Arising Out of Fear

II Corinthians 5:14-17; Mark 4:30-32

 

        During my 40 years of ministry I spent a lot of time engaged in youth ministry. I can remember when rope courses became all the rage. If you are not familiar with this phenomenon, both mental and physical obstacles are created to help the participants learn to trust others and themselves. The low ropes course was performed no more than a foot off the ground. Obstacles were created and the group had to figure out how to get from point A to point B without leaving any members behind. I always found these particularly helpful in addressing trust issues with group members. But then there was the high ropes course. These were individual tasks designed to challenge ones strength and more importantly, one’s nerves. Securely fastened in a harness, the participants tackled one challenge after another, often at heights that for me were beyond my comfortable level. Why did the kids do it? I guess for the adrenalin rush. Why did I attempt it? I really don’t know.

        The task that still interrupts many a pleasant night’s sleep was the pole climb. Imagine climbing what appeared to be an ordinary telephone pole. Only there was nothing ordinary about it. From the ground it seemed to be a thousand feet high. Spikes protruded from the pole allowing access to the top where there was a flat platform. Once the climber ascended the pole, the task was to stand up on the platform, step to the edge, and jump into a net below.  all of this was done in the Texas Hill country where the wind seems to never blows less than 20 mph.

        One or two 18 year olds raced up the pole, stood up, did some kind of victory dance, and jumped. Then everyone looked at me. Not wanting to disappoint, I put on the safety harness and climbed skyward. The first twenty feet were easy. But then something happened. The pole began to gently sway. My legs started to feel heavy. An inner voice began to scream, “Go back.”  I took a deep breath, knowing two things, I was frightened out of my mind and quitting is not part of my vocabulary. Refusing to look down I continued climbing until I reached the platform. I clung to the pole until both feet were safely on the flat surface. All I had to do was stand up, turn around, take two steps forward and jump. But my legs were frozen. They would not move. Here I was, 50 feet in the air, suspended between heaven and hell, absolutely paralyzed. Where was my faith in myself, in God, and in those holding the ropes attached to my harness? 

(stop)

        What does this story have to do with the parable of the mustard seed? I am sure you remember it.  “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed. It is the smallest of the seeds yet when it is sown, it grows up to be a bush large enough for the birds to use as their home.” The sermon that most often follows this parable insist if have faith the size of a mustard seed, you can accomplish anything. The prime time for preaching this scripture is during stewardship season. The minister will gather the children around her, open her hand, and show the kids a mustard seed. She will ask the children  to notice how small the seed is. Then she will show them a picture of a mature plant. The catch phrase is, “If you believe, God will do the same with you.”

        Session members pull this parable out of their hermeneutical hat at session meetings when the projected budget is a few dollars short of the anticipated revenue. An elder will stand and say, “My friends, our work here is a lot more important than worrying about a shortfall of funds. If we have faith the size of a mustard seed, everything will work out. We will find the money.” On hearing those brave words the budget is approved yet rarely does anything change. There is still a shortfall and six months later the stewardship committee will make the necessary cuts. Is that faith or good financial management?

        Maybe a different question needs to be asked. Is the parable of the mustard seed really about an individual expression of faith or courage? Too often we jump the gun and assume every parable is about our personal salvation. What if we stop, hear the parable again, and pay particular attention to the first phrase in this story.

With what can we compare the kingdom of God? It is like the the smallest of seeds. Yet when planted it becomes a bush large enough house nesting birds.

The parable doesn’t say, “You can accomplish anything if you have even a little faith. Jesus said, “The kingdom of God is like a mustard seed.” I am not a farmer. I am not even allowed in the church garden because I can’t tell a plant from a weed. But I can read. I looked up mustard plants. The article I read said mustard plants are annuals. I had to go to another article to find out what that meant. Did you know mustard plants die at the end of every season and have to be replanted each year? I would be much happier if Jesus had said, “The kingdom of heaven is like an acorn.” Once planted, the acorn manifests itself into a mighty oak that might live for centuries. Think how many generations of birds could nest in the oak’s branches?

But Jesus picked a mustard seed. Jesus picked a plant that must be sown year after year after year. This doesn’t sound like heaven to me. Isn’t heaven the place with streets of gold and townhouses with a “to die for view”. Isn’t heaven the place where we will be reunited with loved ones? Isn’t the reason most of us spend our Sundays in church is to insure our tickets are punched for the great by and by? Isn’t the Kingdom of God more permanent than an annual plant?

Allow me to gently suggest when Jesus uses kingdom talk he is not talking about the future but the now. When Jesus speaks of the Kingdom of Heaven he is not speaking of one grand event but a series of moments that were never intended to be eternal. Jesus sat down with the downtrodden and those without much hope and announced his kingdom was like a fragile seed that would give temporary shelter. Then when Jesus had their attention he continued, “My kingdom is brought about by fragile folks full of fear and doubt who look a lot like you.”

So there I was on that platform, scared for my life. I could not find the courage or the faith to let go of the pole. And even if I could, where would I go. My legs refused to move. From below I heard the voice of the guy at the end of the rope. “Louie, you are OK. We’ve got you.”

Of all the moments in my life to be a stickler for pronouns, this was not the one. I knew the trainer was at the end of the rope. I knew he had done this before. I knew he wouldn’t let me fall, but I didn’t believe it. Only he didn’t say, “I’ve got you.” He said, “We’ve got you.”

Calling on all of my nerve I looked down. I witnessed every kid in my youth group holding onto that rope. All those tiny mustard seeds were finding root, finding purpose, finding the strength to make sure I wouldn’t die. It might have been my clearest understanding of the kingdom of God.

How many times have you been rescued by the words or actions of another? I bet it is more often than you might imagine. And how many times have you been holding on to the rope that brings deliverance to another.  If you think about it, you probably do it every other day.  Over 275 years ago God planted a seed on this spot. And a bush grew. For almost three centuries new seeds has been planted and replanted. Out of those seeds annually grows the courage, and the hope, and the faith that we are here to hold onto the rope for one another. In theological jargon that is called bringing about the kingdom of God.

To God be the glory.       Amen.