Across to the Other Side

Picture with me the Sea of Galilee, which, as Mother Frazier reminded us last week, is not a sea at all, but a lake.  The lake is sort of upside-down teardrop-shaped: wider up at the top (in the north) than it is at the bottom.  It is about 8 miles wide at its widest place, and about 13 miles long.  The Jordan river feeds it from the north, and flows out from the lake in the south.

Now, plot with me, in your mind’s eye, Jesus’ movements around the Sea of Galilee as St. Mark relates them to us.  Along the northern shore, you find Capernaum, which is where most of the activity in the first four chapters of Mark’s Gospel takes place.  That’s where we encountered Jesus last week, toward the end of chapter 4, on the northern end of the sea.  There, Jesus got into a boat with his disciples for a very particular reason.  St. Mark’s reports that Jesus said to them, “Let us go across to the other side.”  And I want to ask you to plant in your mind this question: why did Jesus take this journey with his disciples?

In the midst of that journey across the lake, a storm arose which Jesus stilled with a simple command.   Last week, the stilling of the storm seemed to be the highlight (and perhaps the point) of the story, since we read it as an isolated incident.  But reading the story that way puts the storm completely out of context, and perhaps elevates its importance.  Yes, the stilling of the storm is a big deal.  But, the storm is a diversion and a distraction from the real purpose and activity of Jesus’ travel, work, and ministry, which we won’t realize until we’ve plotted his movements, to see what’s going on here.  

At the start of chapter 5, St. Mark tells us that “they came to the other side of the sea.”  More on this in a minute.  Now, in chapter 5, Jesus and his disciples have made a trans-limnal journey - they have crossed to the other side of the lake, and the boat, with Jesus and the disciples in it, reaches the southern side of the lake (where Gentiles live, and maybe not so many Jews).  There, Jesus stayed long enough to perform a work of wonder, driving an unclean spirit out of a man possessed, and sending the spirits instead into a large herd of swine, which end up plunging down a cliff and drowning in the lake.  (It’s sad for the swine, but they aren’t kosher, so, you know, there’s a message there.)

Halfway through chapter 5, St. Mark tells us that Jesus has “crossed again in the boat to the other side.”  Another trans-liminal journey, a lake crossing.  And that’s where we pick up today, back on the Jewish side of the lake (if I can put it that way) where, among his own people again, Jesus is asked to heal the daughter of the leader of the synagogue, and where, before he can even set out to visit the sick girl, a woman who suffered from hemorrhages for years reaches out to touch his cloak; and with this act of faith, the woman was healed.

We’re still in the midst of chapter 5, we’re back in Capernaum.  And Jesus has not yet made it to the home of Jairus, the leader of the synagogue.  Before he even sets out to go there, he is told that it is too late, that Jairus’s daughter is dead.  But Jesus goes anyway, and finds, when he arrives there, that the mourning has begun, the people are weeping and wailing loudly.

Remember how the people reacted when Jesus urged them to stop their mourning.  “The child is not dead,” he said to them, “but sleeping.”  And St. Mark tells us that “they laughed at him.”  This comment always makes me cringe.  They were not the last people who laughed at Jesus.

Then, in one of the most beautiful scenes of the New Testament, with derision and laughter still ringing in his ears, Jesus enters into the house with Jairus, the  dead child’s father, along with her mother, and with his disciples.  St. Mark tells the story with eloquently spare details.  Jesus “went in where the child was.  He took her by hand and said to her [in Aramaic, the language Jesus spoke], ‘Talitha cum,’ which means, ‘Little girl, get up!’  And immediately the girl got up and began to walk about (she was twelve years of age).  At this they were overcome with amazement.”  And in another verse, chapter 5 comes to an end, after quite a lot has been accomplished.

Remember what I asked you to do with: to plot with me, in your mind’s eye, Jesus’ movements by the Sea of Galilee; and to ask yourself, why did Jesus make the journey across to the other side.  Throughout all that’s happened in chapters 4 and 5 - amid the stilling of the storm, the casting out of demons, the healing of the bleeding woman, and the raising of a dead child - something else has happened.  Jesus has gone across the Sea of Galilee and come back.  He got into the boat in Capernaum, and with his disciples he crossed over to the other side of the sea.  And then, they crossed over again to return.

Now, you may not have been an English major in college, but I was.  And in literature, it is never just incidental if you go across to the other side of a body of water… especially if you announce with dialogue that your intention is to “go across to the other side.”

Yes, it’s true that there was a storm to be stilled.  Yes, it’s true that there were unclean spirits to be cast out.  Yes, it’s true that a woman was healed of her terrible bleeding.  And, yes, it’s’ true that a twelve year old girl was raised from the dead.  (Don’t laugh.). But what about the disciples?  What happens to them?  

It would appear at first glance that the only thing of consequence that happens to the people who are actually with Jesus, is that their fear is calmed when he stills the storm.  But to see it this way, is to fail to see where Jesus has brought them.  After all, these were fishermen, whose daily experience of the lake was to set out from the shore and return; set out and return.  But twice, in the course of these events, Jesus brings his followers, his friends, all the way across the water to the other side.  And the first time he does it, he actually tells them that this is the sole purpose of their journey: to go across to the other side.

It is the only instruction Jesus provides throughout all these works of wonder.  He does not teach the disciples how to still a storm.  He does not teach them how to cast out demons.  He does not explain the power that flowed out from him to heal the woman of her bleeding.  And his simple words to the dead child are not an incantation that he shares with his disciples so that they can raise the dead by repeating those exact words.  None of these incidents actually transforms Jesus’s disciples.  But one thing does happen to them - twice.  They reach the other side of the water.

Now, reaching the other side of the water has been a theme before in the Bible.  Noah had to wait for the waters of the flood to subside in order to reach the other side of disaster, as it were.  The children of Israel were led by Moses, delivered from their slavery in Egypt by crossing to the other side of the Red Sea.  Joshua led God’s people into the promised land by bringing them across to the other side of the River Jordan.

Water is the sign and symbol of God’s love in the sacrament of Holy Baptism not only because it cleans and refreshes us.  More importantly, we experience bodies of water as obstacles that have to be crossed.  And in the covenant of love between God and his people, God promises that he will never leave us on the shore, unable to make our way across, and to wonder what it would be like if only we could get to the other side.

When Jesus takes us with him, it is precisely so that we can go across with him to the other side.  Will there be storms on the way?  Of course!  And he will calm them.  But the stilling of the storm isn’t the point.  In a way, even the miracles of healing, and casting out demons, and raising the dead aren’t the point either.  Because these things happen to only a very few people along the way.  But for those who are traveling with Jesus, he brings every one of them all the way across to the other side.  The first time across, he brought them into a land that was not theirs, let’s call it a distant and foreign land, just to make the point.  And the second time, Jesus brought them across again, to bring them home.  The action here, on both occasions, is that Jesus brings those who are with him across to the other side.  They make safe passage, all the way across.  And I think that this may be the most important thing that Jesus does for his disciples: to bring them across to the other side of the water.

What obstacles lie ahead of you and me, that make us wonder if we could ever get across to the other side?  Or that we might never even bother with?  The older I get, the more I see the obstacles we all have to cross to get to the other side.  Injury, sickness, and weakness.  Failure and heartbreak.  Betrayal and dishonesty.  Addiction and compulsive behavior.  Depression and despair.  Grief and sorrow.  Sin and selfishness.  And, of course, there is death: that sea of darkness that looms ahead of each and every one one of us, and we wonder whether and how we can ever make it across, or even if there is another side.  But which is also the sea that we know that Jesus has already crossed, so he must know the way.

And the reason I think it is important to read the narrative of these chapters of Mark’s Gospel this way is this: Jesus didn’t put an end to storms: more of them will come.  Jesus didn’t cast out every evil spirit: there is still torment for some.  Jesus didn’t heal all sickness: there is illness and suffering ahead for some.  Jesus didn’t raise every dead child from their too-early death: others will die, too.

It’s not the specificity of the miracles that matters here; it’s the knowledge that you and I can go across to the other side with him.  For storms, sickness, and death have not yet come to an end.  But Jesus will always bring you across the water to the other side, no matter what.  Sometimes he will bring you across to a distant foreign place, if that is where you need to go.  And sometimes he will bring you across so that you can go home.

But look, if all you are asking of Jesus is for him to still your storms, then you are not asking or expecting enough from him.  Jesus does not just want to calm you down, he wants you to go across to the other side with him.  For there, on the other side, there is healing and health, and freedom from the demons that possess you.  And there, on the other side, there is new life in the face of of the darkness of death.  All these can be yours and mine.  

And the surest way to find them is to go with Jesus when he says, “let us go across to the other side.”

Preached by Fr. Sean Mullen
27 June 2021
Saint Mark’s, Locust Street, Philadelphia

The Sea of Galilee

Peace Upon the Sea

The very first verse in the Gospel of Saint Mark - chapter 1, verse 1 - is this: “the beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, Son of God.” Mark is not wasting any time. This is the beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. Mark is an apocalyptic evangelist in the classical sense. We remember that the word “apocalypse” does not mean “standing on the street corner with signs proclaiming the end times.” It simply means “revelation.” The final book of the bible, the Revelation to St. John, is named the “apocalypsis” in Greek.

And so St. Mark, all throughout his good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, is concerned with revealing things. He is writing to illuminate this strange and magnificent reality of the inbreaking of God’s kingdom. He writes with urgency and momentum: what the other evangelists in their Gospels take several chapters to reach or explore, Mark lays out for us with deliberateness and haste. The proclamation of John the Baptist: prepare the way of the Lord! The baptism of Jesus, the temptation in the desert, the calling of the disciples, the healing of a man possessed by demons, the healing of Peter’s mother in law, preaching in Galilee, the healing of lepers – all of this, for Saint Mark, is in chapter one. This is an apocalyptic gospel, each piece of the text steadily revealing that Jesus is the Son of God. 

Today we meet Jesus in this fourth chapter of Mark’s gospel inviting his disciples into a boat to cross the expanse of the Sea of Galilee. Now, if you’ve been to the Sea of Galilee, or if you take a look at it on a map, you’ll find that this “sea” is not so much an ocean as it is a rather decently sized lake. It’s difficult to imagine this lake whipping up anything like the tempest we read about today, but the trick is in the land. The Sea of Galilee is the lowest freshwater lake on earth. It is nestled into the ground like a bowl, surrounded by high hills. The Jordan River flows into it from the north and out again from the south. As the winds move from Syria in the north downward toward Israel and Jordan, they sometimes gather in the narrow cliffs and spill out upon the water without warning, churning up storms that are dangerous to watercraft in the twenty-first century, not to mention any sort of boat that would’ve been around two-thousand years ago. Even this small sea could suddenly stir up great peril. 

And so it does here as Jesus and his disciples make their crossing. The waves crash up onto the boat, Jesus - beyond all reason - is found sleeping soundly on a cushion at the back of the boat. We can only sympathize with the disciples as they cry out, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” Jesus rises from his rest and St. Mark tells us that he rebukes the wind, shouting, “peace! Be still!” Peace. Be still. What we might miss here is that this language used to describe Jesus’ calming of the storm on the Sea of Galilee is the same language that describes Jesus freeing people who have been possessed by demons. These words are the words of exorcism. We perhaps cannot be sure whether or not something evil was using the sea to inhibit the mission of Jesus and his disciples, but what we see here is St. Mark revealing to us who Jesus is. Jesus’ authority is not merely a teaching authority, but a divine power over nature itself, over evil itself. 

Who is the only one with authority over nature and over evil? Well….scripture tells us that the only one with this authority is God. 

The Bible is always so stunning. It’s so rich and generous and revelatory and exciting. Mark the evangelist is weaving a tapestry here - he’s painting a masterpiece. Each one of Jesus’ disciples knew the stories of the Old Testament, the Hebrew Bible. Each one of them knew that only God has authority over the sea and over every evil thing. All throughout the tradition of Jewish history and theology, the sea is the sign of chaos, turmoil, mess, confusion, disarray, and unbridled power. The sea is that which consumes in the story of Noah and the flood. The sea is the path to liberation for Israel as they escape slavery in Egypt, but in that escape to freedom, the sea is the symbol of all of the upheaval that the Israelites must encounter and move through on their journey. In the Book of Job, in the psalms, and in the prophet Isaiah, the sea is the dominion of evil powers - the place where madness reigns unchecked. Only God has authority over this dominion. Only God can part the waters and stop the floods. 

Here in the Gospel, Saint Mark reveals something about Jesus Christ. Jesus does not call upon God to calm the storm. He silences the sea himself. He reveals himself to have authority over the elements, over the whole of creation. Jesus reveals his mastery of a power that can only belong to God. 

The disciples were filled with great awe. Literally, the text says that they “feared a great fear.” The other time in the Bible when this expression is used is when the angels appear to the shepherds on the hillside, announcing the birth of Jesus the Messiah at Christmas. This is an awe - a great fear - that is not a sign of terror, but rather the state of the human heart when it is overcome by the majesty of an encounter with the true and living God.

If you recall from last week, the Gospel of Mark has been leading us through a series of Jesus’ teaching in parables. Last week we heard about the mustard seed, the smallest of all seeds that grows into the most robust of shrubs. Today’s text follows immediately afterward, with Jesus wrapping up his lessons in parables and ostensibly moving on, across the sea, to something else. But in these events on the Sea of Galilee, we encounter one more lesson. In this calming of the storm, we come upon a living parable. 

Jesus did not only come among us in the Incarnation to calm the storms of nature one afternoon on a sailing ship. He came among us to calm the storms of sin and death forever. Into a world of chaos and turmoil, Jesus comes, bidding stillness and peace. In his rebuke of the winds, Jesus mastered the destruction of the waters on the Sea of Galilee, but soon - and very soon, for Saint Mark, in his urgent, revelatory Gospel - Jesus’ crucifixion, his passion, his death, and his resurrection will rebuke the forces of evil and death unto eternity. 

In the boat, as Jesus slept, the disciples feared for their lives, astounded that their teacher seemed to have abandoned them. “Do you not care that we are perishing?” Everything, absolutely everything around them promised death. 

At Calvary, as Jesus died in humiliation upon the Cross, the disciples feared for their lives, astounded that their teacher seemed to have abandoned them. Everything, absolutely everything around them promised death. 

The disciples on the boat did not know that their teacher would wake and not merely cry out to God – but in fact reveal that he himself is God. The disciples at the foot of the Cross did not know that their teacher would not only not be dead forever, but that in this death and Resurrection, humanity itself would be forever delivered from the crushing inevitability of death.

Each one of us, at some point in our lives, has cried out to God - or will cry out to God - “Do you not care that we are perishing?” Are you sleeping, God? Do you see me? Have you abandoned me to the waters of destruction? Perhaps this is the cry of your heart on this very morning. “Teacher, do you not care?” 

But our Gospel today reveals to us what is true. There is no evil, no sin, no despair, no fear, no chaos, no winds, no demons, no agony that cannot be quieted by those words that ripened on the lips of Jesus and spilled forth to soothe all of creation until the end of time: “peace. Be still.”

We have never been abandoned. We are accompanied by a compassionate friend whose heart is the font of all tenderness, all mercy. We are held close by the One who is consolation himself. And he is a God of peace. 

Preached by Mtr. Brit Frazier
20 June 2021
Saint Mark’s, Locust Street, Philadelphia

Flower Show Kingdom

A potentially misleading banner currently appears on the homepage of the website of the American Swedish Historical Museum, which is located here in Philadelphia.  The museum, you might already know, is located on the edge of FDR Park, a large park, just off South Broad Street, across from the stadiums.  And you might also know that because of the pandemic, the Philadelphia Flower Show has been taking place in FDR Park this year - outside for the first time in its 192-year history.  If I may say so, the Flower Show at FDR Park is a triumph in every way.  I could go on, but I won’t.  Today is your last chance to see it, and if you have time, I suggest you do so.

I have been to FDR park once or twice before to let my dogs run around there.  It’s the kind of place that you could imagine looked good in its prime, but you can’t quite guess when that might have been, and you’d doubt it would ever see such good days again.  But the Flower Show has given tremendous new life to a segment of the 348-acre, Olmstead-designed park, in a marvelous way.  The 15-acre footprint of the Flower Show is centered on the Swedish Museum, which provides a lovely visual focal point, with its understated elegance, and copper spire.

I happened to visit the Flower Show on Friday, which was an unusually chilly and rainy day, in a week that had earlier seen hot and humid temperatures in the 90s.  The rain did not dampen my enjoyment of the displays one bit, though I am sure it was a frustration to organizers, as the heat must have been too.

Without having planned to, my fellow flower show fanatics and I found ourselves heading up the steps to the entrance of the Swedish Museum, as we were wrapping up our visit, and as the rain happened also to be falling a bit more steadily.  We were aware that our Flower Show tickets allowed us entry to the museum, but we had not even considered the possibility we might visit.  The rain was convincing, but I suspect we’d have been curious anyway, when we saw others making their way into the open door.

Now, here is where I want to suggest that the banner on the home page of the Swedish Museum’s website is a bit misleading.  You see, the banner announces the following fact and condition of visitation during the Flower Show: “ASHM is only open to visitors with PHS Flower Show tickets from June 5-13.”  Now, the wording of this announcement suggests the possibility that the occurrence of the Flower Show has placed limits on attendance at the museum, and that its normally robust population of visitors may be stunted or somehow diminished during the nine-day period when, sadly, only Flower Show ticket-holders will be allowed in, and droves of disappointed descendants of Swedes and possibly other Scandinavians, too, must forego their visits to this small-ish, quaint museum.

Oh, faithful worshiper, I strongly suspect that this is not the case: that the Flower Show is keeping people away from the Swedish Museum.  Although I can find no publicly available attendance records for the museum, I am guessing that during the rainy half-hour I spent there on Friday, the museum must have welcomed at least as many visitors as in that half-hour as would normally enter its doors in a typical month, or maybe a year.  Hundreds of us made our way inside, left our umbrellas by the door, and, free from the rain, dutifully made our way through the twelve small rooms of exhibits, heavy on etched glass, blonde wood furniture, and some lovely silver.  I simply cannot believe that normally, that many hundreds of visitors would find their way to visit an out-of-the-way, niche museum of Scandinavian cultural heritage, that draws its biggest crowds as a wedding venue.  I could be wrong, but I doubt it.  Yes, it was true, as the banner on the website asserts, that “the ASHM is only open to visitors with PHS Flower Show tickets.”  But far from imposing a limitation on the museum, I am assuming that the Flower Show may, quite literally, be the best thing that has ever happened to it.

I lay out these observations about the Swedish Museum, because I am wondering if circumstances there might help us to learn something about the kingdom of God.  I’m looking for a parable that might help us appreciate the parables that we heard Jesus tell his disciples this morning.  These parables are, themselves, a little like the Swedish Museum: they have been around for a long time, a lot of people may pass right by them, but they are easy to take for granted, to spend little or no time visiting, and to feel as though they leave our lives pretty much unchanged.

But the Flower Show might provide us with a little impetus to look again at the parables, since both of them are about seeds.  The first parable reminds us of the developmental potential contained within a seed.  And the second parable reminds us that that potential is far out of proportion to the size of the seed, and that the results can be capacious, indeed.  Very well; got it.  But passers-by of these parables, might well cast nothing but a short glance in their direction, and decide not to visit.  And if it was the case that Jesus was trying to teach us about seeds, of either the grain or mustard variety, this state of affairs might be tolerable.  But Jesus is not trying to teach us about seeds; Jesus is trying to teach us (and anyone who will listen) about the kingdom of God.

What is the kingdom of God?  Is it a place, or a state of mind?  Is it heaven?  Or is it the accomplishment of heaven on earth?  And why is it, that after centuries of hearing these parables about it, so many of us have spent so little time thinking or praying about an idea that was near the center of all Jesus’ teaching?  Has anyone ever been to visit the kingdom of God?  How do you find it?  To be honest, there is no easy definition of the kingdom of God that the church can provide.  We understand that this paucity of a clear definition is largely why Jesus spoke of the kingdom in parables.

The kingdom of God is a metaphor that Jesus wants you to use to replace other metaphors in your life.  What other metaphors does Jesus want you to replace?  

The metaphor of the marketplace is surely the first among them, since a market is the only thing that Jesus ever literally overthrew.

Any metaphor that begins with the words, “the war on...” is a metaphor that Jesus wants us to replace.  Even if it’s a war on sickness, which Jesus dealt with a lot.  But he never cured someone and told them that it was their fight that made them well.  It is your faith that will make you well.  Not to say that medicine and determination are uninvolved - of course they are.  But it’s the metaphor I’m examining here, not the course of treatment.

Of course, there’s also the war on drugs, the war on poverty, the war we waged against this pandemic, etc.  Everything’s a war, when the only tool you have is a weapon or an army.  And we have literal wars, too, that last longer and longer and longer.  Jesus wants us to replace these war-like metaphors with the metaphor of the kingdom, too.

Once you’ve addressed the metaphors of the marketplace and warfare in America, you often find that you don’t have much left.  Our imaginations have become a little stunted over the ages, and it would take a great effort to replace just these two metaphors in our collective consciousness.

Today, of course, many thoughtful people are leery of any metaphor of kings and kingdoms, relying as they do on male-dominated hierarchical structures that typically accrue and maintain power by the use of force.  Who wages wars, after all, if not kings, as even Jesus’ own parables attest?

But none of the other metaphors we might turn to - sheep in a sheepfold, or a city (on a hill or otherwise), or even a highway - is all-encompassing.  And these metaphors can, themselves, be encompassed within the imaginary borders of a kingdom.  And all other possible metaphors will also be imperfect, since every metaphor is imperfect.

Jesus, himself, of necessity, is usually described (not metaphorically, but literally) within the strictures of culture, gender, time, and place, although in his divinity he transcends all those limitations.  It might be unreasonable to expect the metaphors that he uses to teach real people would avoid the actual particulars of their lives.

Yet, I know more than a few preachers and churches who will not turn anymore to the parables and language of kingdom anymore, precisely because of the power relationships implied by the idea of it.

It’s not as though we had been turning people away, who were arriving in their droves to inquire about the kingdom of God.  The church is in real danger of resembling what I suspect the Swedish Museum has probably become: a highly specialized institution, with a narrow mission, in a nice old building, that is mostly appreciated as a wedding venue.

And what of the kingdom of God?  Allow it to stand, for the moment, as the metaphor that defines the world you could live in and the terms by which you could live if we lived as God made us to live.

In that kingdom, there is only darkness when you need it or want it, but never the kind of darkness that smothers, frightens, or portends danger, let alone the darkness that sinks into depression.

In the kingdom of God there is only plenty, not want.  All are fed, all are welcome, and all are loved.

In the kingdom of God there is peace; for, in the kingdom of God, everyone has what they need.  And when everyone has learned not to be selfish (which is the most important lesson we have to learn in order to live in the kingdom of God), then there is no need or desire for war.  And if you tried to start one, you would never be able to find anyone to fight with you - why would they bother?

Streams of living water run through the kingdom of God that bring refreshment and life wherever it is needed.  And vineyards grow on the outskirts of the kingdom so there will be wine for celebration.

Everyone is given honest work in the kingdom of God and everyone is paid a good wage.  There is an economy in the kingdom of God and it is defined by generosity.

The kingdom of God is a beautiful place, and beauty will be found in every corner there.

It is possible to find yourself outside the kingdom of God, but it is the dearest desire of the king that you should find your way inside.  The path of selfishness is the one sure path that will lead you away from its gates and beyond its borders.

The weak, the meek, the humble, and the otherwise un-loved find themselves exalted in the kingdom of God, and all their cares attended to.

Love is the law in the kingdom of God.  As such, it requires wisdom to enforce and interpret.  And wisdom is widely to be found within the kingdom.

The kingdom of God is wherever and whenever God’s will is done as it is in heaven, as we pray every day might done.  The metaphor might not be perfect, but God’s will is.

Astoundingly, the kingdom of God is very near to us; the kingdom is nigh at hand.  Jesus taught this, too.  

And yet, many of us have lost interest in it.  And those who might once have been interested have often been misled by the very stewards of the kingdom, who have suggested to far too many people that the kingdom is not open and available to them, and maybe not to you.  But whenever we fail to extend Christ’s invitation to the kingdom, we are doing a disservice to his ministry and to God’s kingdom.

Maybe the kingdom of God is, in fact, like a gracefully understated building with a copper spire at the apex of a beautiful garden (you can call it a flower show if you want).  Maybe within that building there are twelve rooms in which every human soul may find something to gladden their hearts.  Maybe that lovely building has never been very far away.  Maybe you have driven past it.  Maybe you never have.  But still, it’s always been there.  Maybe within those graceful walls there is shelter from the rain, and from everything else that troubles you and me.  Maybe there is beauty there.  Maybe the doors of that building are open to you, because the price has already been paid - and you didn’t have to pay it.  Maybe you are aware that entry is available to you, but you’re not really sure you are interested.  Maybe you only came for the flower show.  Maybe you have heard messages that make you think that the kingdom cannot be meant for you.  But let me tell you, these messages are misleading.  In fact, they are wrong.

And there is no place better than a flower show - except perhaps a church - to see that the kingdom of God is also like a seed.  And to be reminded of the unlimited developmental potential contained within that seed, and that that potential is far out of proportion to the size of the seed, and that the results will be capacious, indeed.

But the Flower Show will close today.  And the Swedish Museum will drop the banner from its website, and go back to admitting a trickle of visitors, I suppose.  But the kingdom of God is meant to grow - it has potential that you and I cannot imagine, and that potential is far out of the proportion to the tiny seed.  So we will have to grow our seeds here on Locust Street - seeds of the kingdom.  And water them.  And watch them grow!  

With many such parables he spoke the word to them, as they were able to hear it.  He did not speak to them except in parables.  But he explained everything in private to his disciples.

Thanks be to God!

Preached by Fr. Sean Mullen
13 June 2021
Saint Mark’s, Locust Street, Philadelphia