Stories that Stick: Mustard Seed

Matthew 13:31-32, 34

He told them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed, which a man took and planted in his field. Though it is the smallest of all seeds, yet when it grows, it is the largest of garden plants and becomes a tree, so that the birds come and perch in its branches.”

Jesus spoke all these things to the crowd in parables; he did not say anything to them without using a parable.

One day, Jesus went out and sat by the sea, and a great crowd gathered around him, so he got in a boat, and he taught the crowd as they stood on the beach. 

He spoke to them in parables, simple stories that pointed to something else. 

He’d take ordinary images that were right there before their eyes, and he’d weave them into his stories as illustrations or comparisons. Only his stories were a little absurd. 

• “Listen!” he said. “A sower went out to sow, and he cast the seed on the ground with reckless abandon.” …as if there were an infinite amount of seed, and as if he didn’t know it’s efficient to use the seed in ground where it’s likely to flourish. 
• “The kingdom of heaven is like a farmer who sowed good seed in his field,” he continued, “and when the enemy mixed weeds with the wheat, the farmer said, ‘let’s just wait and see what happens.’”…as if he didn’t know the weeds could deprive the wheat of nutrients or maybe even take over the field. 
• Again, Jesus said, “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed that someone sowed in the field. It grew and grew and grew and grew until it was a tree, and birds of the air came and built their nests there.” …as if a mustard seed could actually become a tree. The seed becomes a bush, of course, sturdy enough for a bird to land on perhaps, but to support a nest? 

Jesus followed the long tradition of prophets speaking in parables. He told stories to challenge the things we thought we understood. He told parables to help us imagine how God surprises us and even upends our expectations about what’s possible. He spoke of the kingdom of heaven — not as a place that’s somewhere else, but right here on earth — God’s vision for this place. 

God is doing a new thing, Jesus announces. It’s messy and unexpected. And because words are not enough, he shows us with his actions. Whenever he casts out powers of evil, whenever he heals diseases and brings good news to the poor, whenever he restores life in the face of death, he announces the kingdom of heaven. At the heart of God’s kingdom is mercy and righteousness.  

Love without limits, even love of enemies. A healed earth that includes peace and justice and the renewal of creation. It is here and now, but it is also in the process of becoming fully realized. 

A week ago Friday, Congressman John Lewis from Georgia died. You’ve probably read eulogies of him and heard about the memorial events that have already begun. His story reminds me of the parable of the mustard seed. In a compelling interview with Krista Tipett in 2013, he shared these details of his life. 

John Lewis was born to sharecroppers in Alabama. His family was impoverished. As a black child in Jim Crow south, there were not high expectations for what one could achieve. “Just keep your head down and work hard. Don’t cause trouble,” is what he was told. But at church and in Sunday School, he heard the teachings of Jesus, and he learned to read the Bible. He knew the crush of segregation, but he believed that somehow things would get better. When he was 14, he read with interest about Brown v. the Board of Education. When he was 15, he listened to Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King Jr. on the radio. Dr. King’s preaching inspired him to imagine nonviolence, peace, reconciliation, and to believe in his own capacity to change things. 

Like a mustard seed planted in the earth, change and growth happen gradually and inconspicuously.

He believed that a sense of community, a sense of family, a sense of one house was possible. And as he grew older, he discovered that through faith, one could believe that the thing toward which you’re moving is already done; it’s already happened. If you can visualize it, he said, if you can have faith that it’s there, then for you, it already is there. 

Like a mustard seed planted in a field, something beyond imagination is happening. 

John Lewis studied nonviolence and practiced it for when it would be needed.  Love is not a feeling but an action, he said. Love has the ability to bring peace out of conflict. But you have to be taught the way of love, the way of peace, the way of nonviolence, he said, because it’s not natural. 

Like a mustard seed planted in a field, the seed itself is being changed.

Love means patience, but it also means impatience. The status quo won’t do so you move your feet. Love is an action, he said, but don’t get in a hurry. There’s paradox. “Our struggle is not a struggle that lasts one day, one week, one month, one year, one lifetime,” he said. “It is an ongoing struggle.” 

Like a mustard seed that becomes a tree, it is already but not yet. 

John Lewis had faith that the sense of community, the sense of family, the sense of one house is not only possible, it has come for those who live it. 

Like a mustard seed that one day becomes a tree so large that the birds of the air come and build their nests in it. The tree is a place for life to flourish. 

John Lewis understood that we are becoming together and that we share in the work of God’s vision for a healed world. His faith in Jesus was the bedrock of his life, and his life proclaimed the humble power and mercy of Jesus. 

If we can find connection to the parable of the mustard seed in John Lewis’s life, maybe we can find signs of it in our lives, as well. Glimpses at least that might inspire us to be open to God’s promises beyond our imagination.

I’ve taken up feeding birds this summer. With so much time at home, we put up a pole and two feeders in the backyard, and I find myself delighting in it. Who knew so many different birds live in my neighborhood? Woodpeckers and sparrows and finches of multiple varieties come to the feeders, and they dine together. 

Birds of the air come to its branches and build their nests. I’ve started to notice. 

A few days ago, we cleaned our house, and a photographer came over. This time last year, Dave and I were living in a small apartment a couple blocks from our house while our kitchen was being remodeled. The project has long since been done, but our contractor wanted to take photos and was willing to wait until we had all the finishing touches in place. When we were finally ready, COVID-19 hit, and we all agreed that a photo session was not essential. This week, we finally put on masks, and the photographer and designer came over. 

Dave did a deep clean of the stove, while I set the table with our best china, cloth napkins and silverware. Our designer then did a little bit of magic and made it look more inviting than we could imagine. When the session was all over, we waved goodbye to the photographer and designer and started to pull the evidence of daily life back out of the cupboards. I looked at the dining room table and thought, I should really put the dishes away, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to have the party instead. 

The sparkling wine glasses and fresh flowers on the table signaled that a celebration was being prepared, and guests should be coming over to gather at our table. The internal dialog going on in my head said it was time to clear the table, but my heart longed for the gathering. I wanted people to come and dine at my table. 

Like the mustard seed planted in the field, I wait and long for what has not yet been fulfilled. 

The reality of COVID-19 looms large, and there is economic uncertainty for many. Poverty and disease and systemic racism are undeniable, too. These are difficult times. But we are not alone. God comes to us in Jesus and is found in the most difficult places of life. 

It’s a gift of grace in this changing and uncertain time to know the promise that God is at work bringing about the kingdom even now. We don’t yet see the fullness of God’s reign, but like a mustard seed planted in a field, it is growing, even if it seems inconsequential and inconspicuous. It’s a slow, transformative process, but its fullness is great beyond our expectations. A tree big enough for birds of the air to come and make nests in its branches. A reality in which all of life flourishes.

Friends in Christ, we are becoming together, and we share in the work of God’s vision for a healed world. So may God give us eyes to see, hearts to believe, and the courage to pray, “your kingdom come.” Amen.