The 11th Sunday in Ordinary Time
June 14, 2015
Click here to listen to this homily (.mp3 file)
One of the real joys of my life, after being here so many years, is seeing
couples whose weddings I celebrated and whose babies I baptized -- and then
moved away from the area -– return to the Cathedral years later for a visit,
this time with their children in tow. I find myself saying to them, ‘you have a
lot to show for those years!’
That thought came to mind when I reflected on
today’s readings from the prophet Ezekiel and from Mark’s gospel. Both readings
speak about planting and growing and bearing fruit –- our role in bringing that
about and, more importantly, God’s role in bringing that about. Our role is not
inconsequential, but God’s role is what really counts. We do the planting;
God gives the growth. And it’s a wonder to behold – a little like those
kids who, when I last saw them, were squirming and screaming at the baptismal
font and who a few years later present as pretty respectable teenagers or young
adults!
A wonder to behold! We witness this wonder
regularly, don’t we? Our children grow before our eyes but we don’t really see
their growth until after it has happened.
In the two little parables from Mark’s gospel Jesus
talks about the unfolding of the Kingdom in just those terms. The Kingdom,
he says, is like a farmer who sows seed in his field and then goes about his
life – eating and working and sleeping each day. All the while the seed is
sprouting and growing, “he knows not how,” as Jesus puts it. “First the blade,
then the ear, then the full-blown grain in the ear.” Almost before the
farmer knows it, it’s harvest time.
The parable of the mustard seed gives us a little
different look at the wonder and mystery of growth. Here the issue isn’t
so much the slow, imperceptible, yet steady growth as it is the wonder that
there is any growth at all! The mustard seed is the perfect way for Jesus
to make this point because, as he says, it is the smallest of all seeds, so
small that it would seem to have no promise at all. Yet from tiny beginnings
comes a tree big enough for birds to find shade and make a home.
Do you know how small a mustard seed is? I
once held a little mound of mustard seeds in my hand. They were put there
by a Franciscan brother at the monastery high atop Mount Tabor in Galilee, the
traditional site of the Transfiguration of Jesus. As we walked through the
grounds, he reached up into a tree, extracted what looked like fine powder from
some seed pods, and then poured the contents into my hand. Then he looked at me
with delight in his eyes and said in his broken English, “mustard seeds!”
If I had sneezed the seeds would have scattered and disappeared. That’s
how small mustard seeds are. And yet, over time, they become little trees
with strong branches and lovely foliage.
Small beginnings, impressive results! That’s
the story of God’s Kingdom. It’s also the story of Jesus. I wonder
sometimes whether Jesus didn’t see himself as a mustard seed – especially on
those days when he felt inadequate for the great mission that was his, days when
he felt very small before an overwhelming task. And maybe he felt the same
way when he realized how unpromising were the disciples to whom he was
entrusting his gospel: that ragtag band of clumsy, unlettered fishermen, tax
collectors and sinners -- full of questions, full of doubts, dull, and so very
slow to get the picture. Most of them were cowards, too, and one turned
traitor. Mustard seeds each one of them.
And, of course, Jesus’ death made him the ultimate
mustard seed. But look at what happened to that seed after it died and was
buried in the ground….
My friends, this is the story of God’s kingdom – a
story that has been repeated down through the ages and continues in our own:
small beginnings, unimpressive beginnings, but anything but unimpressive
results. Think of the tongue-tied Moses, think of King David, young and
lustful, think of Jeremiah, young and fearful; or think of the young maiden of
Nazareth named Mary, or of Peter the fisherman. Think of Francis of Assisi, the
romantic, radical dreamer, or of Therese the Little Flower with her “Little
Way,” or of Matt Talbot the reformed alcoholic, or of Mother Teresa who, to use
her words, did “small things with great love.”
All of these unlikely heroes prove that the Kingdom
is God’s Kingdom, not ours, and that no matter how unpromising our efforts to
build it may be, God can make it work. This is a message that workaholics and
perfectionists like me find it hard to accept. We are quite sure that we are in
charge and that success ultimately depends on us! Happily, it doesn’t!
St. John XXIII, the Pope who called the Second
Vatican Council, knew only too well how painfully difficult it was to bring
about change and growth in the Church. He could well have given into pessimism
and gloom, but he didn’t. He knew the parable of the mustard seed! Knew
the history of the Church, both good and bad. Knew how much God could accomplish
with very little. And so he never lost hope. In calling the Council, he refused
to let the naysayers or the prophets of doom have the last word. And when
he would come to the end of a day, with a mountain of unsolved problems on his
desk and on his mind, with a prayer on his lips, he would turn off the light and
say, “It’s your Church, Lord, I’m going to sleep.”
May the Eucharist we now celebrate keep that kind of
hope alive in us!
Father Michael G. Ryan
