(Luke 13: 18-19; A Sermon by Kim Thoday)

As a young person during the 1970s I was interested in anything to do with Sci-fi. With the American fascination with “alien invasions,” of course, there were plenty of American TV serials dealing with that kind of theme. Since then we have seen a steady stream of block buster movies depicting the survival of the American race against overwhelming alien forces in one form or another. There was one Sci-fi serial that particularly caught a young boy’s attention, called Land of the Giants. I guess it captivated me partly because it tapped into some of the ancient story-lines of magical and mysterious realms; but I remember also being intrigued with the seemingly limitless ingenuity of the “little people” (the humans) as they sought to survive in a hostile and indifferent land of Giants. So, rather than an invasion of earth (or more particularly, the US) this time human beings had accidentally invaded an alien planet. At least this was a rather novel relief to the standard grist of the Sci-fi movie mill. No doubt the show’s popularity still hinged upon the perennial theme of human beings under attack or the threat of attack. Such a theme will likely always make good business if it can be manipulated and commercialised well, because our survival is something we all have a vested interest in.

It is interesting that history reveals the tendency we have to desire to become like giants: to build fortresses to fend off the demons of our minds and gigantic edifices to worship our own ego and bask in the powerful idol of immortality. It is as if we have not understood a thing from the revelation of God’s truth in the story of David and Goliath and the story of the Tower of Babel. At this present time where one nation reigns supreme as super power, it had better learn from the example of Goliath in history. And where the Church is attempting to emulate and baptise a Goliath theology and strategy, it too had better learn and repent. The New World order is not so new after all. And the fall of other Goliath nations in the past: the Caesars, the Colonial Empires, the Communist Empires, are not so far removed and we are still profoundly affected by their fault-lines. But we have short memories in our era of collective unconsciousness, as John Ralston Saul, has described it. My memory of salvation history is that if a person or nation continues to habitually kick around the “little people” then the great sleepy giant or unconscious nation is liable to be caught by surprise by human ingenuity born out of oppression and the instinct for survival and revenge. It is not surprising that the largest Australian Church (as it publicises itself to be) is in our era declaring: “The Church that I see is a Church of influence. A Church so large in size that the city and nation cannot ignore it. A Church growing so quickly that buildings struggle to contain the increase.”

In the 1920’s, Dr. George Buttrick, a prophetic preacher said: “We are victimised by bigness. Our banks claim their millions in deposits. Our buildings, like the tower of Babel, must ‘reach unto heaven’ and ‘make us a name.’ Every village not pathetically passe is eager to disfigure its beauty with factories. Every city not hopelessly moribund is ambitious to double its population. Meanwhile, in our crass chamber-of-commerce philosophies, we ignore the leading fact that a bigger city does not therefore breed a better people. Even the Church brings forth “movements” which flourish for a day like a green bay tree and then die, having printers ink-pot sap and being stricken by the blight of statistics.” What ought the metaphor be for our day of simulation and virtual reality? The blight of statistics is still very appropriate.

In the predominantly agrarian communities of first century Palestine, the proverbial antithesis of a green bay tree was the mustard seed. It was typical of Jesus to make use of common things to teach us about uncommon things. Whilst there were many different kinds of mustard plants that grew in the Holy Land, ordinary peasant people would have been used to two main varieties. The first perhaps to come to mind would have been the mustard plant of village life that grew into a rather large herbal garden shrub. The second would likely have been those mustard plants that grew wild in places like on the banks of the Jordan, near Lake Galilee and near Damascus. These were certainly large enough to support the nesting of birds. Today in Palestine wild mustard trees can grow to 3 to 4 metres in height and support bird life such as finches. The parable by Jesus, as recorded in Luke’s Gospel, depicts the cultivated herbal variety of plant that the seed will ultimately grow to be: “So he said: ‘What is the kingdom of God like, and to what should I compare it? It is like a mustard seed which a man took and sowed in his garden; it grew to be a tree, and the birds of the sky built their nests in its branches’ ” (Luke 13:18-19). However, while the scenario is drawn from domestic agriculture, yet this seed grows into one of the wild varieties, into a tree, rather than a bush, large enough to support and afford the protection of nests.

As is often the case, Jesus’ parables contain within them elements that subvert the common sense world view. Rather like, for instance, when Adam Phillips says: “You can’t choose your parents, but everybody invents them.” For Jesus’ hearers, this parable contains several remarkable and indeed surprising subversions. Firstly, Jesus compares the kingdom of God not to the seed of say a mighty tree like a cedar, but to the seed of a rather common plant, not at all magnificent in stature and beauty when fully grown. Secondly, although the parable emphasises the man’s participation in the process of the sowing of the seed, the ultimate changes involved in the seed becoming plant are hidden and mysterious. Thirdly, the parable in Luke’s Gospel emphasises not the importance of size (either the smallness of the seed, nor the largeness of the tree). Rather, the startling juxtaposition is that a seed sown for the purposes of herbal cultivation has grown into a wild mustard tree – in a sense the tree doesn’t really belong, it is not where it should be. Now, of course, we are in many ways conditioned by Matthew’s account of the parable, where the smallness to the largeness it emphasised as indeed the parable is expanded so that the incongruence of Luke’s version is smoothed over (cf: “…it is the smallest of seeds, but when it has grown it is the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree …” (Matt 13:32). I would therefore suspect that Luke’s version is the more original version of the parable, even than Mark’s account.

The parable in Luke, as in the other Gospels, points to a wisdom that says the outward appearance of things is not necessarily what is of importance. Like the other Gospel accounts, Luke’s account suggests that the kingdom of God occurs in very ordinary ways that are quite small and insignificant but that it requires that faithful service of disciples to sow the seeds of the Gospel. Luke’s telling suggests, I think, that while the size of our achievements for the Gospel are difficult to measure, often times least is best, and sometimes in life, the greater is less. Furthermore, Luke’s version of the parable in particular, is radically subversive in equating the ultimate of Kingdoms with the seeding and growing of a mustard seed. Often this parable has been used to prove the case for exponents of small churches as it has with equal vigour been used by those who tell tales about how they started out with only 45 people and over time they have been especially blessed, for their church now numbers in the thousands. Both extremes, I believe, entirely miss the centre of gravity of the parable. Jesus’ parable of the mustard paints a picture of God’s Kingdom that will: 1) require the co-operation of human beings 2) call human beings to accept that God is in final control of the great mysteries and outcomes of the cosmic Kingdom and 3) be in nature entirely different to the worldly kingdoms of spectacle and power; where extraordinary signs and wonders of lasting influence will be established upon earth in the most hidden and ordinary ways.

This surprising, delightful and mysterious parable is entirely in keeping with all of Jesus’ spirit-filled teachings and demonstrations of the Kingdom of God at hand. What we can know for sure is that the Kingdom of God is nothing like the “Land of Giants” vision of the prosperity “Gospel” marketeers. Frederick Buechner, in his book Whistling in the Dark, reminds us of those whom Jesus chose to begin the mustard seed Kingdom:

“Not the spiritual giants but “the poor in spirit” … Not the champions of the faith who can rejoice even in the midst of suffering but the ones who mourn over their own suffering because they know for the most part they’ve brought it down on themselves … Not the strong ones but the meek ones in the sense of the gentle ones, i.e., the ones not like Caspar Milquetoast but like Charlie Chaplin, the little tramp who lets the world walk over him and yet, dapper and undaunted to the end, somehow makes the world more human in the process … Not the ones who are righteous but the ones who hope they will be someday … Not the winners of great victories over Evil in the world, but the ones who, seeing it also in themselves every time they comb their hair in front of the bathroom mirror, are merciful … Not the totally pure but the “pure in heart,” to use Jesus’ phrase, the ones who may be as shop-warn and clay-footed as the next one but have somehow kept some inner freshness and innocence in tact.” (pp. 19-20)

Here, Beuchner recasts the great beatitudes of the Kingdom of God for our time, the Kingdom of the mustard seed. Mustard seeds may appear harmless and insignificant, but through the faithfulness and cultivation of a human heart that is generated by the transforming power of God, that mustard seed becomes the living manifestation of God’s cosmic Kingdom for ever and ever, Amen.

Blessing’s in Jesus’ name,

KIM THODAY

http://www.hewett.org.au