Seeds of the Harvest

sermon by Torin Eikler
Mark 4:26-32 1 Samuel 15:34-16:13

In the Anabaptist tradition we talk a whole lot about discernment and following the call as an essential part of our lives of discipleship. We are generally encouraged (and indeed encourage each other) to constantly be on the alert for the tugging of the Spirit that urges us to take on new roles or focus our energy in new ways. And, of course, it’s always in the service of growing the Realm of God – of nurturing into fullness the seeds of the Kingdom that we find sprouting all around and within us.

I must confess that I, myself, am usually just too tired or distracted to do any real discernment during my day to day living. Sometimes, a reminder to return to that quiet space of listening and contemplation is most welcome and leads me to new understanding, but most of the time, I find it frustrating and burdensome … and maybe just a little annoying to be reminded of my failure to make time or space for the Spirit’s guidance in my life.

I think some of my frustration with the whole process comes from my wish for a kind of bolt of lighting sign. You know something dramatic like a neon sign dropping from the heavens right in front of me telling me what to do. Or maybe the birth of an all-absorbing passion somewhere within me. Or even something as simple as having one outstanding talent that leads me down an obvious path. And, perhaps you have felt the same way.

Well, that hasn’t happened to me yet, and I it may not. And, while it doesn’t hurt to hope, I suppose, it seems much more likely that our lives will be filled with small nudges and little deeds in the service of our God. Most of us will be among the anonymous seeds that, together, yield the harvest that prepares for and supports the work of God across history. According to the parables, that’s the way the Realm of God works.

When we look back at Samuel’s time, we can see the pattern at work in the story of David. He was the least of the sons of Jesse – the youngest, relegated to lowly task of herding the sheep. Yet, it was in that unassuming youth that Samuel saw the potential for the greatest of Israel’s kings. And it was with God’s blessing and through divine power and providence that David was protected in his battle with Goliath and his struggle with Saul, until through any number of more and less trivial moments he grew to become the greatest of the kings of Israel.

Little things are planted here and there and they grow by the power of God. Unassuming moments and actions take place all over the place all the time, and they build on each other until all of the sudden, there is a great harvest ready to be brought in. That’s the way it was in the glory days of Israel when there really was a kingdom, and it’s still that way today – even though only those with eyes to see find God’s realm among us.


A few years ago, I ran across a book called The Sparrow in a friend’s library. Like many of the books I enjoy reading, it was science fiction, but it wasn’t filled with technological miracles or space-faring warriors or even an earth advanced almost beyond recognition. It could have taken place just a few decades from now. But, the biggest difference – the reason it has become one of my favorite novels – is that The Sparrow is actually a parable that explores human nature, the nature of faith, and the intricacies of our relationship with God.

It is the tale of humanity’s first voyage to encounter another civilization on a distant planet, and among the main characters (really the main character) is a Jesuit priest named Emilio Sanchez. An orphan from the slums of Puerto Rico, Emilio was taken in at a catholic school where the priest discovered his gifts for language while he discovered a sense of calling that led him to ordination. Throughout his career on Earth, he was moved from country to country, ministering to the poor – especially orphans like himself. With each move, he grew more and more frustrated and began to question his place in the work of God and his calling as a priest.

When the Vatican decided to fund an expedition in response to radio messages intercepted from space, it was clear that Emilio was an obvious choice as part of a crew. In the course of his work, he had become fluent in more than a dozen languages and had developed a system for identifying the role and meaning of words that allowed him to take languages apart, understand the way they worked, and put them back together in next to no time. It was a skill that would be essential to a mission that would have to communicate in decidedly non-human languages on the fly.

When he hears about his new assignment, Emilio feels like he finally sees the hand of God in the pattern of his life. His frustrations fade away and with a sense of awe and excitement, he embraces his role in the mission. He says goodbye to the two or three friends he has cultivated across the years, and boards the ship for the trip to Rakhat.
Across the arc of the story, Emilio and his companions experience both great beauty and terrible horrors as they learn about civilization on Rakhat. In the end, only Emilio survives to return to Earth when a second delegation arrives years later. Yet, despite all the grief that he has experienced, his faith survives his anger and despair. And, though he struggles to make sense of the results, he never doubts that his many experiences on Earth were part of God’s plan to prepare him for his role in the first mission or that the mission was somehow part of God’s greater plan for all creation.


Most of us, I think, probably won’t ever find ourselves with that feeling that our whole lives have led up to one moment or made us uniquely qualified for one particular role in God’s plan. Still, there will be little moments along the way – moments when we find that our past has prepared us for the task at hand in a special way. At times, we can come to recognize those intersections – to make out how the seeds that have been planted in us are growing – through time spent in contemplation and discernment. At other times, we only find understanding after the fact, perceiving the pattern after the seeds have matured and been harvested. The seed cannot always know what it will become after all, and the time of the harvest is in God’s hand.

Many of you, I know, are gardeners. You know the joy and the challenge of planting seeds and watching them grow. You know about the frustration and inevitability of weeds. No matter what you do, they come back. Dandelions, thistles, crabgrass, or whatever they may be, they just won’t die. And once you’ve rooted them out of one area, they pop up in another.

Enter the mustard plant.

We all know about one or two varieties of mustard. There is the one, sinapis hirta, whose seeds are pretty common in spice racks though most of us probably don’t use it very much – at least in that form. Probably, though, we all have it in another incarnation since it is the key ingredient in the mustard that we put on our hot dogs, hamburgers, and maybe even French fries.

Another variety, brassica juncea, is grown for its leaves and is more commonly known as mustard greens. That one is a favorite in some regions of the United States, especially when mixed with bacon, butter, and garlic. I was introduced to this one when I lived in South Carolina, and I came to love it. But, it’s an aquired taste. So, be prepared for something a bit different if you decide to try it yourself.

Neither of these two mustard plants, though, are the one Jesus speaks of in the second parable we heard today. That one, generally agreed to have been brassica nigra, was known throughout the biblical world as a noxious, if beautiful, weed. Like the weeds that we struggle with, it proved to be nearly impossible to eradicate once it found its way into a field or a garden. For that reason, Jewish law actually prohibited the planting of mustard in a garden, and several Roman writers suggested that it only be planted in a segregated field so that it didn’t get in among the other crops.

I described the plant as a noxious weed, but that may not be exactly the right word. Clearly people did cultivate the plant and probably used the seeds in cooking. So, I guess it wasn’t considered to be harmful, but it was a tightly controlled plant that still managed to get loose and cause trouble. Yet, Jesus used this well-known weed as a parallel for the Kingdom of God.

Usually, we concentrate on the image of that tiny seed growing into a huge shrub and providing shelter as the reason for his choice. And we interpret the parable as meaning that the Realm of God takes root at the slightest indication of faith and grows to create a safe and welcoming space for us to make our spiritual home. But, I have been wondering if that is all that Jesus intended.

Maybe he chose the mustard seed precisely because it was such a prolific weed. No matter what we do – no matter how we try to stamp it out or control it, it spreads. It pops up in all manner of unexpected places and is capable of completely taking over. I suppose we could call it invasive though that’s not a term that we normally associate with the Realm of God because of its negative connotation. Maybe that’s part of the point. Parables, after all, are not intended to be logical and straight-forward. They surprise us with truth that we wouldn’t see otherwise.

Earlier in the Gospel of Mark, Jesus announced that the Realm of God is among us and within us. Now we hear that it is like a seed – but not just any seed. It is a tiny seed that grows according to God’s time and God’s plan, and it cannot be controlled or stamped out. Slowly and surely, despite our best efforts or the efforts of the world around us, it begins to take over any place it gets a foot hold. It matures within us over the course of our lives as our experiences shape us and prepare us for the moment of the harvest. And we in turn become gardeners, planting seeds of the Kingdom.

And, even though spreading seeds of the Kingdom can be frustrating, and we all wish, in some way, that we could just get there – just see the world covered with shining flowers or sweet fruit or nourishing grain – there is comfort in knowing that we are planting seeds – that we are ourselves seeds in God’s garden. Seeds in that garden are different. No matter how small they seem and how much resistance and abuse they receive, they can and do become something special. They grow, and we grow, into something with unexpected promise – something that does provide shelter, sustenance, and surprising beauty.


Whether we find our way into the work of the Spirit through meditation and discernment or we happen upon it through a chain of events in our lives; we can be assured that we are a part of that work. Even as our own faith grows and matures, even if we don’t realize it, we are planting seeds of surprising promise. As we follow the path of discipleship, we join in the Spirit’s work of transforming the world into a beautiful place run wild with peace and justice – into God’s garden.

Let us embrace that vision and our part in it, for God has looked on our hearts and chosen us. Let us go into the world as disciples of Christ; feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, sheltering the destitute, spreading the good news, and welcoming all we meet in love. Let us grow into “weeds” of the Kingdom, humbly spreading seeds of hope and promise in the faith that, in God’s time and through God’s grace, they will grow into a bountiful harvest of peace and justice.

May it be so.