Tag Archives: Parable

Jun 17 2018
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I Have Decided to Follow Jesus

A sermon preached at The Cathedral of St. Philip, Atlanta.

(I got choked up at the end of this one.  Still do.)

Proper 6, Year B. Watch it here.

When I first considered the juxtaposition of our gospel text with the story of David being anointed as king, I started asking myself, who are the mustard seeds among us? You see, David was a mustard seed. When Samuel asked David’s father to round up all his sons and present them, he didn’t even bother bringing David in from the fields. David was the youngest. Likely the smallest. Perhaps the least skilled or the least mature. There was no chance Samuel was coming to select David. Better to leave him tending the sheep.

But no! Samuel passed up every other seemingly ideal candidate for the job, listening to God’s instruction. After considering no less than seven sons, he came to the end of the line, probably a little concerned that no king was to be found, but asked—do you not have any more sons? And only then is David even acknowledged and then invited to be present.

And lo and behold, God chooses David. And chooses him for his heart. If you know anything about David, you know his heart wasn’t perfect. No earthly king’s heart is. But you also know that David drew near to God and talked to God and repented to God when his heart failed God.

So I’m still asking myself, who are the mustard seeds among us?

Who are the leaders we might ignore, pass over, neglect, assuming them to be unworthy?

Who doesn’t seem to fit the job description of our minds, but instead fits God’s search for a good heart?

Who is too young? Too old? Too disabled? Too slow? Too shy? Too loud spoken? Too unrefined? Too poor? Too unknown? Too colorful? Too boring?

If we are honest with ourselves, we all have some sort of prejudice that causes us to look past certain people as if they do not even exist. I know I do—and yet it’s hard to know when I do because we don’t always notice what we don’t notice. Because like David, even if we have the best of intentions, our hearts our bound to fail God on occasion. Will we, like David, draw close to God so that we can see our sin and ask forgiveness?

Who are the mustard seeds among us?

But Jesus didn’t tell these parables (and there are two of them) to bring up David. Jesus told these parables to talk about the kingdom of God. And so we need to talk about the kingdom of God this morning, too.

The first parable reminds us that we are not in control, and the kingdom of God is not all about us or about what we can do or what we can bring about in this world. Someone scatters seed, goes to sleep and wakes, watches the seed grow without understanding why. In fact, the Greek word used describes these crops as growing automatically. The earth produces of itself. I find this illustration to be both reassuring and humbling. Reassuring because at times I feel completely overwhelmed by the needs of our world. I feel too small (like a mustard seed!) to make a difference. This parable reminds me that the kingdom of God will come to fruition automatically. The kingdom of God will produce of itself. God’s bigness is much bigger than my smallness. But it’s a parable of humility too because I need constant reminders that I do nothing apart from God. That self-reliance is a myth. That my efforts to have it all together are more about my vanity than about pointing to God’s activity in the world. And so daily we pray: thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. We still have a role to play in this story, but it’s not the lead role.

And I imagine that is true in part because the kingdom of God is seemingly so counterintuitive, so counter-cultural, so revolutionary, that it’s beyond anything anyone but God would dream up. When Jesus compares the kingdom of God to a mustard seed, he’s being funny and subversive. He calls the mustard plant the “greatest of all shrubs” which is like saying “the most resounding of all harmonicas” or “the most eloquent of all toddlers.” And then, because Jesus has a knack for turning things upside-down—for comforting the afflicted and afflicting the comforted—for saying things like, “You’ve heard it said an eye for an eye, but I say love your enemies”—this same Jesus chooses a plant as ubiquitous as kudzu in Georgia. Not the kind of plant you’d choose to cultivate. And in explaining why the mustard shrub is so great and kingdom-like, he praises it for giving birds of the air a place to nest. Anyone who has watched Wizard of Oz knows that birds are not what you want near your crops. It’s why we have scarecrows! Yet Jesus compares the kingdom of God to an unwanted plant providing shelter to unwanted birds. If that doesn’t preach this week, I don’t know what will.

So friends. Fellow mustard seeds. Do not be discouraged, but pray fervently that God’s kingdom will come on earth as it is in heaven. And then don’t be surprised when it looks nothing like powers of this world. Be like Samuel—searching for God’s anointed in unlikely people. Be like David, drawing close to God and asking forgiveness when your good heart falls short. And be like Jesus, upsetting the status quo with love again and again and again. Because Jesus doesn’t come as justice incarnate or fairness incarnate, but LOVE incarnate. And I have decided to follow Jesus.

Amen.

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Sep 23 2014
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Generosity and Grumbling

9:00AM service at Trinity Wall Street, New York City
Jonah 3:10-4:11Matthew 20:1-6
Watch it here.

God is good—All the time/All the time—God is good–Amen.

Indeed both the readings we heard today speak not only to God’s goodness, but God’s opulent goodness. God’s over-the-top generosity.

First we hear the story of Jonah and the Ninevites. Jonah takes the prize for being the whiniest of the prophets. I mean here he tries to escape God’s instruction to go to Nineveh and warn the people of their coming destruction and doom, he’s thrown into the sea and swallowed by a giant fish who vomits him out onto dry land again, he begrudgingly makes his way to Nineveh and says simply, “Forty Days and God will smite you all,” and then he climbs up a hill and perches himself on the side of it to wait and watch the destruction. Kinda like the Grinch who stole Christmas waiting at the top of the mountain to hear all the Whos in Whoville cry boo-hoo-hoo.
Jonah
But low and behold, those pesky Ninevites—the people everyone loved to hate—the people who had enacted such evil atrocities on so many—the people no one could forgive—what do they do? They change their ways and turn to God. And God changes the divine mind and decides to spare the city.

Jonah is not happy. Perhaps he crosses his arms and pouts, or perhaps he shakes his fist up at the sky as he exclaims, “I knew it! This is precisely why I tried to flee in the first place. I knew that you are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love. I knew it.”

And God says, “Is it right for you to be angry?”

I think when we hear this story, we’re inclined to be like, “Yeah, Jonah! Give it a rest! How could anyone get upset over a merciful, gracious and loving God?!”

Ok, now picture a person, or a group of people, or a city or nation who have inflicted serious gut wrenching evils on us. Picture a modern-day Nineveh that you might wish were wiped from the Earth. Do you have that person or people in mind? Now imagine God forgiving them, and imagine your response.

Man, forgiveness is hard. Even when we’re not the ones doling it out, even just witnessing the immense love of a forgiving God can make us bristle.

And then we look at today’s gospel. A landowner goes to the market and hires some men to come work in his vineyard for a day’s wage. A few hours later he returns to the market and hires more men. And a few hours later he returns again, sees some men standing idly by, says “Why are you standing around doing nothing?” and when they respond, perhaps feeling destitute, that no one has hired them, the landowner brings who must have been the “least of these” back to work in his vineyard for the remaining hours of the day.

That evening he pays them all the same day’s wage, whether they worked 2 hours or 10. Of course the workers who had worked all day grumble at the landowner’s generosity. It’s not fair!! And like God’s response to Jonah, the landowner asks, “are you envious because I am generous?” And we might be inclined side with the landowner, because who could possibly begrudge his generosity?

But now imagine the implications on your life if minimum wage were to increase to better compensate the workers on the lowest end of our economic system. Or imagine how much more the food on your table might cost if the migrant farm workers who harvest it were entitled to basic workers’ rights, like one day off a week.

Sure it seems ridiculous to begrudge one’s generosity—until it demands something of us.

And lets face it. As easy as it is to laugh or scoff at the senseless anger of Jonah or the laborers, if we take these readings seriously and truly apply them to our own lives, we’re bound to squirm a little. Because if we worship a God who is merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love—a God who acts out of generosity rather than fairness—a God who forgives way beyond our comfort zone—then are we not called to follow the one we worship and try our best to do likewise?

As you leave here today, think about which of these two stories makes you squirm the most, and then continue to reflect on it all week long. Think of God’s mercy on the Ninevites when you’re watching or reading the news. Think of the generous landowner when you’re going over your bank statement. Allow yourself to get uncomfortable. And then consider how you might practice more forgiveness and generosity in your own life so that your very lifestyle is an act of worship and a testament to the God of love we know in Christ Jesus.

Amen.

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