A service club gathers for lunch each week in a nearby hotel. After lunch and a little business, someone from the group usually introduces a speaker. Club members rarely know in advance what the program will be. They may hear from a Mexican exchange student, a tax attorney, or a team of skydivers. They discover the topic when they arrive. Anticipation was high when one speaker arrived with a carousel of slides. Much to the chagrin of many, he was introduced as a landscaper with an interest in English gardens. But as he began to talk, the audience was captivated by his insight and ability. He showed slides of beautiful British gardens, each one a dance of color and vitality. He explained why individual plants are chosen for their size, shape, and color. He spoke about the importance of a careful design for each garden.
Along the way, he made an observation. "There are two ways to plant an English garden," he said. "One way is to mark the garden in careful plots. You plant one kind of perennial here, another over there, a shrub over there. Keep each plot distinct, and then weed the areas in between. That is a high maintenance garden which requires constant work."
"The other way," he said, "is to plant some bulbs in a cluster over here and over there, throw some seeds around in between, and let it happen. Don't worry about the weeding. Just plant the garden and let it go." Now, that was a novel idea. Have you ever heard of anybody who plants a garden and lets it go? I am neither a farmer nor a specialist in horticulture, but the few gardens I have known were more work than they were worth. I grew up on the northern edge of the Appalachian mountains. After the first spring rain every year, my father would fire up his roto-tiller and break up the soil. It was my job to follow behind, pick up the winter crop of rocks, and throw them off to the side. It was hard work. We had to harvest the rocks before we could plant the vegetables. Each trench was dragged open by a hoe. Onions went here, corn went there, lettuce was planted in a row. When the crops sprouted, my sister and I were sent to weed the garden. I was marginally competent at the task. Once I yanked up a whole row of green beans and threw them on the weed pile. Yet I never thought you could plant a garden and let it go.
Nevertheless, that was what the man said. And that is what Jesus said in one of the parables we have heard. He tells us about someone who planted a garden and left it alone. The sower did not worry about weeding. Neither did he worry about rocks. He just scattered the seed, and let the seed do all the work. Here is a picture of letting go, of someone who relinquishes control, of business without busy-ness. For people like me, it is a picture that is difficult to keep in focus.
Most of us want to think we are indispensable. We wake up each day hoping to fuel the world with our enthusiasm and boundless strength. At Ronald Reagan's inauguration, the President read for us an entry from the diary of Private Martin Treptow. We were ready to hear such energetic words. Private Treptow was an obscure World War I hero. The new President read this entry from his journal: "America must win this war. Therefore I will work, I will save, I will sacrifice, I will endure. I will fight cheerfully and do my utmost as if the issue of the whole struggle depended upon me." Too bad Mr. Reagan didn't go on. The next entry in the journal reads, "Getting a poor start. 8:30 in the morning, still in bed singing 'Home, Sweet Home.' "1 We can understand that, can't we? Some mornings we wake in the earnest desire to take the world by storm. When we forget to set the alarm clock, we awake late after the best sleep ever.
In the two parables we hear from Mark, Jesus points to the great potential in things that look passive. A farmer works hard in the field, but having planted a crop he must get on with his life. Each day has a rhythm of eating, drinking, and sleeping. The parable insists that he has to sleep. He wakes up on many days when all he can do is walk out and see that little seems to happen. When the harvest comes, the man lets it come because his life depends upon it. The text assures us this farmer is quick to put in the sickle. But there is a period when all he can do is wait. Just let it happen. It is hard for a lot of us to do that.
Then there is the mustard seed, proverbially the smallest of all. Perhaps there are smaller seeds, like the alfalfa seed and others. But this little mustard seed in the soil explodes into a bush massive enough to shade the birds of the air. No one hovers over the germination and growth; the seed carries its mysterious future in a way hidden from ordinary human observation. Its potential is beyond all speculation. Left to us, we might want to pursue more aggressive measures. Somebody put up a sign along a stretch of interstate highway. It was a large white slab of plywood with blood-red letters. Planted in a cow pasture, the ominous sign announced, "The kingdom of God is coming at any time; repent and believe the good news. Bible Fellowship Church." The sign painters intended this apocalyptic message to affect the changed lives of every passing traveler. And certainly, many saw the makeshift billboard and stepped on the gas. Everybody, that is, except the cows in that field. They didn't look too upset about God's approaching kingdom. Some cows were chewing. Others were sleeping. Some simply stood there, as only cows can stand in a field.
It looked like something Jesus would say. "Go to the cow and consider her ways." Announce the kingdom and sow the seeds; then grab a bite to eat, take a nap, and stand around in patience. God's coming reign is beyond all calculated human effort. We do what we can, and spend the rest of the time living. Robert Capon points out, Once the man in the parable has sown the seed, he does nothing more than mind his own business. He goes to bed at night and gets up in the morning -- and then he shops at the supermarket, unclogs the sink, whips up a gourmet supper, plays chamber music with his friends, watches the eleven o-clock news, and goes to bed again. And he does that and nothing but that, day after day after day -- while all along the seed that is the kingdom sprouts and grows in a way that he himself simply knows nothing about.2
The best lesson may come from a little girl who plants cherry tomato seeds in a paper cup. One day her father helps to fill the cup with topsoil. She pokes a hole in the soil with her finger, drops in the seeds, smooths over the top, and gives the cup to her daddy, who puts the cup on the kitchen windowsill. Then she says, "Is it a tomato yet?" Assured it will take a while, she runs off to play. A few minutes later, the little girl runs back inside, climbs on a stool, strains to look into the cup. "Is there a tomato yet?" Dad says, "No, not yet. We have to wait for a while." Down she scrambles, off she runs. Daddy picks up the newspaper and begins to read. A few minutes later, here she comes again. She climbs on the stool, stands on tiptoe, and says, "I'm looking for the tomato." Her father says, "You had better forget about it. Go and play. It takes a long time for the seed to grow." She whines for a minute. Then she hears the television in the other room. Soon all is forgotten. Before you know it, a week has passed by. It turns into two weeks. One day, she climbs up on her stool and sees the paper cup. "Daddy, come here! There's a tomato. When did it grow?" Her wise father replies, "It grew when you stopped worrying about it."
What would it take for the kingdom of God to come? We have a list of a hundred things to do:
- Preach the gospel to all the nations
- Pray for the needs of world
- Listen to people with whom we disagree
- Teach the Bible to people of all ages
- Feed the hungry
- Make quilts for the homeless
- Speak out for peace in the community
- Bake brownies for the sake of justice
- Insist on forgiveness
- Welcome strangers to our supper tables
- Sing songs of joy and thanksgiving
- Keep God's commandments
- Give alms to the poor
- Build shelters for the downtrodden
All of these tasks are important things to do. They are important gospel seeds that Christians have a responsibility to sow. But ultimately it is God's responsibility to cultivate the beloved crop of the kingdom. As the apostle Paul once said of his ministry, "Neither the one who plants nor the one who waters is anything, but only God who gives the growth" (1 Corinthians 3:7).
When Jesus speaks of God's kingdom, he points to God's rule in all of life. There is a gracious governance to claim. Divine care is extended over the entire creation. All heaven waits for the creatures of earth to acknowledge God's generous dominion. The affirmation will not happen, except by the work of God taking root and bearing fruit. All we can do is sow the seed, then watch and wait. Then we give God the room to be God.
As Fred Craddock notes, the growth of the kingdom "takes place totally apart from human effort (for the sower sleeps and rises) and from human understanding ("the farmer does not know how"). The seed carries its own future in its bosom, and efforts to coerce and force growth are futile. The kingdom of God is exactly that: the kingdom of God."3 There is a story about Angelo Roncalli, the Italian priest who became Pope John XXIII. It is reported that when he became Pope, John XXIII would end his prayers the same way every night. He would pray for the world, pray for the church, and pray for people. He made his petitions with the authority of the Pope. Yet he would always conclude by saying, "But Angelo, Angelo, who governs the church? You or the Holy Spirit? ... Very well, then. Go to sleep, Angelo."4
What is most striking about that story is not that Pope John withdrew from his work. No, he continued to pray and serve and sow the seeds of the gospel. He never withdrew from his work. But he was willing to let God be God.
1. As retold by Charles Rice at the annual meeting of "The Homiletical Feast," Princeton, NJ, January 1994.
2. Robert Farrar Capon, The Parables of the Kingdom (Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 1985), pp. 92-93.
3. Fred B. Craddock, Preaching Through the Christian Year: Year B (Valley Forge, PA: Trinity Press International, 1993), p. 311.
4. William H. Willimon, What's Right with the Church (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1985), p. 48.