The Rev. Anne E. Kitch
April 2, 2006
John 12:20-33
You can hear it, see it, smell it--especially this morning. Evidence of new growth is all around us. Flowering trees burst into bloom almost as we watch. But can you remember the seed? Think of a seed--an apple seed, a bean seed, an acorn. These are familiar. But do you know what other seeds look like? Could you recognize a morning glory seed or a daisy seed or the seed of a willow tree? Think of a grain of wheat. None of these seeds look like the plant they will become. They are not even remotely close in size. Unless they come in a nice little packet from the seed store with a picture on front, how do we know what the seeds will become? It is almost inconceivable. Imagine, all that any plant needs to become what it is, to grow into complete maturity, to become a gorgeous flower, a tasty fruit, or a sturdy tree is contained in that tiny seed. I can hardly get my mind around it.
Most of us would admit to some basic seed knowledge. We know seeds grow into plants. We know they need soil and water and sunshine to becomes those plants. But what do we really know? Think about just what creation is up to at this very moment. How does that seed become a morning glory? How does that single grain of wheat become a new stalk with a full head of grain? “Truly I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies it remains just a single grain.” There we have it. This miracle process of seed to sequoia begins with death.
First the seed must be covered with soil. Once in the ground, water breaches the outer husk. Moisture works its way into the seed, swelling its particles until the seed itself bursts open, splitting its skin as a tiny shoot of new life pushes its way up toward the sun. Breaking through the earth, even moving around obstacles this shoot keeps growing to become stem, leaves, flower, or trunk, branches, fruit. All from a tiny seed. But the seed has to die. It has to be crushed and split open before the new life can spring forth. It has to cease to be a seed and become the plant its genetic code is set to be. Without death there is no new life. Where would spring be without this process and new growth? What if the seeds just remained…well, seeds?
“Truly I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain. But if it dies, it bears much fruit.” Without death, there is no new life. Jesus of course is talking about more than botany. He senses that the time is near, the time for the completion of his work. He calls this time the glorification. He senses his own death, but it is more than that. He invites his disciples, invites us, to place ourselves in the cycle of death and life. If we would be his followers we must be with Jesus wherever he is. We must follow him into death.
What if we are the seeds? And what would our lives be like if we remained seeds? If we kept our full potential locked away, were unable to grow? And what is our full potential? We do not come in pretty colored packets showing a picture of what we can be. In our baptismal rite the parents and godparents are asked. “Will you by your prayers and witness help this child to grow into the full stature of Christ?” The full stature of Christ--that is what each of us carries the potential for. Within each of us is the possibility to become completely what God created us to be. Unique. Complete. Redeemed. I don’t know about you, but I have a lot of growing and maturing to do before I reach the full stature of Christ. I’m not even sure what that would look like.
If a seed were conscious, might it not think of itself as complete? Might it not believe it was all that it can be? But we know better. We know more. We know that the seed is only potential. But do we know this about ourselves? How far along are any of us to reaching the full stature of Christ? Are we seeds without imagination, thinking we are what we are? To contemplate these things is to enter into mystery. The mystery of seeds, the mystery of life, the mystery of us. And mystery is a fine place to be. As a church we revel in mystery. In our church year as well as the cycle of seasons it is a time for mystery. We are approaching Easter. Soon we enter into Holy Week and the Triduum, the great three holy days of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and the Easter Vigil. In the ritual and practice of these days we enter fully into the cycle of death and rebirth. In the ritual and practice of these days we, as a congregation and a people, allow ourselves to fall into the earth and die.
We are all God’s seeds. All of us here. How can we find out what this community garden will be? What fruit will it produce? Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain. But if it dies it bears much fruit. We enter in Holy Week as a community. We walk the way of the cross as a community. Do we want to be a community of seeds safely stored, or are we willing to die, to lose our life, in order to burst into bloom? What kind of garden might we be? what kind of fruit of ministry and mission might we produce? How can we truly know who we are as a community if we don’t walk the way of the cross? Or do we think this is it--this is who we are--all that we are. I don’t know about you, but I hope I am not my finished product yet. I hope I am more. I hope this community is not the finished product yet. I hope it is more. I hope the world, creation, all of humanity is not a finished product yet. I hope it is more. It is troubling to die--even Jesus says so, “Now my soul is troubled, and what should I say ‘Father, save me from this hour?’” Where would we be if our gospel ended there? If Jesus had said yes, save me, I’ll stop here. But Jesus said, “No, it is for this reason I have come to this hour.” He will, he did, fall into the earth. He will, he did, die. He will be, he was, broken and crushed. And afterward? “And I, when I am lifted up from the earth will draw all people to myself.” Jesus chooses glory over the current life he has. The glory of the tiny seed producing a garden. The glory of the trees bursting into bloom. The glory of a resurrected world. Should we ask God to save us from this death?
I would like you to imagine with me for a moment. Here is a packet of seeds. I have one for each of you. I cannot tell you what they will become. They are no longer in their pretty packets from the seed store. You will have to plant them to find out. And as you plant them, as you allow them to fall into the earth and die, ask yourself this question. Are you content to remain a seed, or our you willing to risk some brokenness and allow the waters of your baptism to split you open and stretch out new shoots towards the sun? Are you willing to burst though the familiar husk, the definition of self, in which you have been enveloped? Are we as a congregation willing to risk death and the waters of baptism to see who we might be for the sake of God and Christ’s kingdom? Who are we? Who can we be? Shall we find out?
