The Gentle Hum of Faith

Parables aren’t supposed to be transparent. They are supposed to make listeners think and even argue. They are puzzles, koans, poetry, and word prisms. They are intended to upset those who hear them, raise questions, and confront all our certainties. In today’s Gospel Jesus uses parables to describe the Kingdom of God in ways that challenge us to question what we think we already know. 

In the midst of all the disturbing things happening in the world, the horrible abuses of power, the unbelievable atrocities including the synagogue shooting in Manchester and the brutal raid by ICE on an entire apartment building in Chicago, there were signs of God continuing to be at work in the world. The death of Jane Goodall, environmentalist and animal activist; a life very well lived, of whom only good things were said. The celebration of life for our parishioner, Colin Plows yesterday and again, the telling of his story of a life very well lived. The presence of the military community with their quiet strength and disciplined manner; people who keep Canada safe, working together and each doing their part. For us Anglicans, there was the announcement of the new Archbishop of Canterbury, and to the surprise of many, it is for the first time in the history of the Anglican Church, a woman. God surprises us sometimes! In her acceptance speech, Archbishop Sarah Mulally referred to “the quiet hum of faith” that courses through us, and this said something to me about today’s parable: the parable of the mustard seed. The flags did not fly at half mast for Jane or for Colin. Not everyone will be happy that the new Archbishop of Canterbury is a woman, but the seed of faith planted in these people and in each one of us, like a mustard seed will grow and flourish in ways that only God working in us can bring about. St. Francis, whose feast was yesterday, was another example of someone in whom the gentle hum of faith quietly impacted the world around him; his radical simplicity and gentleness continues to impact many in our world today as an early environmentalist and conservationist with a great love for animals. None of these people set out to achieve something important, they just, as my dad used to say, “quietly got on with it”. 

During the time of Christ, to say something was the size of a mustard seed  was to say that it had no great significance, and to those early followers of Christ, the church probably did seem very small and insignificant, especially when measured against the might and power of the Roman empire, or the Jewish temples, or some of the pagan cults of that time. To answer their doubts, Matthew recalls Jesus’s teaching about the Kingdom as a means of encouragement. Remember the context in which Jesus is speaking these words, the context in which Matthew is writing his Gospel.  There is a small band of genuine followers of Jesus. He has been rejected by the religious leaders, and he is doing his teaching outside in the open air, outside the walls of the temple. He is essentially preaching to a minority. He has already left Galilee and has begun his journey to Jerusalem where he will be rejected, persecuted, and ultimately put to death on the cross. 

A mustard tree is not what is expected when a farmer plants a crop, but nobody notices the tiny mustard seed. It is hard to see, hard to keep an eye on, but it has a way of mixing in with other seeds, germinating and sprouting and eventually, dominating and taking over. In fact it is an invasive species. Knowing this, I’m sure the disciples were shocked to hear Jesus say, “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed,” because they would have assumed that the planting of the kingdom of heaven would be more orderly and predictable, laid out in neat rows like lettuce, or tomatoes or spinach!  What is planted is what grows. It is predictable. 

However, when Jesus says that the kingdom of God is like a mustard seed, the implication is that those neat and tidy rows will be invaded and overturned in ways that are unpredictable and unexpected. Just as mustard seeds may be mixed in with other seeds. So maybe there is a deeper meaning for us in this parable. In the church, we want to be able to define what belongs, what fits. We want to have clear definitions. Part of this is the specific way we pray:  we have Scripture, we have creeds, we have liturgy, we have tradition. We have convictions about Baptism. We have boundaries:  nice, neat rows of carefully tended doctrine and practice. And we have buildings:  lovingly constructed churches where we gather to worship as the people of God. I think God is disturbing our neat and tidy rows and doing a new thing. 

Just when we are least expecting it, God pushes us beyond our carefully constructed boundaries, forcing us to consider whether our boundaries are also God’s boundaries.  “The kingdom of God is like a mustard seed” a tiny symbol of how God is forever invading our nice orderly sense of things. Like a mustard seed hidden in a sack of seed, in the hand of the Sower, in the church, in the mind of God – like a mustard seed, like a treasure hidden in a field, like a pearl of great value hidden among the rest, like the tasty fish hidden among the total catch, like yeast in rising bread. 

The kingdom of heaven, like the mustard seed, penetrates the cultivated soil of our certainties and our boundaries, and creates out of it something entirely new and unexpected. Hidden within what we think we see so clearly; it grows in unexpected ways until what we thought we knew is transformed by our surprising God. Our God who is always calling us to surrender, to go beyond our comfort zones. To be open to new possibilities. So let us not reject the symbolism of the mustard seed which, like us, given the right conditions, can grow and mature and amaze with its strength. Amen.