Kudzu

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” [Mark 4:30-32, NRSV, a portion of the Gospel lesson assigned for this Sunday, the Third Sunday after Pentecost, RCL, Year B].

When Todd and I were perhaps fifteen or so, the Reverend William Leist, the well-liked pastor of Olney Presbyterian Church, in southern Gaston County, drew the short straw, and had to teach the “young teens” Sunday school class for several weeks while our regular teacher recovered from surgery. The engaging pastor quickly abandoned our boring, canned curriculum and sought, as best he could, to engage the group in scriptural study. One Sunday, our discussion turned to Heaven and someone—not me—asked Mr. Leist if he thought that the streets of Heaven would be paved with gold.

The pastor quickly replied, “What do you think Holy Scripture has to say about the matter?”

One of the teens piped up, “Well, my momma says the streets of gold are described in Revelations,” referring, of course, to the last book in the New Testament, and using—as do many southerners—the incorrect plural form of the title.

“Good point, said Mr. Leist. “Everyone turn to Revelation 21:21. But read it very carefully.”

We did so, seeing the following:

And the twelve gates were twelve pearls, each of the gates made of a single pearl, and the street of the city was pure gold, transparent as glass [Revelation 21:21, Revised Standard Version, emphasis added].

Our pastor continued, “And so, is the street in Heaven golden, or is it transparent?” On that day long ago, our conscientious pastor stressed that he thought perhaps the author, John, was trying to tell us that the Kingdom of Heaven is certainly wonderful, but that it isn’t limited to our usual expectations. God’s Kingdom isn’t merely an extension of what we think is good or nice here on earth. It will surprise us in many, many ways.

I think Jesus may have been stressing a similar point when he spoke and taught in parables. All too many of us approach His parables as if they are puzzles or riddles to be solved. And, of course, once solved, we think the “answer” provides us with a pithy bit of “life code.” We can “apply” what we learn for more successful living. We press ourselves to deconstruct the parables. “Who might be represented by the rocky soil?” [Matthew 13:20]. “Are you like the evil priest, or the Levite, or are you—hopefully—like the Good Samaritan?” [Luke 10:31-33].

Yet, as I have argued on more than one occasion, Jesus’ parables aren’t pithy little moral lessons meant to be considered—and carefully weighed—by us. Rather, His parables are usually meant to startle or surprise us. They’re designed to shake us up—to alter our typical thought patterns. Indeed, sometimes they are even intended to offend us. As friend and teacher, the Reverend Dr. Richard Lischer, professor emeritus at Duke Divinity School, has challenged so many of us, “If you aren’t offended or at least surprised by the parable, you haven’t actually heard what Jesus has to say to you.”

For example, in His famous “parable of the Good Shepherd,” Jesus asks us,

What do you think? If a shepherd has a hundred sheep, and one of them has gone astray, does he not leave the ninety-nine on the mountains and go in search of the one that went astray? [Matthew 18:12]

We’re so used to nodding along with three points and a poem sermons that many of us quickly agree with what Jesus says about the shepherd. “Of course,” we think to ourselves. “The good shepherd with leave the ninety-nine alone and go after the one who is lost.”

Can we see that Jesus is actually playing with us? A “good” shepherd would never leave the ninety-nine on the mountains and go searching for one lost sheep. It would be a lousy way to run a business. The lost sheep, after all, has probably already been consumed by a pack of hungry wolves.

But within his parable, of course, Jesus really isn’t talking about business. Nor is he talking about shepherds and sheep. He’s talking about God. We’re startled, surprised—and then gratified—that God is actually unlike the shepherd that Jesus describes. Some of us fear that we might be the one who is lost and we long for a God who will come after us. And, thanks be to God, says Jesus, for it turns out that God is not the “good” shepherd, since God never gives up on us.

And so, we come to this week’s Gospel lesson: Mark 4:26-34. Jesus begins to describe the “Kingdom of God” (note that the “Kingdom of Heaven” only occurs in Matthew’s Gospel). The listener leans forward, self-assured that the Master will compare God’s Kingdom to something big, something powerful, something earth-shattering. Wait for it, wait 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” [Mark 4:31-32].

Wow! The “greatest of all shrubs”—Jesus’ listeners were expecting more. In fact, many of those who heard the parable originally would have been familiar with a somewhat similar passage from Ezekiel that just happens to be the Old Testament reading for this week [Ezekiel 17:22-24]. In that OT passage, the prophet assures those who have been exiled to Babylon that Yahweh has not forgotten them, that Yahweh himself will take a sprig from the lofty top of a cedar and plant it on a high and lofty mountain, in order that it might “produce boughs and bear fruit and become a noble cedar.” Under this noble cedar, “every kind of bird will live; in the shade of its branches will nest winged creatures of every kind” [Ezek. 17:23].

Noble cedars—now that’s the kind of image folks can get behind! Those who originally heard Ezekiel’s message would have been comforted by the hope and knowledge that although they were under the thumb of the Babylonians, eventually—in Yahweh’s good time—they would re-emerge as a great nation, the sort of nation that would bless the entire world. Many of those who originally heard Jesus would have been longing for the same sort of message. Yahweh would throw off the Roman yoke, would establish the nation of Judah/Israel in Jerusalem. Those who had formerly looked down upon the Jewish nation would now have to treat the new nation as an important world factor.

Can we see that the message of Jesus is that Yahweh’s Kingdom is not limited by your or my expectations? The Kingdom does not follow the rules that seem to be in force here on the earth. Jesus’ message is at its heart destabilizing, for it is the story of a Heavenly king who comes to this earth as a servant. He’s born out of wedlock to an unimportant teen mother. He’s born in an insignificant town, in an insignificant barn—not a palace.

Jesus refuses our expectations. Instead of wining and dining with nobility, Jesus eats supper with prostitutes and tax collectors. Instead of choosing lieutenants from the local university, he retrieves them from their small, marginally successful fishing boats. Even the parade that begins on Palm Sunday quickly devolves into a painful journey carrying a cross along the Via Dolorosa, to a hill where—after He is beaten—He is executed alongside two “other” common criminals.

All too many of us want Jesus to tell us that the Kingdom of God is like a majestic palace where all those who have wronged us—or who refused to support our favorite projects—will be chastened before us, where those of us who showed up early to do God’s work will be especially rewarded [Matthew 20:1-16], where our brothers and sisters who frittered away their great inheritance will be punished [Luke 15:11-32], and where folks like us will enjoy eternal communion with our Lord. Instead, He tells us the Kingdom is like a nice shrub.

God’s Kingdom, according to Jesus, starts quite modestly. It begins with twelve uneducated, untrained, never-to-be ordained (other than by Jesus Himself) disciples—oops, one of them will betray him. It includes others who would most certainly be blackballed at Jerusalem’s country club. After His resurrection, it will include an Ethiopian eunuch, a Roman centurion, and a Jewish man named Saul, who stood by with approval as an angry crowd murdered a young man named Stephen. But like the common mustard seed, the Kingdom takes root, spreads out, providing shelter and assurance for countless persons down through the ages.

I think that if Jesus were standing before us today, He wouldn’t compare the Kingdom to a mustard seed. I think He’d say something different. I think He’d likely say something like this: “The Kingdom of God is like … kudzu.”