The beautiful thing about the lectionary cycle is that certain scripture passages come up every few years – and the challenging thing about the lectionary cycle is that certain scripture passages come up every few years.
Every so often, we get the parable of the Good Samaritan or the Sermon on the Mount or Jesus walking on water and we look for new ways into the story, new perspectives, new hot takes on familiar texts many of us have been reading and hearing since childhood.
And so – the parable of the mustard seed.
And admittedly, there are a bunch of parables in this morning’s Gospel – metaphors for the kingdom of heaven – so I could choose to preach about the kingdom of heaven being like yeast, or like treasure hidden in a field, or a merchant in search of fine pearls, or a net thrown into the sea – and we could get into a discussion of angels and the furnace of fire and the weeping and gnashing of teeth – it’s tempting – but I keep coming back to the mustard seed. Because it’s a beautiful parable, and when I think of the parable of the mustard seed I always – and completely inaccurately – have this mental picture of a huge tree, like an oak or a chestnut, with a canopy of beautiful green leaves and massive branches that are shaped in just the right ways to hold birds’ nests and children climbing.
But a tall, beautiful tree is the wrong image for this parable, and definitely the wrong species.
Because the mustard seed – more specifically, the mustard plant – back in Jesus’ day, was known as a crop and also as a weed. Congregational pastor Eric Fistler and United Methodist pastor Robb McCoy, authors of the website Pulpit Fiction, tell us that “a huge mustard plant wouldn’t necessarily be known as a good symbol of success, prosperity and fruitfulness.”[1]
The variety of mustard that the parable likely refers to is something called black mustard. A tiny seed that grows into a big plant – a shrub, basically, not a tall tree – and a shrub that, while useful, is not ornamental, or even polite, but is invasive – it burrows its roots under the soil and takes over a garden or a field, and when it grows it can draw all the wrong kind of animals to its shelter. The mustard seed sprouts into an invasive, overpowering weed.
So in a sense, Jesus is comparing the kingdom of heaven to kudzu. Or dandelions, or bamboo, or the spotted lanternfly.
And yet.
“‘The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in his field; it is the smallest of all the seeds, but when it has grown it is the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches.’”
So. “Why, then, compare the kingdom of God to a pernicious weed and pollutant?” as Lutheran theologian David Lose asks.[2]
Why indeed.
Consider… the dandelions.
Disclaimer: I’ve always been kind of partial to dandelions.
We do not include dandelions in our Sunday flower arrangements behind the altar. They are not requested for prom corsages or banquet centerpieces. Dandelions do not have the elegance of roses, the outrageousness of sunflowers, the nostalgia of hydrangeas, the delicacy of Queen Anne’s lace. But still, a hillside full of dandelions reminds us of childhoods spent outdoors, sunshine, grass stains and all. We make wishes on dandelions, blowing their tiny seeds into the air to let the wind take them where they will, floating away until we can’t see them anymore. Dandelion greens, dandelion wine, dandelion tea… dandelions, according to the Cleveland Clinic website, are good sources of Vitamins A, C and K, folate, calcium, potassium and antioxidants.[3]
Dandelions grow in our backyard, our meadows, in sidewalk cracks – they can thrive even in some of the most difficult terrain. Dandelions are beautiful, or at least cheerful and bright – they are stubborn, persistent, and nourishing.
One could say the kingdom of heaven is like a dandelion.
Jesus had reasons for comparing the kingdom of heaven to a tiny, innocuous seed that quietly grows into a stubborn, persistent, nourishing weed whose roots anchor themselves in the ground and whose branches, while not conventionally beautiful, or even dandelion beautiful, become shelter for creatures the world may or may not want to give shelter to. Jesus was telling us that the kingdom of heaven perhaps isn’t the image we have of clouds and harps and the golden gate – the kingdom of heaven might be a powerful, healing, earthy place, with plenty of space for every kind of living thing to have a home.
The kingdom of heaven is tended by a greater gardener than we are. The kingdom of heaven is unexpected, uncontrollable, subversive and persistent. The kingdom of heaven, writes philosopher Vance Morgan, “cannot be harnessed or domesticated” – it is “risky, even dangerous.”[4] The kingdom of heaven grows from what seems small and powerless, but it holds infinite possibilities, far beyond we could imagine being born from that tiny seed. The kingdom of heaven lies beyond our understanding and expectations – it is a house holding dwelling places for everyone – from the most operatic songbird to the lowliest mouse. The kingdom of heaven welcomes all God’s children to where sorrow and pain are no more, neither sighing, but life everlasting. The kingdom of heaven is a garden, perhaps, where we come back to an Eden we left at the beginning of time, where God walks and we walk with God. The kingdom of God is a kingdom which turns upside-down the griefs and injustices and complexities of this world.
Jesus had reasons for comparing the kingdom of heaven to a seed, and to yeast, and to treasure in a field – all these human, everyday images from the beautiful and imperfect world we live in. He used these images not just because we might more easily understand and relate to what he was preaching, but perhaps also so we might understand that the kingdom of heaven begins here in this world, with us, and isn’t just something we wait for in a distant future. And he’s been telling us this through the last few weeks of parables – the parable of the sower, the parable of the wheat.
Jesus is telling us that not only is there a home made for us, planted for us, but that we can also be home for each other – we are the sower, we are the seeds the sower plants, the wheat growing in the field, the mustard seed planted and we are the soil it’s planted in. We are the yeast, and the nets, and the treasure hidden in a field. Maybe we are even the dandelions!
And yes, we are the mustard seed that grows into a bush, stretching out branches and offering shade, welcoming in the songbird and the mouse and the neighbor needing rest, in all the ways that we care for each other in the here and now, offering comfort in times of grief, company in times of illness, food in times of hunger, love in times of loss and sanctuary in times of danger. Let us be persistent, and stubborn, and start building in the here and now a kingdom that is nourishing, and impolite, and good. Amen.
[1] https://www.pulpitfiction.com/notes/proper12a/#Matthew13%3A31-33=
[2] https://www.davidlose.net/2014/07/pentecost-7a-parables-that-do-things/
[3] https://health.clevelandclinic.org/dandelion-health-benefits
[4] https://www.patheos.com/blogs/freelancechristianity/the-kingdom-of-heaven-is-like-kudzu
