I’m all in favor of increasing faith, but what does the mustard seed have against the poor mulberry tree, casting it out to sea to prove a point? And what a curious metaphor for our Lord to choose. Although nothing in Luke’s retelling of this parable suggests that the out-of-place tree drowned, the imagery is confusing. In general, it seems like a bad idea to plant a tree in the sea. And in the Jewish imagination, the sea was considered to be chaotic and dangerous. They weren’t wrong, as our neighbors in Florida and South Carolina would attest in the wake of Hurricane Ian’s deadly storm surges. Let us remember the trees—and the animals and people and communities—at risk due to chaotic seas and storms.
Matthew’s Gospel records Jesus talking about the power of mustard-seed-sized faith too, but in his case it moves a mountain. Which is no more likely, but perhaps a little less weird. In both cases, however, the point seems to be that a small thing can effect a hugely improbable outcome. An inspiring image, but a high bar for faith, because at any given time any one of us might not be feeling it. What if we’re just not sure about our faith, or what if—for all our prayers and faith—the troublesome trees and mountains of our lives seem to be staying in place?
Those would be legitimate questions. But from this privileged position of looking out at all of you, I am reminded that Jesus was speaking to a community of disciples. So he wasn’t assuming that powerful small faith was the property of any one person. The faith that effects great change isn’t dependent on any one of us, but it does need all of us.
A little context around today’s lesson. Luke locates these teaching of Jesus between the parable of the rich man and Lazarus—which we heard last week—and the story of the Samaritan leper who returns to Jesus to give thanks. So the lesson we just heard does not stand alone, but rather is one of several of teachings related to discipleship. That is, related to practicing the ways of Jesus. Which in this case might be summarized as forgive abundantly, trust the faith that is in you, and do what you are called to do.
Let those precepts sink in. Forgive abundantly, trust the faith that is in you, and do what you are called to do. Easy to say, but the challenge of a lifetime to live into. Ask anyone who has had to forgive an abuser, or anyone who has had to play a prophetic truth-telling role in their family, their workplace or public life.
We are born into or find ourselves in roles that may not represent the fullness of kingdom justice, but that doesn’t have to prevent us from doing what we are called to do. A mustard seed may be so small as to be overlooked—just as someone in the role of servant or slave may be overlooked—but it’s the only one in the ecosystem capable of growing a mustard plant. That is its nature and its work. A Christian grows in forgiveness, trust, and faithful response to God’s call. That is our nature and our work. Believing that about ourselves—regardless of the circumstances in which we find ourselves—might just be all the faith we need.
A young Francesco Bernardone believed that about himself when he risked his father’s wrath and indeed his business to follow his beloved “Lady Poverty” to serve the poor. That was in early 13th century, and so powerful was his example that many of Assisi’s young people adopted his simple rule “to follow the teachings of our Lord Jesus Christ and to walk in his footsteps.” Thus was founded the Franciscan order, and we celebrate his example even now on the Feast of St. Francis.
It’s tempting to think of the witness of St. Francis as unique in history, but remember that Francesco himself was inspired by others—by Jesus above all—but also by the example of forebears like Paul and Timothy. Even from prison—a circumstance as unjust as slavery—the apostle was encouraging his protégé. And their stories encouraged Francis. Seeds may be small, but they propagate. Faithfulness on the part of one begets faithful following on the part of others.
What are the seeds in this community? In my recent experience, they are your prayers. I have been really conscious of them in the process of accepting this call after the bewildering adventure of ministry during COVID. Never think of prayer as a thing too small. Your seeds are acts of mercy and justice, which I see you manifesting—like St. Francis—in service to the poor and vulnerable in our neighborhood. The seeds are your generous gifts, which added together will make the visionary goals of this year’s soon-to launch stewardship campaign—to manifest welcome to all, to nourish the worshipping community, and to witness to God’s shalom in downtown San Jose—as real as a relocated tree or a mountain.
Some years ago, when I was recently ordained and preparing to leave the Diocese of California for my first call as a priest in Portland Oregon, I found myself at the diocesan clergy conference. It was such a poignant transition, as I had served on the bishop’s staff for over a decade and I had no idea what I was getting myself into. At the closing Eucharist, there was a bowl of wheat seeds placed on the altar alongside the bread and wine. The seeds—and the bread made from it—had been locally harvested from the same retreat center where we were meeting.
They came from Elizabeth, an environmental chaplain, whose ministry is to preach and practice the good news of sustainable wheat farming. She plants heirloom grains and promotes a “farm to altar table” continuum of healthy production and consumption. Whenever we gathered, she made sure our communion bread was made from her heirloom flour. And in this case, she also made sure the seeds were blessed at the table as well. Elizabeth had been—to borrow from the language of the letter to Timothy—an example of a spirit of love and self-discipline in showing us a better way to both earth and bread as sacrament. That’s how the right seeds get planted, and also how trees and mountains get moved.
Jesus could have used any number of images to make the point that a small thing can effect a hugely improbable outcome. Birds, grains of sand; he had plenty of natural metaphors at his command. And all manner of small things put together can add up to something large; we know this from arithmetic and experience. But there is a holy particularity to a seed metaphor. Because mustard seeds are not just small, they are also full of potential to grow something quite unlike their modest size would suggest.
So as I look out at you—my community of ministry—this morning, what I see are seeds being blessed at God’s altar. Seeds of your love and longing for God’s reign, that will propagate blessing for each other and for our city. The gift of God that our second lesson mentions—of power and love and self-discipline—is already within us, just as the embryo is already within the seed. We may not know exactly how it or how we will grow in years to come, but we do know this. When we practice the way of Jesus: forgiving abundantly, trusting the faith that is in us, and doing what we called to do; anything can happen. The good treasure entrusted to us by virtue of our baptism, and the Holy Spirit living in us, will indeed make it possible.
