Gloria Dei Lutheran Church

Dear Friends in Christ, God’s grace and peace be with you.  Amen

The reign of God is like the month of June in the northern hemisphere, painting the landscape with the most luscious shades of green, turning our winter fears and despair into giddy, sweltering picnics of hope.

Every June I marvel at the number of seeds one tree can produce. According to my very scientific calculations, the maple tree near our driveway could repopulate an entire forest. It drops pounds of little helicopter seeds:  pounds! We scoop them up like we’re shoveling snow. When we moved into our house 24 years ago, our then toddlers could wrap their arms around our little oak tree out back. Now it shades a huge part of the yard, and drops an abundance of acorns all over the patio. And this week the cottonwoods have coated the neighborhood with a thick blanket of fluffy seeds like I’ve never seen before. It’s as if every individual tree guarantees the perpetuation of its species.

While little saplings may need a bit of care the first few seasons, once they’re established, they each grow into giants without any effort on our part at all. It’s as if nature is saying, “Don’t worry. We’ve got this.”

Living in a metropolitan area doesn’t keep us from recognizing the reasons Jesus uses nature to help us understand his message. The reign of God is like a yard that changes from sun to shade over many years, from manicured to wild over a few seasons of neglect, and from frozen to flourishing over the course of only a few months every single year, right in front of us, without ever showing us how it happens. And there’s really not a thing we can do about it.

The change of seasons proves that it’s really not up to us. Without any effort on our part, our extended winters, our muddy, icy springs, and the long hours of nighttime, miraculously give way to late sunsets, verdant vistas, and gardens full of rhubarb and peonies.

Especially this year, after the fears and restrictions we’ve faced for so long, we are suddenly seeing signs of joy: graduation parties, grandparents holding grandbabies for the first time, friends sitting down across the table from each other for a cup of coffee. Some people are hugging each other, and others are smiling without masks. Today, for the first time in ages, we are singing together in church.

Our worries and isolation are being transformed into hope, our tears into laughter. It is so good to see each other again. It’s as if the sun has come out after a very, very long storm.

But wow, have we ever learned the lesson that we’re not in charge. We simply had not prepared ourselves for what this year and a half have put us through. A tiny virus, much smaller than a mustard seed, took the planet by surprise, and left us gripped in fear, disease, and death.

There’s something about this seed parable [i] that is both very good news, and very humbling news at the same time. From a tiny seed grows major changes. Fortunately, in Jesus’ teaching, it’s not a sign of destruction, but of abundant goodness. Rather than a deadly virus, mustard enhances life, flavors it with delight. Especially in Jesus’ time, mustard was used medicinally to treat a whole range of illnesses[ii]. Jesus reminds his listeners how its branches make room to graciously feed and protect the birds of the air. Like the maples and cottonwoods in our neighborhoods, each mustard plant undoubtedly drops enough seeds for generations of shrubs to come.

From a little seed, nature provides protection, food, healing, and promise for countless future generations, without any effort from the gardener whatsoever. The message seems to be clear:  The earth produces of itself, and we are not in charge.

This has been obvious to your pastors over these last fifteen months. We’ve been trying to plan meaningful and relevant ministries. Our musicians and tech teams have stepped up to provide an unmatched online worship service to reach you in your homes each Sunday. Our Children, Youth and Family staff have offered online lessons, and discussion guides, and retreats and curriculum to encourage faith formation to take place from our homes. We’ve commissioned members to make calls and send cards, and have tried to encourage all of you to stay in touch with us and one another.

For some of you, it wasn’t enough. You tried, but simply couldn’t relate. It hasn’t worked. For others, it’s been a life line, a true spiritual connection with others across the screens.

We knew there was no guarantee that we’d have a congregation that would return to the building when this pandemic wound down. We still don’t really know what to expect or plan for.

Regardless, as we begin to turn the corner to July, we are becoming aware that God was at work in you all along, both among those of you worshiping with us on line and those not. It may not have had anything to do with the work we were providing. And while I know it may not lead to a return to what we had before, God hasn’t been idle.

Somehow, there is still a group of people who call themselves members or friends of this congregation. Your faithfulness and commitment to the church, and to each other have been literally breathtaking.

And it’s not just you. I am convinced God has been working in the world in ways we could never have foreseen or expected. Scientists developed this vaccine faster than any ever before. Teachers met the challenge of teaching remotely for more than an entire school year, and while some of them are limping across the finish line, they made it work. Students, too, in spite of the losses that online school presented them, kept going, and somehow, completed another year of school. This year, more of us have committed ourselves to confront racism and in our communities and in our own lives. We have sought concrete, tangible ways to address our privilege, and have acknowledged some of the damage it has caused. Throughout these months, God has been changing us, sometimes without us even knowing that it was happening.

The changes have not all been painless, of course; in fact, there has been tremendous loss. The virus has taken the lives of nearly four million people[iii], often when their loved ones were unable to be with them. Doctors, nurses, and other front line workers have died trying to protect us. Teachers, social workers, nursing home staff and other care givers have paid a heavy cost. Too many have left their professions out of fatigue and burnout. Many others have lost jobs they would have like to have kept. Young people especially have faced extreme loss and discouragement. Rates of gun violence, drug addiction, domestic abuse, anxiety and depression have skyrocketed. People seem to have found permission to practice blatant racism, anti-Semitism, bigotry and oppression. And we probably wouldn’t even have recognized that, had some of the brutality not been broadcast for us in ways we couldn’t ignore.

While trees that give life can grow wildly and unexpectedly, noxious weeds and invasive species can also take root. Nature is unpredictable and not always fair. But God has never let our propensity to cut down or choke out the tree of life to eradicate the power of love. Even when it looks as if nothing is happening, God may be scattering seeds of healing, urging life to take hold with hope-filled consequences in store for generations to come.

When the tallest cedars of Lebanon were threatened with violence and oppression, God took the tips off the tops, and replanted them. God restored them, allowing them to grow back into tall, healthy trees which could once again reach into the heavens and shade the earth, could shelter birds and feed creatures in their midst[iv].

When we’ve neglected to care for our patch of the orchard, when we’ve abused our relationships with our neighbors, or have taken for granted the earth under our feet, when we’ve been unable to meet the needs of those most vulnerable, or refused to honor the sacred goodness within our own bodies and spirits, God finds ways to replant us in love, too. God prunes out our diseased limbs, and calls us back into harmony with creation. God quietly spreads healing and restoration into our lives, and never stops finding ways to nurse the garden back to life.

The rhododendron that blooms by our front door for one glorious week each spring is overgrown. It needs to be cut back. I know it should have been done right after the blooms fell in early May. But I waited too long, and now there’s a nest full of baby birds woven into its branches. God used my procrastination and neglect to shelter a family of precious ones, making room in an overgrown shrub to care for creation.

The reign of God always works that way, providing abundant growth, allowing for grace to blossom even after months or years of neglect, and surprising us with the unexpected power of love, when we’re not even aware of it happening. And there’s really not a thing we can do to stop it.

What good news! Let’s sing. Thanks be to God. Amen

[i]  Mark 4:26-34

[ii] “Pliny also states that mustard is ‘extremely beneficial for the health’ and helpful in the treatment of ‘snake and scorpion bites, toothache, indigestion, asthma, epilepsy, constipation, dropsy, lethargy, tetanus, leprous sores,’ and other illnesses.”  Amy-Jill Levine, Short Stories by Jesus: The Enigmatic Parables of a Controversial Rabbi, (New York, Harper One, 2014), p. 177.

[iii] 3,803,257 people have died so far from the coronavirus COVID-19 outbreak as of June 12, 2021, 17:57 GMT. https://www.worldometers.info/coronavirus/coronavirus-death-toll/

[iv] Ezekiel 17: 22-24