June 17, 2018
Ezekiel
17.22-24; 2 Corinthians 5.6-17; Mark 4.26-34
I
hope you don’t get too upset with me this morning. But I’m going to start out today with, of all
things, a poem. Actually, it’s only a fragment of a poem. And no, you can
relax: it’s not one of my poem either.
No,
this poem is a poem from, of all people, a Communist. A Communist from Chile. It’s one I definitely love. It is called “Oda
al átamo” or “Ode to the Atom.” (I think I’ve shared this poem before)
Infinitesimal
star,
you
seemed
forever
buried
in
metal, hidden,
your
diabolic
fire.
One
day
someone
knocked
at
your tiny
door:
it
was man.
With
one
explosion
he
unchained you,
you
saw the world,
you
came out
into
the daylight,
you
traveled through
cities,
your
great brilliance
illuminating
lives,
you
were a
terrible
fruit
of
electric beauty…
[Then]
came
the
warrior
and
seduced you:
sleep,
he
told you,
curl
up,
atom,
you resemble
a
Greek god…
in
springtime,
lie
down here
on
my fingernail,
climb
into this little box,
and
then the warrior
put
you in his jacket
as
if you were nothing but
a
North American
pill,
and
traveled through the world
and
dropped you
on
Hiroshima.
This
poem was written by one of my all-time favorite poets—a poet you’ve heard me
quote before and, trust me, you will hear me quote again and again—Pablo
Neruda. And this fragment of the poem we
just heard just touches a bit on what something as small as an atom can do.
An
atom—that smallest of all things—can, when it is unleashed, do such horrendous
damage. It truly can be
“a
terrible
fruit
of
electric beauty…”
And
look at what it could do.
If
the people of Jesus’ day knew what atoms where, he would no doubt have used the
atom as a symbol of the Kingdom of God,
But
rather, what we find today in our Gospel reading is Jesus comparing the Kingdom
of God to the smallest thing they could’ve understood.
A
mustard seed.
A
small, simple mustard seed.
Something
they no doubt knew. And something they no doubt gave little thought to. But it was with this simple image—this simple
symbol—that Jesus makes clear to those listening that little things do matter.
This
past Monday—on the feast of St. Barnabas—I celebrated my fourteenth anniversary
of ordination to the priesthood. What
can I even say about fourteen years in the priesthood? At fourteen years, one is definitely not the
new kid on the block. Fourteen years is a long time. Those hopes, those dreams one had for what one
was going to do in the ministry have either been realized or dashed.
At
fourteen years, you are a grizzled old veteran.
You’ve been through a few things, you’ve seen a few things.
More
importantly, one definitely knows if one is bearing fruit or not by fourteen
years. One knows if the seeds one has sown have been planted in fertile ground
or are, instead, being thrown to the wind and to infertile ground.
What
we all recognize is the fact that in one’s life as a Christian there are going
to be moments when it seems as though one’s ministry is flourishing and
wonderful. And there will be moments when our ministry seems to be producing
nothing.
Our
ministry, in many ways, reflects our lives.There will be feasts and there will
be fasts. And all are equally productive.
Jesus’
use of the mustard seed is particular apt way of approaching ministry. The mustard seed is the smallest of the seeds
and yet look at what it produces. This is what ministry is all about as well.
The
smallest thing we do in our ministry can produce some of the greatest fruit. And that’s real point. All of us—certainly all
of who profess our faith as Christians, who come to church on Sundays—are
called to ministry.
Ministry
is simply part and parcel of being a Christian. If we are baptized, if we live out that
baptism in the world, we are doing ministry. Ministry is not nor has it ever been the
exclusive claim of those of us who have been ordained, who wear funny collars
and crisp black clothes.
Ministry
has always been the work of all of us. That is why Jesus compares the Kingdom
of God to these images of seeds. The Kingdom of God doesn’t just happen when
priests and bishops get up and preach and make legislation in the Church.
In
a few short weeks beginning on July 5th, the Episcopal Church’s
General Convention will meet in Austin Texas. Let’s face it, the Kingdom doesn’t’ happen
just when we as a Church send out deputies off to places like Austin where they
make decisions about what direction the Church might go.
And
I can tell you right now: the Kingdom of God definitely doesn’t happen when we
hide behind Scripture or manipulate and use scripture to promote evil,
blatantly unchristian acts such as separated children from their parents. In fact, in those instances, we are uprooting
the Kingdom of God in our midst.
The
Kingdom happens when we—each and every single one of us—do, in even some small
way, what we profess to do, when we go out from this church on Sundays and try
to live out in whatever way we can what we have learned and professed here.
To
bring about the Kingdom of God in this world, we don’t need to be grandiose. We
don’t need to shout or scream or strut about, full of ourselves. We don’t need to use the Bible as a sword to
cut people down. We don’t even have to
say a simple word. When it comes to the
Kingdom, when it comes to true ministry, little things do truly mean quite a
lot.
That
sprig that the Prophet Ezekiel talks about in today’s reading from the Hebrew
scriptures is another example of what the Kingdom of God is like. From a sprig form the topmost part of the
cedar tree, can come a canopy under which we all live and serve.
Ezekiel’s
sprig and Jesus’ mustard seed remind me of Neruda’s atom. Just as the small good things in the world can
produce such beautiful and wonderful things such as the Kingdom of God in our
very midst, so do those small seeds of discontent flourish into ugly and
life-threatening weeds.
Sometimes
the little things we do, do much harm as well. A quick, harsh word of
criticism, a glance, a gesture of anger at a fellow motorist on the highway—all
of these don’t do anything to bring about the Kingdom of God in our midst. They
only sow discontent and anger and frustration. And where discontent and anger and frustration
flourish, the Kingdom of God is stifled.
We
have all known what it feels like to be on the receiving end of those seeds of
discontent. We have all known people who have been driven from the church by
what those seeds have produced. We
ourselves have no doubt been close to leaving the church over those weeds that
clog our lives and cause us such pain.
But
it does draw us back to the mustard seed once again. It reminds us that despite all the weeds that
can grow, that mustard seed can produce something even greater than weeds.
Those
small, good things we do can truly bring about more good than we can hope to
produce. Simple things like a hug, an
ear to listen, a smile, an attempt to soothe, to comfort, to help—all these
things and so many more go a long way in helping to crowd out the weeds of
negativity in the world. Over and over
again in our lives, we have no doubt seen the Kingdom of God blossom in
people’s lives and in the world from the smallest seeds of goodness.
So,
let us be seeds of absolute and total goodness!
Let us hold before ourselves that image of the mustard seed. Let it be
an icon for us in our ministries. Let it be for us a symbol of the ministry we
have been called to do by our baptism, by our membership in the Church of God. Let
the mustard seed be for us a doorway through which the Kingdom of God breaks
through into our world. Let it be the positive atom which, when unleashed,
creates an explosion of goodness and beauty and grace in this world.
Let
it be the “fruit/of electric beauty” that will transform this world into the
Kingdom in which God reigns completed and fully through us.
Let
it be, as Neruda begged the atom to be at the end of his poem:
“…instead
of the fatal
ashes
of
your mask,
instead
of unleashed infernos
of
your wrath,
instead
of the menace
of
your terrible light, deliver to us
your
amazing
rebelliousness
for
our grain,
your
unchained magnetism
to
found peace among men,
and
then your dazzling light
will
be happiness,
not
hell,
hope
of morning,
gift
to earth.”
Let
our dazzling light be happiness not hell.
Let
us be hope of morning.
Let
us be gift of earth.
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