Thursday, June 11, 2015

A Mustard Seed Church (Reflections on Pentecost 3, Year B)


"With what can we compare the kingdom of God..?  (Mark 4:30)

Being an old religious guy, I naturally love churches. Ecclesiastical architecture fascinates me—particularly Gothic churches. Not too long ago I finished reading an opaque morass of verbal prolixity called The Ambassadors by Henry James (Warning: If you think I’m hard to follow, don’t even attempt James. The guy was incapable of writing a single, simple declarative sentence. If you can get to the end of this book and still know what the plot was about, you deserve a medal! But I digress).

There is a captivatingly romantic scene in this 1903 novel in which the hero, Lambert, finding himself with time to kill in Paris, decides to visit the cathedral of Notre Dame. Although not a Catholic and really barely a Christian, Lambert is fascinated and transfixed by the glory of this enormous structure. The vaulted ceiling draws his focus upwards, and he is inspired by the centuries of human effort immortalized in the stonework.

If you can’t get through The Ambassadors (and I don’t advise you to try), Ken Follett’s The Pillars of the Earth is a sensational read which centers entirely on the construction of a medieval cathedral. Tom, the builder, wants to construct this church simply because, “It will be beautiful.” There’s a great passage where he painstakingly drives a spike into the earth to mark the point on the horizon where the sun will rise, a sun which will eventually shine into the church over the altar through an elaborate rose window which would, “seem like a huge sun exploding into innumerable shards of gorgeous color.”

I’ve never personally seen the great cathedrals of Europe, but when I look at the pictures of these majestic buildings, I think of the love of God which must’ve been in the hearts of those who were willing to spend decades in labor to produce such works of grandeur.

And then I come to my own humble chapel here in Northeast Philly. Plain bricks, vinyl siding, ugly cinder blocks. A low ceiling in the worship space which doesn’t exactly inspire the kind of awe experienced by Henry James’ hero in The Ambassadors. No towering works of art, no magnificent carvings, lousy acoustics, and eight steps leading up to our worship space which weekly challenge the elderly and disabled.

But then I think, “We are the mustard seed church.” (See this week's gospel in the RCL, Mark 4: 26-34)Yes, we are small, but God—who gives all the growth—is at work here. Granted, a mustard plant isn’t even that spectacular. It’s not a tree, but, rather, a little shrub. Yet the birds that nest in it don’t care about its size relative to other species of horticulture. They are just grateful to find shelter in its branches.

My little mustard seed church has been shelter now for three homeless families through Northeast Philadelphia Interfaith Hospitality Network. Because this congregation said, “yes” to the plea from IHN, other churches here in the Northeast have opened their doors to the homeless. A small spirit of compassion is making an enormous difference in the lives of people who so desperately need a place to lay their heads. And the presence of these temporarily homeless birds here in our little mustard church has softened our hearts and made us better ambassadors for the forgiving and generously welcoming love of Jesus Christ.

Time and again Jesus in the scriptures reminds us that God’s Kingdom—the ruling spiritual presence of God—is not like our earthly kingdoms which value size and wealth and power. The Kingdom of God comes with heart-shaking grandiosity hidden in simple, humble packages. It might be a small, urban church sheltering a mom and her children. It might be a sudden act of generosity performed in a time of doubt which causes a dynamic change of heart. It might be as simple as a word spoken to a child at just the right moment which changes a life that changes the world.

How, I wonder, can anyone who knows Jesus ever feel that they don’t matter? In the spirit of faith we go on scattering seeds of kindness, forgiveness, and mercy—never knowing if they’ll take root or not or what impact they may have. But we trust God to do the rest.

Thanks for dropping by.

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