Fourth Sunday after Pentecost: June 16, 2024
Weeds of the Kingdom
Jessica Thompson
1 Samuel 15:34-16:13 | Psalm 20 | 2 Corinthians 5:6-17 | Mark 4:26-34
Jesus said, “The kingdom of God is as if someone would scatter seed on the ground, and would sleep and rise night and day, and the seed would sprout and grow, he does not know how. The earth produces of itself, first the stalk, then the head, then the full grain in the head. But when the grain is ripe, at once he goes in with his sickle, because the harvest has come.”
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.”
With many such parables he spoke the word to them, as they were able to hear it; he did not speak to them except in parables, but he explained everything in private to his disciples.
When I moved back to Seattle in the Fall of 2019, I fell in love with the lush, green, peaceful landscaped back yard of my condo building—my little bit of heaven, a Garden of Eden right in the heart of construction-filled Northgate. Trees and greenery lined the perimeter of the yard. The building flanked with large, lush bushes and ivy filled in the ground, creating natural privacy for my first floor unit and a safe refuge for all sorts of birds and wildlife. As 2020 lent ushered in COVID quarantine, I was never more happier to have that backyard slice of heaven. Celebrating Easter from my couch, I noticed two shoots sprouting up from the ivy— beautiful yellow daffodils, buried by a squirrel or some other creature and blooming rogue in all their glory in the midst of this fear-filled world.
This week’s gospel reading gives us two parables of horticultural befuddlement. First Jesus compares the Kingdom of God to seeds planted and then just left to grow on their own—no tending needed, just springing to life like my daffodils erupting from the ivy. Ok, sure—but what is the point? The second, the Kingdom of God is like a mustard seed. A small seed that grows up to be a large shrub where birds can build nests and take refuge from the shade. Which sounds great—something small, like Jesus work and mission on earth, becoming something giant, providing care and hospitality for all of God’s creation. This sounds beautiful, but must have left the listeners cocking their head and saying “huh.”
The Mustard Shrub is a horticultural pest, a weed. Think of it like our blackberry brambles. When I came to Seattle for college in 1999 I was assigned a work party during orientation week— eradicating the invasive blackberry bushes in Discovery Park. I just checked— a quarter of a century later and I can still register for a work party to eradicate the invasive blackberry bushes in Discovery Park— Tuesday morning at 9:30 am. Weeds are relentless.
Sure, Mustard it is a useful herb—the leaves can be eaten, the seeds have medicinal properties, it is a great additive for seasoning and preservation. Pliny the Elder wrote a book Natural History published around 78 CE, close to when the Gospel of Mark was composed. He writes that "mustard is extremely beneficial for the health. It grows entirely wild, though it is improved by being transplanted: but on the other hand when it has once been sown it is scarcely possible to get the place free of it, as the seed when it falls germinates at once." In other words, no one in their right mind would intentionally sow mustard seeds. It grows all too readily on its own and once it appears, it takes over the field.
But isn’t that what Jesus work and ministry was about? The Kingdom of God— the counter-empirical force of Love Jesus led people into becoming. How this world would be if God’s justice and mercy reigned, love and hospitality for all. The pesky, wild bushes pushing back on the well ordered crops and efficient roads of the Roman Empire. Creating disorder, providing a place of refuge for the undesirable— sprouting, growing, spreading. Challenging status quo. Hacked back, burnt to the ground, undeterred the Mustard Bush is relentless in its pursuit of being, existing, providing refuge. So is the Kingdom of God.
St. Peter’s does this sound familiar? In the short time I’ve been with you I’ve heard the stories, your communal history—a seed was planted and you grew as a Japanese Mission to meet the needs of your community. You were a place of hospitality and love, following Jesus and growing the Kingdom of God in your small corner of Seattle.
War came and the government stamped you down and chased you out. The building closed, but you gathered up those tiny seeds of God’s Kingdom, taking them to the internment camps they forced you into. Sowing your seeds, the Kingdom of God grew in the desolation of incarceration. Love, hope, and perseverance in the face of racism, fear, and oppression.
Returning home, St. Peter’s became a refuge and center for healing for the whole community, being a place of welcome for any and all who have been maligned or marginalized by this world. No matter how hard they tried, the Kingdom of God in St. Peter’s Episcopal Parish could not be eradicated.
This is St. Peter’s history, what you all claim— the roots are deep and you are very weedy, relentless people, insistent on love and hospitality. Being a safe refuge of reconciliation and transformation for all is so much more important to you than growing in straight, orderly lines. Being the weeds of God’s kingdom is embracing whomever comes to seek shelter— Accepting everyone. Loving everyone. Feeding everyone. It’s the holding fast to the deep-rooted belief that the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice. And that we, the Weeds of the Kingdom, are the ones who push back to bend that arc.
Still, I wonder. how can we best be God’s Weeds in the desolate landscape of post-COVID Seattle’s International District?
Thinking back to my backyard slice of heaven, in 2022 the condo association decided to do an “Envelope Project.” That’s when they remove all the siding, wrap the building in plastic and replace it with an all new exterior and roof. Not fun. In order for this to happen, they cut down trees and hacked down every bush surrounding the building. Then they laid down plywood, suffocating the grass and ivy providing pathways to navigate the mud and debris. It was not pretty. The whole construction project was loud and miserable, and I missed my backyard slice of heaven so very much.
Finally the construction workers packed up and left a mess behind. The grass was dead, trees chopped to the roots and paver stones just tossed about. As Eastertide came about this year I was sad— I could now walk into my backyard but I was missing the beauty it once held. Then one day I took Seneca outside and noticed green leaves tenaciously forcing themselves up from underneath a discarded paver. I moved the stone away and lo and behold, that same daffodil still insisting on bursting to the skies. God still summons forth life, even in the desolation. As the season has gone on, signs of renewal appear. The ivy is beginning to grow back, slower than I thought but there is a little clump growing. And the stumps of some of the bushes have birthed new starts.
When I think of St. Peter’s in this time and place, I think of the depth of your roots, your resiliency, and determination to grow, flower, and provide love and hospitality to any and all who walk in the doors. You are the weeds of God’s Kingdom. Right now it may feel a bit sparse, but those roots go deep. Be the weeds of God’s Kingdom. Take the ample seeds and sow them about the world, pushing back on the empirical forces of our day— capitalist greed, Christian Nationalism, racism, homophobia, transphobia, ableism and ‘othering’ of all kinds. Sow God’s seeds of love in this broken world. Be the shelter, place of refuge and hope for all people. Be the weeds of the Kingdom of God on earth today.