry. Jesus has been baptized. He spent 40 days
in the desert with the great Tempter. He called the first disciples together.
He healed the sick. And after all that, Jesus is found near his home on the
shore of the Sea of Galilee. The crowd by this time is so large, Jesus has to
get into a boat. And he begins to teach, or maybe even to ponder and imagine.
“With what shall we compare the kingdom of God?” From that question, let us
remember that this story is about the kingdom of God. It’s not about a seed;
it’s not about a tree or the birds in that tree. These are images that help us
to understand the object of his lesson. That object is the kingdom of God.
What does that term – the kingdom of God – mean to you? What images come to
mind? Is it heaven? Maybe, but remember that Jesus also states that the
kingdom of God is within or among us already. Is it the perfect earthly society
where people live in peace and harmony with one another? Maybe, but in such
pictures, God is often left out. Theologians in the past two centuries have
argued back and forth on these two images of God’s kingdom – the heavenly future
that is God’s work alone and the earthly present which humanity is obliged to
build. Interesting as those debates may be, Jesus is not about complicating
matters. He simplifies them and says, “The kingdom of God is like a mustard
seed.” In that simple message, we stand confounded.
God’s reign, God’s kingdom, starts off small, like a mustard seed. Those who
garden and have seen a mustard seed and mustard bushes know that the tiny black
seed is not literally the smallest of the seeds on earth nor is the shrub that
the seed produces the greatest of all the shrubs. This is just another example
of the hyperbole Jesus often uses. The seed is a physical, corporeal image that
helps us gain understanding. In the modern world, we like to think in terms not
only of space, but also of time. So thinking in terms of time about the
kingdom’s beginning, we turn to the creation story, The kingdom begins in the
beginning, when something came from nothing, when light was brought from
darkness, when the dust was brought together, molded, breathed into, and
humanity formed. God initiates this kingdom and God rules over it.
Like a mustard seed, there’s something so organic and utterly alive about this
kingdom. It isn’t a kingdom which God reigns over in the highest heaven,
removed from and untouched by the events that go on below. God’s kingdom is
here, but it’s also moving, moving from potential to actuality. God’s is the
kingdom that continually builds up, growing more and more vibrant as time
passes. Our earthly kingdoms, empires, unions, and republics are not like
that. Ours are the kingdoms which begin and reach a height of power. And then
they collapse and are as dust to dust. Look through the pages of history:
Babylon, Egypt, the dynasties of China, Rome, and one day America. Enron and
Pan Am. DH Holmes, K&B, McKenzies, though their king cakes live on!,
Schwegmann’s, and Brunnings. All are like the flower that fades. In the words
of the psalmist (20): “Their kingdoms will collapse and fall, but we, whose
pride is in the name of the LORD our God, shall rise and stand upright.” All
natural things have a start but soon disappear. We see it in the seed that
becomes the plant that withers after bearing fruit, the star that becomes a
supernova, the human that gives us friendship and love and sadly dies. Such is
the circle of natural life. But, like God’s being, God’s reign knows no end.
There is a beginning and a consummation, but no end. It is infinite.
In its boundlessness, the kingdom of God is mysterious. Jesus says that as the
seed sprouts, the farmer does not understand how or why it grows. It is a
mystery. For many, mystery has come to mean a problem that needs to be solved,
like in a mystery novel. The true meaning of mystery, however, is something
that is beyond human reason and understanding. A mystery can never be fully
understood and whatever understanding we do receive is a result of God revealing
that bit of understanding. A mystery, therefore, is not a problem to be
solved. Neither is it something to be left to the recesses of our minds and
tongues because we at the outset know we can never fully understand it.
Absolutely not. Mysteries should be enjoyed and adored. Their meanings should
be sought so that we might know them better, even if we see but dimly.
Mysterious as it is, God’s kingdom is also majestic. Though it starts small,
like a mustard seed, it becomes like the greatest of all the shrubs. Matthew
and Luke actually use the term tree. That image – the tree – should catch our
attention, not only because we see them every day but also because the tree is
loaded with symbolism in the Bible. In Genesis, it is ironically the tree of
life that bears the fruit that kills us. In the Gospels we rise to new life
because of the tree from which our Savior hung. The tree is there, from our
death to our birth. Death to birth. It sounds a little silly, but as
Christians we begin our true journey with a death, a death to ourselves. And
our journey continues with a new birth into Christ. Likewise, the mustard seed
must die a death. It must cease to be a seed if it is to reborn as a tree. So
too did Jesus have to die a real death, so that he might be reborn in the
resurrection that we all will share. The kingdom of God died at Calvary; it was
conquered and vanquished. But soon, triumphantly and gloriously, it rose again
and was born anew. The kingdom grew for us so that we might have rest here and
now, in this world. Not slothful laziness, but real and true rest where our
desire is for God alone. But we also wait for an eternal rest. In that coming
day, we shall find what Augustine says is “the peace of quietness, the peace of
the Sabbath, a peace with no evening” where we rest in God and God in us for the
Sabbath of eternal life (Confessions XIII.51).
Where do you see the seed of God’s reign growing in this world? Out of the
chaos we have been through, can you see the seed? In the time, energy and money
of volunteers, can you see the seed? In those who peacefully work for
reconciliation in the world, can you see the seed? It’s not going to happen over
night. Like a mustard seed, growth isn’t instant. It’s slow, but steady. We
work and wait for that growth. Working and waiting. We can till the soil and
weed the garden, and we should, but ultimately, we wait and trust that the one
who “began a good work among us, Christ Jesus, will bring it to completion”
(Ph1:6). Work and wait patiently for that growth. It’s the same patient
working required when we learn a new language. We learn slowly, taking baby
steps, first learning the vocabulary and then moving to the grammatical rules.
From a small beginning, we gradually have something new and good – the ability
to communicate with a new people. It is like repairing your home, putting in
drywall or ripping out flooring bit by bit. The work is hard and slow, but it
is leading somewhere. It is like prisoner Andy Dufrene in the book and movie
The Shawshank Redemption. Wrongly imprisoned, Andy shows us how to work and
wait, each night as he chips away at his concrete cell wall. After nearly
twenty years, he completes his tunnel that leads to redemption. Recall the
patient work our Lord has done with us. Always at our side, even when we have
turned away. There God is, waiting and working, quietly and mysteriously
leading us from death and into life.
From death and into life. From chaos and into order. From small to enormous.
That is how God’s kingdom works. Remember Sylvester Larned and the Presbyterian
Church in New Orleans. Out of death, life was born, and we, nearly 200 years
later, enjoy the shade of the Presbyterian church. Out of the death of he who
is God with us some 2000 years ago, we sit in the shade of the universal
Church. John Calvin said, “We are not our own…We belong to God; to God,
therefore, let us live and die” (Institutes III.7.1). May we, God’s chosen
servants, be willing to live and die for God’s kingdom. A zeal such as this may
seem small when you look at the big picture of the universe. Yet, the fruit
born from this willingness, fruit you may never see, will become larger than you
could have ever imagined. Just like the mustard seed.