June 18, 2006
Text: Mark 4:26-34
Growing Mystery
A few years ago, Philosophy Professor
Paul Woodruff wrote a profound little book simply titled, Reverence – a virtue that he says “begins in a deep understanding
of human limitations” from which “grows the capacity to be in awe of whatever
we believe lies outside our control.” It
is, according to Woodruff, “the virtue that keeps human beings from trying to
act like gods.” [1]
That
particular appetite has been humanity’s “Achilles Heel” since our very
creation, as narrated succinctly by all those stories in the first 11 Chapters
of Genesis, like the Garden of Eden and the
When our
mission team, for example, stepped out of the transport truck that first night
in the village of La Consulta, Nicaragua and caught our breath at the
brilliance of the stars above us, would it really have enriched our speechless
appreciation to call to mind just then that those twinkling jewels overhead
were really massive, self-gravitating compact spheres of plasma in hydrostatic equilibrium producing
energy through nuclear fusion?
No, what was called for in that particular moment was reverent,
appreciative awe.
Which is why
Woodruff’s affectionate treatment of reverence has been so valuable to me. Reverence, that “well-developed capacity to
have the feelings of awe, respect, and shame…” [2]
Wonderment,
that lives and flourishes in the expansive landscape of humbling mystery. It’s worth bringing up from time to time
because even the church can begin to reek with the scent of formaldehyde in
which are preserved the dissected remains of doctrinal truths and biblical
mandates that once were vibrant beliefs and faithful devotion. Even in the church, movements and words and
rituals once infused with pulse and power often dry and harden into brittle habits
to be accomplished and checked off of a long and airless list of tasks. And those puzzles which we can’t easily solve
or reduce to their readily accessible manageable parts are either set aside as
too much hassle, or hammered into over-simplified submission.
I have been
thinking about such things this week in the company of this morning’s Bible
reading in which Jesus tries to say something settling to his disciples about
the
“The
It is a mystery, in other words. You can take a seed into the laboratory and
analyze its chemical properties and chronicle its emergent stages; you can
track how this chemical reaction leads to this physical result, but has that
finally “explained it” in any meaningful, satisfying sense?
From time to
time we have focused on single words in sermons that seem to capture something
essential in the life of faith – “glory,” for example, and “hark.” Episcopal priest and preacher Barbara Brown
Taylor has reminded me another one in her new memoir called
Doctrine. Defining and defending rigorous beliefs. Debating and dismissing – and often times
destroying. And then, as if awakening to
a marvelous self-discovery, she makes this observation: “The parts of the Christian story that had
drawn me into the Church were not the believing parts but the beholding parts.
Ø Behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy…
Ø Behold the Lamb of God…
Ø Behold, I stand at the door and knock…” [4]
“Behold.” That is the word that I want to nest in your
soul this day, in the hopes that it may gain enough of a footing to grow and,
like the mustard seed of the parable, become a large enough shrub that the
birds of your spirit can nest and find shade.
Behold.
In a technical sense, the word simple
means to use your eyes; to see. But in a deeper sense, it means to drink in a wonder; to comprehend a
mystery; to contemplate, and reverently consider. It is about seeing, but seeing with a sight
more discerning than the eyes. Behold.
My soul thirsts for God, confesses the Psalmist; when
shall I come and behold the
face of God? [5]
"Behold, I come like a thief! Blessed is he who stays awake [6]
"Behold, I will create new heavens and a new earth. [7]
It is to be captivated by that which
is larger than one’s field of vision. It
is to be arrested by that whisper, that vision, that taste that is too glorious
to be defined, too immense to fit in any literal or theological pocket. And it
is to be blessedly, delightfully confronted with the remembrance that the best
parts of life are exactly that way – defying definition; refusing domestication;
confounding simplification or summarization; and demanding…
…wonder-filled…
…silent…
…but exuberant…
…awe.
Behold the wonder of a hibiscus bloom –
first a tight pucker of color, soon splayed out wide in unabashed thanksgiving
to the sky that had beckoned it. Behold
the often inexplicable, often confounding love of a father for his
child. Behold the mystery and
the majesty of God, working God’s own purposes through to fruition – beyond our
ability to comprehend it.
But well-within our ability to seek
it.
Behold the seed: scattered,
sprouting and growing – stalk, head and grain – beyond our ability to
understand it.
Behold,
just so, the growing, emerging reign of God.