"Seeds"

Joshua J Sander
6/17/12
Third Sunday after Pentecost
Father’s Day
“Seeds”

1 Samuel 15:34-16:13
Mark 4:26-34

I think I have always loved today’s Hebrew Scripture lesson. I don’t know about you, but I have always liked the moment when Jesse brings out his favorite sons and the eldest, Eliab, is standing before Samuel. Now in those days, in that place, being the eldest really meant something. It meant you were important. And Eliab has even more than his position as eldest going for him. He was a pretty big dude—and handsome, too. I always imagine Eliab as the stereotypical high school Captain of the Football Team and All-Star Quarterback—like Cory Monteith playing Finn Hudson in GLEE or Burt Reynolds in The Longest Yard or, you know, Joe Namath or Tom Brady in real life. Big, strong, handsome, charismatic—even Samuel takes one look at him and thinks, “Wow. This has got to be the guy.”

But he isn’t the guy. And I have to admit that I take a little pleasure in that fact. Because stereotypically the big, strong, handsome, charismatic guys always seem to have everything going for them—or at least a pretty girlfriend and a geek to do their homework. One of my seminary friends once admitted to me that she and her best friend in high school used to refer to the kids on the other end of the spectrum as trolls—you know, the smart but socially awkward and un-athletic ones, the stereotypical geeks doing the Football Captain’s homework. The Trolls. I don’t know about you, but there have been times in my life that I’ve felt a little Troll-like.

But God says to Samuel, “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him; for the Lord does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.” I suppose that news can be either disconcerting or hopeful, depending on whether or not you’re Eliab—I mean if you’re doing pretty well according to how the rest of the world measures things it would probably be a little hard to learn that God doesn’t measure things the same way.

On the other hand, if you aren’t the Captain of the Football team—and I suspect that most of us aren’t—there is hope in that knowledge. For what it’s worth, my friend went on to say that she wished she’d known then that Trolls tend to be the sweetest guys. In fact, if she could do high school over again, she’d eagerly date a Troll. I guess she learned to value the heart of a person over their physical or social status.

Can you imagine being Samuel, though? God sends you to do this job, and you think you know what you’re up to, but as soon as you say to yourself, “Aha! This has to be the guy.” You’re told, “No. I see something that you don’t. Try again.” I mean, it’s one thing to be told that it’s what’s on the inside that counts—but to be expected to pick someone out of a crowd on that basis is something else entirely.

Can you imagine staring at son, after son, after son, after son, after son, after son, after son… and just not seeing what God wants from you? Can you imagine living in the midst of that great mystery? Can you imagine wondering what it is that’s hidden inside of these people, that only God can see?

…and Samuel said to Jesse, "The Lord has not chosen any of these. Are all your sons here?" And Jesse tells Samuel that there is one more son. He’s the youngest and therefore lowest on the totem pole. In fact, he was forced to watch over the sheep while the rest of the men got to do the important religious ceremony with Samuel. And Samuel said to Jesse, "Send and bring him; for we will not sit down until he comes here."

And when David, the youngest and least important son, arrived, the Lord said, "Rise and anoint him; for this is the one." Then Samuel took the horn of oil, and anointed him in the presence of his brothers; and the spirit of the Lord came mightily upon David from that day forward. There’s something about God giving that kind of power to the smallest, the youngest, the least important that I’ve always loved.

I will also always have a soft spot in my heart for this scripture because it is directly related to the very beginning of my sense of being called to ordained ministry. I was a high school aged youth at Silver Lake Conference Center, which is the summer camp and conference center for the Connecticut Conference of the United Church of Christ. I was participating in a summer conference which is now known as the God Show—basically it involves 40-some-odd high school youth writing and producing a musical within a little less than a week.

Can you imagine what an intense experience it is? You come rolling into camp on Sunday afternoon with nothing even written, and by Friday night you’re performing for the rest of camp! And then on Saturday morning you go home. What a truly awesome experience. So once you get past the initial settling in questions—you know, questions like “Which bunk is mine?” and “Where are the bathrooms?” and “Why are the bathrooms called the ‘Freds’”—the first question concerning the show is, “What story are we going to tell?”

So we break into small groups and each group comes up with an idea for a story to tell. That particular summer, my group started talking about David. We all had heard the scripture lesson from this morning and we all knew the story of David and Goliath and we knew that David became the King of Israel… but we had no idea why God was upset with Saul or what kind of a King David turned out to be, or any of that—so we opened our Bibles and started reading.

Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever read all of David’s story, but if you have you know why our little teenage minds were completely blown. There was all kinds of political intrigue and war and enough sin to make daytime television blush. Honestly, I imagine that the adult leadership was glad when the group decided to tell a different story that summer, but I’m still glad that my small group was curious enough to go exploring like that. We learned that there’s a lot more going on in the Bible than we’d been taught in Sunday School.

So we picked a different story, wrote the lines, wrote the music, and performed it on Friday. And on Saturday we went home. And on Sunday I went to church and somebody asked me how Silver Lake was. And of course Silver Lake had been awesome. Very excited, I began to tell her about the whole experience, starting with how we broke up into small groups to find a story to tell and how my group had been looking at David… And seeing how excited I’d gotten over *stage whisper* Bible Study, she asked me, “Have you ever considered becoming a minister?”

“Uhhhh. No.”

But it was like a seed had been planted in me at Silver Lake without my even realizing it. And now that someone had named it, I couldn’t help noticing it. And the more I noticed it, the more I thought about it, and the more I thought about it, the more it just felt right. I began to notice how the various gifts God has given me could be used in ordained pastoral ministry.

It feels strangely appropriate to me that my sense of call began with the anointing of David, with a story of God looking into the hidden recesses of a man for something invisible and good. Because my call was not like that of Elijah, or Jeremiah, it was not like the call of Isaiah or Paul. There were no strange voices or visions. There were no angles. There was no thunderbolt from on high. I was not struck blind. I did not change my name. There was just something little inside of me, growing, like a seed hidden in the earth.

He also said, "The kingdom of God is as if someone would scatter seed on the ground, and would sleep and rise night and day, and the seed would sprout and grow, he does not know how… He also said, "With what can we compare the kingdom of God, or what parable will we use for it? It is like a mustard seed, which, when sown upon the ground, is the smallest of all the seeds on earth; yet when it is sown it grows up and becomes the greatest of all shrubs, and puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the air can make nests in its shade."

Speaking of Bible study, have you ever pondered the parable of the mustard seed? There’s so much more going on there than one might think at first glance. I mean, yes, Jesus is using a seed metaphor for the same reasons I just was: it’s a good way of talking about little things that are hidden and mysterious but turn out to be much bigger, powerful things in the long run. But why mustard?

I mean, at first glance, there would be better seeds to use to make that point: there are seeds that are smaller than the mustard seed. And there are seeds that grow into much bigger plants—a tree would be an obvious choice, wouldn’t you think? In fact, Ezekiel talks about God growing a little sprig into a mighty cedar tree capable of housing many birds in its branches… so, why mustard?

Well, there was a guy called Pliny the Elder, who lived between 23 and 79 C.E. He had the following to say about the mustard plant in his work entitled, "Natural History":

With its pungent taste and fiery effect, mustard is extremely beneficial for the health. It grows entirely wild, though it is improved by being transplanted: but on the other hand, when it has once been sown, it is scarcely possible to get the place free of it, as the seed when it falls germinates at once. (Pliny, "Natural History" 19.170-171; Rackham et al. 5.528-529)

So, what Pliny is saying… well, here, let me show you.
This is a mustard flower.
This leads to this.
And this.
And even, in some cases, this.
Pliny says that it’s tasty and good for your health, but… well… it’s a wildflower.

No, worse, it’s a really pervasive weed that has a tendency to get in with other plants and go wild. In fact, Jewish tradition forbids you to plant mustard in your garden because, well, it behaves like a weed. A particularly pretty and useful weed… but still a weed. Jesus said that this is what the Kingdom of God is like. It’s like when this
leads to this.

I hope that you’ve been living a little bit of the mystery of small, hidden things this morning, in the form of these packets. You can tell that they’re mysterious because they have these question marks on them, right? I’ve intentionally left off telling you about them until the end of the sermon on purpose, so that you might get a little bit of the feeling Samuel must have had, waiting for God to tell him which son was the one he was looking for.

I’m willing to believe, though, that some of you have already guessed what’s inside. How many of you think you know? Just as I thought. And you’re probably right. These are packets of seeds. Do you want to know what will grow from these seeds? So do I. I mean, I know a little more than you do at this point: I know that these are wildflower seeds. I’m assuming that they aren’t as invasive as mustard, or Lowes probably wouldn’t have been selling them, but… I’m not really a gardener.

I don’t know what they’ll look like when they come up. And that’s kind of the point. They’re mystery seeds. Emmi and I are going to find someplace sunny to scatter these and just see what happens. I have faith that it’ll be something pretty, and good. Just like I have faith that there are little, secret parts of each of you that only God can see. Mysterious and good little things that are just looking to grow and bloom in you—and then spread like mustard.

Let us pray: Abba, Father, Daddy—you do not see as we do; you look upon our very hearts. You can see all of the little mysterious things in us that lay dormant like seeds sown in rich earth. Cultivate us, we pray. Give us sun, and water, and the nutrients we need to grow the those things that are right and good within us. And then help us to use those things to spread Your Kingdom far and wide. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Faith of Our Fathers

Joshua J Sander
6/20/10
Father's Day
“Faith of Our Fathers”

Galatians 3:23-29

It is a tradition in many local churches, including this one, to sing the hymn “Faith of Our Fathers” on Father’s Day, but have you ever given much thought to what that really means? What does it mean to have the same faith as our fathers? The hymn paints a picture of something rock-solid—a faith that lives on even when the faithful are thrown into dungeons, put to the sword, or burned at the stake. According to the hymn, this is the faith of martyrs—a faith one holds until death comes!

That’s pretty heavy stuff, isn’t it? Especially on a day like Father’s Day. You see, we should never forget that Father’s Day is an awfully emotionally charged holiday to begin with. For some of us, it is a reminder that we’re blessed and lucky to have the fathers we have; strong men who love and support us and impart valuable lessons in life. The kinds of men who take us fishing, force us to mow the lawn, and teach us how to change a flat tire. For others, however, Father’s Day is a reminder of death. For still others it is a reminder of abandonment. And for some it is a reminder of pain and abuse and neglect. I find it difficult to sing “Faith of our fathers… how our hearts beat high with joy…” when I know full well that for some of us our fathers cause our heart to beat high with adrenaline…

…and yet—I find myself not wanting to completely toss out the phrase “Faith of our Fathers.” Something deeply resonates when you can say, “…like my father before me.” If you’re a science fiction geek—like me—you may be remembering the way it felt in Return of the Jedi when Luke Skywalker turns away from his hatred, throws down his weapon and says “Never. I’ll never turn to the dark side. I am a Jedi… like my father before me…”

Or if you’re a Bible geek—again, like me—you may be remembering when Moses asked God, “If I come to the Israelites and say to them, "The God of your ancestors has sent me to you,' and they ask me, "What is his name?' what shall I say to them?" And God responded, "I am who I am. Thus you shall say to the Israelites, "I am has sent me to you. The Lord, the God of your ancestors, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, has sent me to you': This is my name forever, and this my title for all generations.”

God’s name is “I am who I am.” And God’s title is “the God of your father, and your father’s father, and your father’s father’s father…” And there’s something to that. For example, one study shows that if a child is dropped off at church by their parents—but their parents themselves do not attend—they are not likely to grown into church-going people. The likelihood increases if one parent or the other attended church. And, of course, the children of parents who both go to church are much more likely to become church-going adults. Children are really bad at “Do as I say, not as I do.” They just are. They’re really, really good at doing what you do, though. So we really do have the faith—or lack of faith—of our fathers.

Some of you may be curious about why I would choose for the title of the hymn “Faith of Our Fathers” for the sermon title and then pick “The God of Abraham Praise” for the hymn that follows. Ah, but there is method in my madness. God’s name is “I am who I am.” And God’s title is “the God of your ancestors, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob!” “The God of Abraham praise. All praised be the Name, who was, and is, and is to be, is still the same…” We worship the same God as the ancient Hebrew people, the same God as all Christians from every time and place, the same God as the Muslims came to worship. And despite the great variation within Judaism, despite the great variation within Christianity, despite the great variation within Islam, and despite the great variation between the three Abrahamic faiths—we still worship the God of our father, and our father’s father, and our father’s father’s father. The same God through all generations.

Sometimes, in all our human brokenness, we confuse the fact that our God is the same God as our fathers’ with the idea that nothing should ever change. I do not find the virtue of unchanging rigidness in the Biblical witness, however. If you’re a Bible geek like me you can probably think of a bunch of places where God changes course. Moses convinced God not to destroy all the tribes of Israel when they worshiped the Golden Calf. Abraham argued God down from “I’m gonna destroy Sodom entirely,” to “If there are 10 righteous people in Sodom, I won’t destroy it.” And then there was the Incarnation. That was rather new.

And so much of the Hebrew scriptures are about making the Jewish people holy, set aside, different than others. All those laws about who not to worship, what not to eat, what not to wear—they’re all about making sure that God’s people are different from everyone else. That’s why we end up with only two categories of people—Jew and Gentile; God’s chosen and everyone else. But then Jesus is convinced by the argument of a Canaanite woman that she, too, deserved His help.

Then there’s the vision that Peter has, where God shows him a plethora of un-kosher foods and tells Peter to eat. And when Peter politely declines—citing God’s own law—a voice replies, “What God has made clean, you must not call profane.” It is immediately after that when Peter sits down and eats in the house of a Gentile, witnesses the movement of the Holy Spirit there, and Baptizes them.

And then there’s Paul. Paul is probably the most well known Jewish Christian missionary to the Gentile world. And as such he was right in the middle of a lot of interesting arguments around whether or not the new Greek Christians—who were considered Gentiles, remember—needed to observe Judaism in order to be considered good Christians. Talk about a Faith of Our Fathers conversation, right?
Paul’s answer to that question is to claim that faith in Jesus is an ultimate trump card:

Now before faith came, we were imprisoned and guarded under the law until faith would be revealed. Therefore the law was our disciplinarian until Christ came, so that we might be justified by faith. But now that faith has come, we are no longer subject to a disciplinarian, for in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith. As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus. And if you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham's offspring, heirs according to the promise.

Paul’s theology is not only arguing that God did something brand new in Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection. This theology is precisely why White Anglo-Saxon Protestants can claim “I am who I am, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob” as the God of our ancestors—as the God of our Fathers. Paul’s theology was a very new thing—and so you can see why I don’t equate the Faith of Our Fathers with something unchanging and rigid. But as in everything, there’s a balance to be had. We walk together in the traditions of our ancestors—including the one where we listen when God comes to us and says, “I am asking you to do a new thing.”

And so I want to leave you with two challenges today. Continue coming to church, bring a friend, bring your kids, walk in the tradition—in the Faith—of Our Fathers. Worship the God of Abraham and converse with “I am who I am.” Which brings me to the second challenge: don’t fall into the trap of thinking that the Faith of Our Fathers is rigid. Don’t confuse undying with unchanging. When you converse the God of Our Fathers, be sure to listen—God really is still speaking. And sometimes the Word is, “I’m asking you to do a new thing.”

Let us pray. Oh Great I Am, God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, You who were, and are, and are to be, we pray that you instill in us a thankful heart for our good fathers. Bring comfort to those who mourn, and help us to remember that for some people, Father's and Mother's Day are sad times not because they miss their parents, but because they do not—that not everyone gets the father they deserve in this life. For those people, Holy Father, we pray that you be the Father and Mother they deserve. Oh Eternal and Infinite God, help your Children when we become confused and mistake the infinite for the ultimate, when we confuse your unending presence with a need for status quo, when we ask for restoration so loudly that we do not hear your still speaking voice.
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.