During my years of teaching middle school, I kept a small jar of tiny mustard seeds on my desk. On those occasions when I caught a student doing a small act of kindness toward one of his or her classmates, I would place the seed in a small envelope and slip it inside the student’s desk with a card that read: “You helped make God’s Kingdom grow. Pass it on.”
The thought here, of course, was that when they observed a fellow classmate offering a helping hand or sharing art supplies, they would recognize that something very small – almost unnoticeable – was done in love and would then offer the seed as a thank you for the witness to God’s grace at work.
In time, mustard seeds were being passed carefully and furtively around the classroom. Kids who never seemed to shine academically or athletically were still made to feel seen when they received a mustard seed that told them they were making a difference. Even the students that were often sometimes troublesome and frustrating would receive a seed or two, indicating that none of us is beyond the touch of Kingdom-building.
In the end, that is the point that Jesus is trying to make in today’s Gospel: the seeds of love and mercy we plant – no matter how minor they may seem – will grow into a mighty cedar (first reading) where blessed rest is found and shade from the day’s heat is offered.
It’s a beautiful image … but also a difficult one for us to embrace as 21st century Westerners.
We don’t like tiny. We don’t want to wait. We want “Go big or go home” actions; we want everything to happen now and always successfully.
I suspect the listeners in Jesus’ time expected the same of the Kingdom He was proposing: they wanted a conquering army led by a military Messiah to wipe-out oppressive Rome right there and then. Why wait? What’s all this nonsense about forgiving and putting down stones and washing the feet of others?
And yet, in God’s great design and love, that’s not how He sees His Kingdom gaining strength and power. He, the Master Planter, knows exactly how he wants his garden to grow and the means by which it will. He is a patient scatter of grace and a Father always willing to help us plant the seeds of love wherever we may find ourselves if we are open to doing so.
It struck me powerfully last Sunday as I was preaching at St. Jude’s that God’s vision of Kingdom-building is a lot like a Dad’s love for his children. Interestingly, three different fathers had taken the opportunity which the homily-time affords to take a fussy or overly-rambunctious little one outside to stretch legs or dry some tears.
One grandfather stood in the main entrance-way threshold, cradling a grandchild and trying to comfort her in her fussiness. He held her to his chest; he rocked her until she quieted; he bounced her until she giggled. Grandpop never once yelled or lost his temper. He just held the one who was in a rough emotional place.
Another Dad stood right outside the church, chasing his 4-year-old who went off to explore whatever bug or leaf he had found by the downspout. From where I was preaching, I could see that the father had crouched down beside his son and was pointing to whatever was discovered, patiently explaining and listening to his boy as a wise teacher and lover of truth would.
Lastly, leaning-up against an SUV parked along the tree line of the parish property, the final Dad I witnessed had taken his son and was correcting the young one for inappropriate behavior in Church. Apparently the big brother hit his little sister as the Gospel was being proclaimed. The act was wrong and needed to be called-out. A loving Father is always willing to correct and guide for wholeness and healing to occur in the hearts and souls of his children.
By themselves, none of these actions taken by these three fathers were earth-shattering. They simply did what good parents are called to do. These Dads comforted, taught and redirected.
These, in the end, are the mustard seeds of God’s Kingdom. These are the seeds that he asks us to plant in the world around us, seeds which the Lord Himself is also working to sew within our own lives, in ways we don’t always understand.
Comfort. Teach. Redirect. The seeds we need. The seeds that grow into a majestic cedar where all can find rest on the journey.
To the Dads and grandfathers here today (Father’s Day) celebrating your presence in our lives: the Lord challenges you to be mustard-seed planters. You may not always see the immediate outcome of your wisdom, patience, hard work and love, but have no doubt that what you model to your children and how you show them what true sacrifice means will be the seeds they need to become adults who live for others. A mother’s love is unlike any other, we know, but we mustn’t forget that a father’s love is sacred, too. It is life-giving. It does make growth spring-up in the hearts of the children whom you are called to comfort, teach and correct on the journey.
Isn’t it fascinating to think that our Heavenly Father had no need for His Son to be raised by an earthly father? Jesus knew that God was his Father. And yet, God invited and asked Joseph, a humble man of faith from small-town Nazareth, to be a seed-planter for the Savior of the World. Joseph planted seeds of love into the heart of God. Wow!
What a beautiful understanding of our role: as parents and grandparents; as teachers and ministers; as people of faith: Scattering seeds of love wherever we go and wherever God leads us.
It need not be in mighty ways. Rather, like the ways of God, plant them in ways of humble charity and hidden acts of service. Plant them like envelopes in students’ desks, one seed at a time. One little conscientious, faith-centered decision to do something for God by loving another person.
Comfort. Teach. Redirect. It’s how the cedar of God’s Kingdom grows.
Just last week, my godmother entered hospice after a few weeks in which death seemed imminent. When she arrived at the facility that would become her last home on earth, she was confused and disoriented. Her roommate, also on hospice, was so good to welcome my aunt and took care of her from the moment she came into the room.
This stranger – for that is what she was at first – held my aunt’s hand when she spoke, showed her how to use the TV remote, and even now patiently shows her how to dial her cellphone, something my dear aunt can’t master any longer. Nothing here is earth-shattering. But they are definitely seeds of the Kingdom of God, and because of it, another person knows she is loved and the world is indeed a better place.