Gospel Reading: Mark 4:26-34
Jesus {said}, “The Kingdom of God is like this. A man scatters seed in his field. He sleeps at night, is up and about during the day, and all the while the seeds are sprouting and growing. Yet he does not know how it happens. The soil itself makes the plants grow and bear fruit; first the tender stalk appears, then the head, and finally the head full of grain. When the grain is ripe, the man starts cutting it with his sickle, because harvest time has come.
“What shall we say the Kingdom of God is like?” asked Jesus. “What parable shall we use to explain it? It is like this. A man takes a mustard seed, the smallest seed in the world, and plants it in the ground. After a while it grows up and becomes the biggest of all plants. It puts out such large branches that the birds come and make their nests in its shade.”
A Parable: The Fruit Tree
The Kingdom of God is like a tiny seed that a family planted in their garden—a seed that would grow into a fruit tree. The family members took great care as it sprouted and grew. They watered and weeded around its base; they protected it with chicken wire so the deer and rabbits wouldn’t eat it; they fertilized it and made sure it had room to spread its roots under the ground. The family dreamed of the fruit their tree would bear, and they patiently waited for it. After a few years, the tree grew big enough to bear a few small fruits, which the family enjoyed gratefully.
The next generation of the family watched as the tree grew taller. The tree stretched its roots underground and its branches above ground, until it was big enough to make shade for the house and become the home of many birds. The fruit it bore got bigger and more abundant over the years and the family enjoyed it immensely every summer.
The next generation grew up accustomed to eating from the fruit-bearing tree. They even learned how to can the fruit because it was so abundant they could save some for winter. They spent happy summer days as a group, picking and canning fruit, and enjoying it on cold winter nights.
When they had canned as much fruit as they could, they decided to share the leftover fruit with others, and the neighbors began gratefully receiving fruit from them as gifts. The children climbed the tree for fun and the family held picnics in its shade and watched the birds come and go from its branches.
The next generation inherited the traditions of picnics in the shade and canning in the summer. But they began to notice over the years that the tree bore less fruit. The shade was still lovely; the birds came and went; the fruit was eaten even more gratefully. But the summer canning didn’t take as long, and there was no longer much fruit to give away to the neighbors.
This generation had often heard stories of the wonderful fruit tree and its abundance, so they felt a bit embarrassed that their generation didn’t have enough fruit to practice those traditions.
One day, the family stood and looked at their tree and wondered together: Why is the tree producing less fruit?
Maybe we haven’t been fertilizing it enough.
Maybe the soil is too dry and we’ve neglected to water it.
Maybe it’s because of that storm that came through and took off some branches. Maybe we should be pruning it more!
They appointed family members to water and fertilize and prune the tree. They were sure that, with more care, the tree would fruit bountifully again.
But over the next few years, the tree continued to bear less and less fruit. The leaves went yellow earlier every summer and several branches were torn from it during winter storms.
One day, the family met to share the fruit and they again talked about what was happening to the tree.
“You are not watering the tree enough,” one said to another.
“You are watering it too much,”
“You used the wrong kind of fertilizer,”
“You trimmed too many branches! How can it possibly bear fruit now?”
“There’s nothing we can do. The weather has been bad and it’s out of our control.” One said quietly, “I don’t think fruit trees live forever.” But no one was listening. The family argued, but no solution to the decline of the tree was found.
The next generation inherited not only a smaller, weaker tree, but a bit of enmity between the siblings about why it was declining.
One year, the tree barely produced any fruit. The family gathered in the dwindling shade to eat their small harvest. As they cut up pieces to share among themselves, one of the eldest elders cut the core out of each piece of fruit, removed the seeds and put them in her pocket.
“What are you doing?” someone asked.
“I’m keeping the seeds. I’ve been collecting them every year. They remind me of what this tree once produced: beauty and shade for the garden.”
A child then spoke up: “I’ve been collecting seeds, too! I keep them in my pocket to remind me of the delicious taste of the fruit!”
Another person said, “I’ve been saving my seeds to remind me of how the tree was once a wonderful place for birds to live. I wonder where the birds live now.”
The family passed around their seeds and held them gently, thinking about all the wonderful things the tree had provided for them and what the seeds represented for them.
“I wonder,” someone said, “what we should do next?”
********************
What do you think the family should do next?
What is the parable about for you?
Who do you identify with in the story? The family? The tree? The birds in the tree? Are you the seed?
I spend a lot of time in church families listening as they wonder what to do next.
As you puzzle over your future, your budget, what kind of new pastor you want and how to carry out your mission, I hope you will try to stay curious and not digress into blame or shame.
Trees don’t last forever. And neither do churches. But tiny seeds have power far beyond their own lifespan to regenerate in new forms.
Recent Comments