A Sermon by Sydney V. (Skip) Jackson — April 19, 2009
Indianola Presbyterian Church, Columbus, Ohio
Text: Mark 4:1-34

The kingdom of God is as if someone would scatter seed on the ground…
It is like a mustard seed, which, when sown upon the ground,
is the smallest of all seeds on earth. — Mark 4:26 & 31

Jesus taught in parables, but “he explained everything in private to his disciples.”  Really?  I wish Jesus would stop by and explain his parables to me.  Last night we went to see “Godspell” at the Southern Theatre, and all the acted-out parables seemed very clear.  But in my seminary class on parables, the professor gave us a handout with 14 different definitions of what a parable is.  Some were pretty straightforward, others almost parables themselves.  “We do not interpret the parables,” says Sallie McFague, “They interpret us.”  What most of the definitions did share, however, was a sense that parables offer a kind of twist, shock, or surprise that confronts us with new and different ways of seeing things.  And once we “get it,” things never seem quite the same.

Mark’s is the oldest of the gospels, and in the second half of Chapter 4 we hear for the very first time Jesus say what “the kingdom of God” is like."  Up to this point we know only that Jesus was proclaiming, “The kingdom of God is at hand,” and that his disciples have “been given the mystery of the kingdom of God.”  But now he tells two parables to introduce his disciples and us to the kingdom of God directly.  Here’s what it’s like, he says.  Now you’ll be able to recognize it for yourselves.

Part of me wishes Jesus had been a bit more specific, because now we’re left wondering, “What do these parables mean?”  Well, if I knew that, I suppose I could just tell you.  But apparently even the explanations Jesus gave his disciples in private weren’t enough to keep them from misunderstanding.  So we have these two enigmatic stories, and we need to be careful not to go strip-mining them for some core truth or kernel of meaning.  In fact, they’re packed with all kinds of meanings.  But what they mean at any given time will depend on what you yourself bring to the stories—on your own special circumstances, the lenses you view them through, the faith questions you are wrestling with right now, the worries that keep you awake at night, and the blessings in your life that give you wonder and peace.  Unlike doctrine, which too often mistakes itself for eternal truth, stories (which is what parables are) leave you free to find meanings you need for your own particular situation.  Note how Jesus chooses one particular interpretation of the parable of the sower—one of many possible interpretations—that is specifically appropriate to the disciples’ failure to grasp what he is saying.

So I don’t intend to try to tell you what the two kingdom parables mean.  That would be like inviting you to a fine steak dinner but then pre-chewing the meat for you.  What I want to do is try to help us enter into these two stories.  Think of them as a house, and let’s walk around inside, opening doors, rummaging in the closets and cupboards, and peering out the windows.  Let’s see what it might be like to live there.  For Jesus says that the kingdom is like both stories.

The first thing I notice is how expansive is this dwelling place, much more a mansion than a shack.  Despite the parables’ brevity, there’s a wealth of meaning in all the images.  In the Parable of the Seed Growing Secretly, someone scatters seeds on the ground, the earth produces of itself, and harvest time comes.  In the Parable of the Mustard Seed, the smallest seeds grow into the greatest of shrubs, and birds of the air find shelter.  But there’s more… so much more.  This kingdom mansion has windows that look out on all parts of our lives, cupboards galore filled with treasures for the finding, different rooms for different seasons and purposes.  There are meanings here to encourage, to comfort, to prod us on, to keep us wondering.  Take what you need right now and leave the rest for another time.

The next thing that catches my attention is how ordinary and close the kingdom of God seems in all the images.  No white-winged angels playing harps, no streets of gold, no conquering armies, no trumpets of doom, no bearded judge sitting high on a throne “way out there” waiting to pass sentence.  Instead the kingdom of God is like planting a garden (my garden, your garden) and watching it grow, like farm fields in Ohio, like amber waves of grain, like birds nesting in hedgerows.  The divine is right here, in our midst, with us, around us, and among us in the things of everyday life.  The kingdom of God is come here on earth.  This should not surprise us.  Jesus often speaks of God’s kingdom in terms of common things—lost coins, wandering sheep, women baking bread, conflicts between kids and parents, people at wedding parties, and problems managing money.

OK.  So we look for the presence of God’s kingdom in the ordinary stuff of life, but more often than not we fail to perceive it.  That’s to be expected, for Jesus says it’s like seed sprouting and growing secretly underground.  I’m afraid I was never an especially good “hands off” gardener. When I grew sweet corn, I’d carefully prepare the soil before planting.  I’d fertilize and water the garden.  Then after a while when only a few corn plants seem to have sprouted, I go out to fill in the rows by planting more seeds.  Often I’d end up uncovering and disturbing seedlings just beneath the surface.  Then they’d die.  But in Jesus’ parable, the seeds are scattered on the ground—nothing about prior soil preparations—and the earth produces of itself.  The Greek word here is automatos, from which we get our word “automatically.”  So the kingdom of God is like good, fertile soil that can be trusted to yield fruit of itself, automatically—whether we can see it happening or not.

In the same corner cupboard in our “parable mansion”—the one labeled “the earth produces automatically”—there are yet other insights.  For if the kingdom is indeed like this then maybe we can let go of some of our anxieties, of needing to be always in control, of constantly needing to be busy finding things to do to try to bring in the kingdom.  It’s easy in the church for any of us to feel that everything depends solely on our efforts.  But the parable reminds us that it is God’s kingdom, after all, not ours.  Be still and know that God is God.  God is the one in charge.  Now, this doesn’t mean we should all just kick back and watch the world go by.  We also have the image of the harvest, which starts “at once” when the grain is ripe.  “At once.”  We need to be ready.  Giving up anxious busyness does not mean abandoning responsibility, setting aside concern for justice, or neglecting to live a productive life.  It does mean giving up the kind of sterile worrying about what disasters might befall us if we were to relax a bit and stop worrying.

 So… what else can we find as we poke around in this parable mansion?  How about the tiny mustard seed?  I once planted mustard in my garden when I lived in New Mexico.  The plants were wonderful—green and bushy, about five feet tall, covered with little yellow flowers.  But I quickly discovered that the crop of mustard greens for salad was ridiculously large, that half cup of mustard seed for making pickles barely dented the seed yield, and that two rows of plants completely took over that part of the garden.  Then to top it off, I had to fight an infestation of mustard “volunteers” in the entire garden for the next seven years.  So it came as no surprise when I read in a Bible commentary that in Jesus’ time it was against the law to sow mustard in a garden.  It’s a pest, a weed!  So what might it mean for the kingdom of God to be like sowing a weed in the ground?  Maybe it has to do with God irresistibly insinuating the kingdom into our lives.  Perhaps it pertains to how hard it is for me, and indeed most of us, to see anything good in the negatives that life throws at us.  And maybe this image even gives me a window on my own life?  If a weed seed can grow to make shelter for the birds of the air, then taking an alcoholic, career scientist like I was and growing a Presbyterian minister doesn’t seem all that far-fetched.

In fact images of growth seem to be everywhere we look in our mansion.  Seeds are scattered on the ground, and out of sight underground they sprout.  Then the plants break forth and grow through identifiable stages—“first the stalk, then the head, then the full grain in the head.”  I’m reminded of all the studies and theories of human development—stages of cognitive thinking, stages of moral reasoning, stages of faith development.  We all grow as human beings.  The kingdom of God also grows… in our world and in us.  And there is a great deal of hope in that image of the smallest of seeds growing into the greatest of shrubs.  Giant oaks from little acorns grow.  The longest journey starts with a first, small step.  It only takes a spark to get a fire going.  In such images we find comfort and also assurance, for despite small, even unnoticeable beginnings, an amazing growth seems almost inevitable… even when our faith seems the size of a tiny mustard seed.  But there is also a risk of excessive pride here—that we will be overcome by the picture of ourselves “all grown up,” standing independent and alone, on our own two feet, master of all we survey.

Here’s where Jesus throws a monkey wrench into the works, his own little joke perhaps.  It’s a joke that depends upon something that was common knowledge at the time—just as so many modern jokes do.  Think about how puns and “shaggy dog stories” only work if people know the original phrase the punch line is based upon.  (I’m tempted to tell one now, maybe the one about the cougar that ate Roy Rogers’ new cowboy boots… but I’ll refrain.)  I’ll try to explain Jesus’ joke instead.  In Jesus’ time, one of the expected, proper images for the kingdom of God was a great tree—specifically the largest and most imposing tree known in the ancient Mediterranean world, the cedar of Lebanon.  This image of the kingdom occurs a number of times in the Old Testament—in Ezekiel, in Daniel, and in Psalm 104, which I adapted for this morning’s “Call to Worship.”  And wherever this majestic tree is mentioned, there is also a nearby reference to the birds of the air nesting in its branches.

So we go to the closet in our parable mansion marked “all grown up.”  We pull the door open… and spring-loaded snakes explode in our faces and fly all over.  Instead of a tall, stately cedar of Lebanon for the kingdom of God, Jesus has a lowly, annual shrub—a weed.  It may be a “great shrub,” but it’s a parody of the majestic tree.  If any birds were to try to nest in its branches, it would bend and fall over.  Yet the birds of the air do find shelter there, nesting in the shade it provides.  And they will always be able to find plenty to eat from its abundant seeds.

Matthew and Luke don’t get the joke.  When they relate the parable, they have the mustard seed grow into an actual great tree with the birds’ nests in its branches.  It’s always tempting to see God’s kingdom in terms of worldly notions of power and prestige.  But this image that Jesus offers in Mark is not one of awesome grandeur and power.  Instead there’s a human dimension to it.  At four or five feet tall, a mustard plant is about the size of a person.  We might take all this as a clue to look for the presence of the kingdom of God in people, especially in those moments when any person provides care and comfort for another person in need.

I read an article in Smithsonian Magazine some years ago about tiny hospitals in small, isolated, rural communities.  Some of them have only a handful of beds.    A nurse in one of those hospitals was asked if she did anything special for the families of people who died there.  “No,” she replied. “I don’t recall ever doing anything out of the ordinary for the bereaved.  Oh sure, we cry with them and we sing with them and we pray with them.  But no, nothing you could call special.”  Indeed, the kingdom of God is nearer than we think, a kingdom come on earth, planted here among us and growing.

I leave you now to your own further explorations of Jesus’ parables.  You are free to seek out and find your own meanings.  I assure you that I have barely scratched the surface.  Move into these parables for a while.  Scatter some seeds in them; nest in their shade; make some small beginning.  Settle in and make yourself at home, and come to know something of what it is like to live in the kingdom of God.  For that is where we all do, in fact, live—in the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, in the love of God, and in the fellowship of the Holy Spirit.  Amen and amen.