Saturday, July 26, 2008

The Satire of Parables

Sermon preached by the Rev. Lowell E. Grisham, Rector
St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Fayetteville, Arkansas
July 27, 2008; 11th Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 12, Year A
Episcopal Revised Common Lectionary

(Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52) -- Jesus put before the crowds another parable: "The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in his field; it is the smallest of all the seeds, but when it has grown it is the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches."

He told them another parable: "The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with three measures of flour until all of it was leavened."

"The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which someone found and hid; then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field.

"Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls; on finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it.

"Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a net that was thrown into the sea and caught fish of every kind; when it was full, they drew it ashore, sat down, and put the good into baskets but threw out the bad. So it will be at the end of the age. The angels will come out and separate the evil from the righteous and throw them into the furnace of fire, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.

"Have you understood all this?" They answered, "Yes." And he said to them, "Therefore every scribe who has been trained for the kingdom of heaven is like the master of a household who brings out of his treasure what is new and what is old."
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When you dig into Jesus' parables a little bit, they can make you crazy. Many of the parables can leave you feeling surreal and confused. Sometimes they are like a Buddhist koan: "What is the sound of one hand clapping?" You try to get your mind around them, but they defy defining. With his parables, Jesus challenged conventional thinking and easy answers. He broke his listeners out of their complacency, and created space in their imaginations.

These parables today may seem familiar and comfortable to you. But maybe there is more here than meets the eye. I'm going to try to open up some of the fabric of these stories and images. Let's see where it takes us.


"The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in his field; it is the smallest of all the seeds, but when it has grown it is the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches."

In Jesus' world, mustard is a weed. An invasive weed. No one would intentionally sow mustard seed in an agricultural plot. And it doesn't become a tree. Maybe a big bush, but never a tree.

But Jesus' listeners recognized this language about a great tree that the birds of the air would make their nests in. That tree was an important image for Israel -- an image of Israel's destiny in the messianic age.

Listen to the vision of Daniel:
Upon my bed this is what I saw; there was a tree at the center of the earth, and its height was great. The tree grew great and strong, its top reached to heaven, and it was visible to the ends of the whole earth. Its foliage was beautiful, its fruit abundant, and it provided food for all. The animals of the field found shade under it, the birds of the air nested in its branches, and from it all living beings were fed. (Daniel 4:10-12) Popular thought had adopted this vision as an image of Israel's future.

Centuries earlier Ezekiel had imagined God's planting a noble cedar upon a high mountain. "In the shade of its branches birds of every sort will nest." (Ezekiel 17:22-23) The national identity of Israel includes the dream of being the highest and greatest tree -- a mighty cedar which will shelter and shade.

But Jesus says, "The kingdom of heaven is like... ...a mustard weed!" So much for your delusions of grandeur. Cedars don't even grow in Israel. But look again at this modest mustard weed, from a seed so small you can barely see it. The effects are just the same. The birds of the air come and make nests in its branches. You don't have to become a big cedar; a weedy mustard plant is enough for the Kingdom of God.


"The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with three measures of flour until all of it was leavened."

Yeast is always a negative symbol in the scriptures. "Beware of the yeast of the Pharisees and Sadducees," Jesus says. Yeast is a metaphor for corruption. A tiny measure of yeast will affect a volume of flour fifty to one-hundred times it's measure, causing it to expand to two or three times its size. Yeast is a powerful image for the corrupting potential of even the smallest sin.

But this is a bad translation. It's not yeast. It's worse than yeast. It's leaven. The better translation is, "The kingdom of heaven is like leaven..." Leaven is a chuck of bread that has been stored in a dark place until it molds. It is rotten. A little leaven spoils the whole batch. Every Jewish household must be purged of leaven for the Passover, and no leaven is allowed in the holy environs of the Temple.

And speaking of the Temple, what is this woman doing? Three measures of flour is an ephah of flower -- fifty or sixty pounds of flour. That's the recipe for Temple Bread. This woman in her little kitchen with her little clay oven is using the Temple Bread formula. Women can't do that! And she's hiding nasty leaven in it. Leviticus says that God hates the smell of leaven. It is always Biblical symbol of evil. "The kingdom of heaven is like leaven that a woman took and mixed in with fifty pounds of flour until all of it was leavened." How bizarre. Surreal.


"Again, the kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which someone found and hid; then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys the field."

The buyer is probably a laborer, a peasant. He would have had to sell everything in order to buy the field. In a little village like those where Jesus taught, that selling and buying would have been very public. It would have prompted much gossip and speculation. This peasant is willing to part with the very substance and security of his life to buy a field.

But, we think we know why. He's found the treasure, right? But what Jesus' listeners knew that we don't necessarily know, is that if this peasant began to spend the treasure, and it was discovered that he knew the treasure was there but didn't tell the former owner, that would be tantamount to fraud. The former owner would sue and would likely reclaim the field and its treasure.

So here is the peasant. He owns a great treasure hidden in his field, but he can't take possession of it for himself. The kingdom of God is like a man with a possessionless treasure.


The kingdom of God is like a mustard weed? ...or a truckload of nasty bread? ...or a treasure you own but cannot possess? What is this stuff about?

Your guess is as good as mine. But you can bet Jesus was shaking up the common notions of his time. These are naughty stories. Like a comic satirist, Jesus made fun of the pretensions of nationalism and religion and purity and wealth and power.

The preacher/teacher doing stand-up.

Nation, you are like a mustard weed. Let the birds be glad!

An unclean woman bakes Temple Bread in her home oven. Let the multitudes eat!

There's infinite treasure worth risking your substance and security for, but you can't posses it. Let everyone be joyful!

The peasants loved this stuff.

Proud religious folks like me hated it.


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Thanks to Pheme Perkins, Hearing the Parable of Jesus, for insight into the seed and treasure; and to David Buttrick for the leaven.

Saturday, July 19, 2008

Wheat and Weeds

Sermon preached by the Rev. Lowell E. Grisham
at St. Thomas' Episcopal Church, Springdale, Arkansas
July 20, 2008; 10th Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 11, Year A

(Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43) – Jesus put before the crowd another parable: "The kingdom of heaven may be compared to someone who sowed good seed in his field; but while everybody was asleep, an enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat, and then went away. So when the plants came up and bore grain, then the weeds appeared as well. And the slaves of the householder came and said to him, `Master, did you not sow good seed in your field? Where, then, did these weeds come from?' He answered, `An enemy has done this.' The slaves said to him, `Then do you want us to go and gather them?' But he replied, `No; for in gathering the weeds you would uproot the wheat along with them. Let both of them grow together until the harvest; and at harvest time I will tell the reapers, Collect the weeds first and bind them in bundles to be burned, but gather the wheat into my barn.'"

Then he left the crowds and went into the house. And his disciples approached him, saying, "Explain to us the parable of the weeds of the field." He answered, "The one who sows the good seed is the Son of Man; the field is the world, and the good seed are the children of the kingdom; the weeds are the children of the evil one, and the enemy who sowed them is the devil; the harvest is the end of the age, and the reapers are angels. Just as the weeds are collected and burned up with fire, so will it be at the end of the age. The Son of Man will send his angels, and they will collect out of his kingdom all causes of sin and all evildoers, and they will throw them into the furnace of fire, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. Then the righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father. Let anyone with ears listen!"

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In gathering the weeds, you would uproot the wheat along with (the weeds). Let both of them grow together.

We all live in a field of ambiguity. That’s our lot. Not only is the world outside of us complex and ambiguous, our inner world is also full of both wheat and weeds; virtues and vices; insight and ignorance. So, we’re told... Be patient. Be gentle. Accepting and trusting.

Those who heard Jesus’ parable would have been familiar with something that is not so evident to us. The weeds are what is now called "darnel," a plant that is virtually indistinguishable from wheat until the wheat comes into head and begins to produce its grain. In this parable the slaves of the householder believe that the owner will want them to go out into the field and get rid of those pesky weeds. They are willing to dive in there and pull out the bad stuff. They are not even aware that they don’t know the difference between the good wheat and the bad weeds.

What a great metaphor for the human condition. I experience myself as a person with values and goodness who is also a person of ignorance and faults. Sometimes, I don’t know the difference. I remember as a child explaining segregation to a friend from Ohio. She was from up North; she just didn’t understand. I showed her the "black cafe" and how the black people liked to eat together. They ate different food than we did, I explained. You couldn’t get buffalo fish around the corner at the "whites only" restaurant.

I can still hear the sound of the voice of that sincere, certain, knowing little boy, lecturing my Yankee friend. I treasure that memory. It reminds me how easily I can still be sincere, certain, knowing... and wrong. And it helps me be a little more tolerant when I hear sincere, certain people say stupid things that I know are wrong. I’ve been there; done that.

"Let both of them grow together until the harvest." Jesus invites us to accept the ambiguity of life and live with it. We don't necessarily know good from evil. So, refrain from aggressiveness. Surrender being judgmental. Watch. Wait. And do everything you can to preserve whatever is good.

It seems like this lesson has two directions, two levels. The first is within ourselves. You are a field in which God has sowed good seed. God has created you in the image and likeness of God’s own divinity. And you are also a source of self-centeredness, fear, and sometimes even evil. Don’t obsess about your faults. Sometimes it is your failures and weaknesses that will motivate your willingness to give up on prideful self-sufficiency so that you might surrender willingly to the gentle love of God. See yourself modestly as an ambiguous being. And relax in the confidence that God is letting you grow so that nothing that is good within you will ever be lost. God is willing to endure your endless foul-ups in order to rejoice over every grain of your goodness.

The other level of this parable speaks of the exterior world with its people and complexities. Jesus invites us to live without anxiety in a world of wheat and weeds. You don’t have to try to fix people; you don’t have to change the world. Trust God. Leave the judgement of others to God. Author Wayne Teasdale says, "We can only judge others if we can fulfill two conditions: that we know the other's heart totally, and that we love them unconditionally. Only God can possibly meet these two conditions, therefore only God can judge." (The Mystic Heart, p. 123)

Teasdale offers Father Paul Fitzgerald as an example. Father Paul founded a lay monastic community in New Hampshire. Teasdale says that Father Paul "took the long view of human development. He had a very deep faith that God was in charge, and so (he) was unwilling to take the prerogative away from the divine." He accepted others as they were, even if they were obviously wrong, and he let nature take its course. "(He) replaced the desire to control with the desire to accept and to serve." (Ibid)

How much more loving and peaceful might we be if we gave up judging about weeds and wheat? After all, who are we to know the difference? The good is sometimes camouflaged among the evil. The beautiful can be hidden in the ugly. What would we be like if we took the long view of human development, replacing the desire to control with the desire to accept and to serve?

There is a woman who is the friend of a colleague of mine. During the Christmas season she loves to go to Nordstrom to experience the holiday energy. She was on the third floor when the elevator opened, and out stepped a filthy, dirty bag-lady. Her hair was matted and there was dirt on her skin. She wore a grimy dress and carried a gym bag with a soiled bra handing out dragging on the floor. The woman observing was wondering if someone would call security to usher this lady out when an attractive saleswoman walked up and spoke to the bag-lady saying, "Excuse me. Can I help you?"

"Yeah. I want a dress."
"What kind of dress?"
"A party dress."

"Come with me." And they walked together over to the dress department and then into the section with the party dresses. For several minutes they talked -- which dress would go best with her eyes; which would look best on her. The saleswoman measured to get her correct size, left, and returned with three party dresses, taking the woman to the dressing room. The woman telling the story said, “I sneaked into the room right next door so I could hear what would happen.”

The bag-lady tried on dresses and they talked about how each dress would look at a party. This went on for about a half-hour. But finally, the bag-lady said, “I don’t think I’m going to buy a dress today.”

"That’s okay,” said the saleswoman. "But when you do decide to buy a dress, do you promise to come back here and let me try to help you?" (audio tape by Tony Campolo, Loving the Son)

That is a woman who has given up the desire to judge, to control, to fix. She's replaced that with the desire to accept and to serve, to love her neighbor as herself. When you take the long view of human development, you can trust God to nurture all life. And who knows? Someone we thought was a weed that needs to be pulled up and thrown away, might surprise us and mature into something lovely and fruitful.

Saturday, July 12, 2008

Lasagna Gardening

Sermon preached by the Rev. Lowell E. Grisham, Rector
St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Fayetteville, Arkansas
July 13, 2008; 9th Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 10, Year A
Episcopal Revised Common Lectionary

(Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23) -- Jesus went out of the house and sat beside the sea. Such great crowds gathered around him that he got into a boat and sat there, while the whole crowd stood on the beach. And he told them many things in parables, saying: "Listen! A sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seeds fell on the path, and the birds came and ate them up. Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and they sprang up quickly, since they had no depth of soil. But when the sun rose, they were scorched; and since they had no root, they withered away. Other seeds fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked them. Other seeds fell on good soil and brought forth grain, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty. Let anyone with ears listen!"

"Hear then the parable of the sower. When anyone hears the word of the kingdom and does not understand it, the evil one comes and snatches away what is sown in the heart; this is what was sown on the path. As for what was sown on rocky ground, this is the one who hears the word and immediately receives it with joy; yet such a person has no root, but endures only for a while, and when trouble or persecution arises on account of the word, that person immediately falls away. As for what was sown among thorns, this is the one who hears the word, but the cares of the world and the lure of wealth choke the word, and it yields nothing. But as for what was sown on good soil, this is the one who hears the word and understands it, who indeed bears fruit and yields, in one case a hundredfold, in another sixty, and in another thirty."

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A friend was telling me last week about starting a new garden. She used the lasagna method, where you layer various kinds of organic material, like making a lasagna. Then you let it sit and bake, and it creates rich soil. With this method of gardening, you don't do the back breaking work of pulling out the grass and weeds, digging the soil and moving the rocks. Instead you start by covering the ground, grass and all, with at least five layers of old newspapers. Then you build the layers on top of that. My friend used layers of recycled grass clippings and mulched leaves to create tiers of yard waste. She added garbage and refuse from their kitchen. Some topsoil. She said she got some horse manure from her Bishop. That opened to door for a few wisecracks. The whole thing was pretty messy and kind of ugly. She and her husband worked through much of the summer to get the entire patch ready by fall and before winter. It was important to keep the whole mixture moist and watered. Finally they covered the concoction with mulch and let it work and decay during the fall and all winter long. And they waited. Deep in the hidden, underground darkness, nature did its invisible business. Gradually the material broke down. The natural process transformed the layers of material. Finally, when spring came, it was ready. They planted seeds and seedlings which took root in the rich, fertile soil, and produced a bountiful garden.

Today's parable from Matthew's gospel is usually called the parable of the seeds. It might better be named the parable of the soil. The life and fruitfulness of the seed is entirely dependent upon the soil. If the soil is hard and unbroken, the seeds can't start. If it is shallow and rocky, the roots can't go deep. If the soil has weedy thorns, the seeds get choked out. If the soil is rich, there is abundant life.

The parable makes an apt metaphor for our lives. We are the ground of God's planting. Most of us have rocky places in our souls and hearts; most of us have some choking thorns in our history and our behaviors. All of us have fertile places in our lives where we welcome the processes of spiritual rootedness which promotes life and growth and fruitfulness in us and through us. There are many layers in the soil of our souls.

How does the soil of our souls become fertile?

One conventional image of spiritual growth imagines us getting our lives straightened out. We imagine that we need to clean up our act. Some people avoid churches because they think it's mostly about appearances -- that Christianity is mostly about looks -- looking like a Christian, and in their minds that is a cleaner, neater look than they are comfortable with.

But fertile life is messy. Abundant life makes use of the dead clippings and manure and even the scandalous stories that may make the newspaper. When all of that mess and junk is brought before God and watered with the transformative waters of baptism; when it is brought to God, piled up and given to God in faith; the deep, dark mysterious work of the Spirit happens. The old stuff is broken down to become the medium for new life and abundance. Death and resurrection happens.

Many of you have heard me talk about the mysterious process of healing that happens through the practice of contemplation. Thomas Keating, teaching Centering Prayer, says that while we sit with God in trusting silence, letting go of our attachment to thoughts and feelings, the Spirit works in the depths, below our thoughts and feelings, to unravel the emotional knots and to heal the hurts of a lifetime. Underground "divine therapy."

Many of you may remember the study on forgiveness that we've done a couple of times as a Lenten program. It's based on the book "Forgiveness: How to Make Peace with Your Past and Get on With Your Life" by Sidney and Suzanne Simon. Suzanne allows her own story of being sexually molested by her father to be the narrative for the journey of forgiveness. The process is not unlike the lasagna garden. It has layers. There is a stage of denial, when we cope by forgetting or ignoring the pain from the past. There is a layer of self-blame. There is a stage of being the victim, where we gain energy from our pity. There is the anger and indignation stage. Finally when you realize you are a survivor, you mulch the rich deadness of your hurt and denial and self-blame and victimhood and indignation beneath the realization that you have survived. And healing happens. Forgiveness happens, almost like a gift. You let go of the heavy rock you have carried for so long, you put down the emotional weight you have nurtured toward that other person and let them go. Life opens up and becomes fertile, hopeful, abundant in a new way.

Suzanne Simon now recognizes that some of the skills she developed while trying to survive in a threatening childhood environment have given her the gifts that make her an exceptional, intuitive listener as she helps others through their emotional traumas. As a child she became acutely aware of shifts in her father's mood which could signal danger for her; now she uses that same awareness in her professional practice to help heal others. As she looks back at her story, there was hard work involved in moving through the layers of coping and hurt; and there was quiet grace present as the meaning of her past was transformed and healed.

Part of good gardening is work. There is some sweat and effort necessary to bring the right organic elements together in a context that will promote healthy growth -- layering and watering and mulching.

Part of good spiritual growth is work. We take the time to bring to God all of the messy parts of our life; we add the fertilizer of the wisdom and insights of the scripture and tradition; we layer the rhythm of our pilgrimage offering our time in community and our time alone, time in service and time in prayer. We cover it all with the profound mystery of the weekly Eucharist, demanding our regular attention to the Spirit's watering of our souls.

Part of good gardening is waiting. Trusting in the invisible, mysterious, natural power of creation to work its miraculous recreation below the surface. Watching respectfully the movements of seasons and weather, of day and night, warm and cool, storm and peace -- the interrelationship of all things together in an ecological whole that is just the way it is.

Part of the spiritual life is waiting. Trusting in the invisible, mysterious, loving power of the divine who is always working below the surface to bring life out of death, healing out of hurt, wholeness out of brokenness. Watching respectfully the movements of the liturgical seasons and biblical stories, the patterns of return and renewal, of confession and forgiveness, of fervor and aridity, of faith and doubt, of desert and mountaintop -- the interrelationship of all things working together for good in God who is just who God is.

Maybe it is more than coincidence that the story of scripture is bounded by gardens. Earthly life begins in the garden of Eden; in the garden of Gethsemane Jesus embraces the dark destiny of his death; he is buried in a tomb in a garden, and on the third day when he is raised, Mary Magdalene thinks he is the gardener; the concluding book of Revelation imagines a tree of life in the paradise of God yielding her fruit every month, her leaves for the healing of the nations.

In some sense, we are all gardeners, and our life is the soil of the Spirit. Day by day and week by week we bring our stuff -- our refuse and our waste; our stories and our hopes. We give it all to God, layer by layer. We water it with Baptism and mulch it with Eucharist. And we wait in hopeful trust, letting the dark mystery of God work invisibly in our depths to transform our lives and make ready our hearts. Then in time, some seed takes root. And we become the abundant garden of God's fruitfulness, willing to offer our gifts and fruits for the nurture and healing of the world.

It is in one sense absolutely ordinary. As ordinary as dirt. Yet in another sense it is utterly miraculous. The miracle of life from death.

You are God's garden and God's gardener. Prepare the soil. Bring all the clippings and garbage and manure. It's okay to get your hands dirty. Don't forget to water. Cover and wait. Trust. Hope. Somewhere below the surface transformation is happening. And then a seed takes root. It digs down and finds sustenance. Quietly, naturally, something comes to bud. And before long it grows, "some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty. Let anyone with ears listen."


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(Thanks to Jennifer Baskerville-Burrows for the story about her garden. Jennifer is the rector of Grace Church in Syracuse, N.Y. and chaplain to Syracuse University)

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