Stephen
Terry, Director
Dying
Like a Seed
Commentary
for the September 17, 2022, Sabbath School Lesson
"He also said, 'This is what
the kingdom of God is like. A man scatters seed on the ground. Night and day,
whether he sleeps or gets up, the seed sprouts and grows, though he does not
know how. All by itself the soil produces grain...first the stalk, then the head,
then the full kernel in the head.'" Mark 4:26-28, NIV
A dried-up corn kernel is placed
into a furrow in the warm spring earth. With gentle rains, the kiss of
sunshine, and the nourishment the soil provides, it begins to change. Soon a
tiny bit of green nudges its way to the soil surface. As it grows, stretching
toward the sun, its size increases many times over beyond what the seed seemed
capable of carrying inside itself. Growing until it becomes taller than the one
who planted it, along the way, it forms ears with many times more kernels
lining up in rows and swelling the ears with fatness of the promised harvest, the
single kernel which seemed so tiny now producing more kernels than the planter
can hold in both hands.
The tiny kernel seems to have
fulfilled its magnificent purpose in life, growing into a glorious corn stalk
and feeding others with its abundance. However, even though it has blessed
others in this way, all of this is tangential to its actual purpose. Each kernel
is brought forth for only one purpose. It is brought forth to die, continuing
the cycle of abundance that arises from the demise of each kernel. We would
think it bizarre if a kernel should decide to subvert this process and insist
on its right to live. Should it choose to not be planted, to remain alive and
independent from the processes of nature, we know that eventually it will still
perish as it eventually crumbles into dust. The only difference would be that
the life in that kernel would no longer break forth in generations to come.
Death to produce life would be replaced with death without meaning.
When we consider our own lives,
we are not different in our fate, for each generation must, through their
sacrifice, produce the future hope of the next who in turn will do the same. Recently,
I have been scanning and digitizing old family photos. I am noticing things I
never noticed as a child. When I was small, we were very poor. Until he learned
to be a draftsman so he could obtain steady employment, my father drove taxi.
He worked very long hours for extremely poor pay. I tried taxi driving for a semester
while I was in college. On a good night, I could make fifty cents per hour. I was
fortunate enough to find other work. I could not support my wife and I on that
meager income. For my father, it was worse. He also had to support two tiny
children. What I noticed in those old photos was that my mother, myself, and my
sister all looked fat and healthy, but my father was skin and bones. He sacrificed
his health for his family. He died young at 64 without any of us realizing he
made that early sacrifice. My heart breaks when I think about what it must have
been like for him. Like the kernel that died, he submitted himself to what
needed to be done to ensure the hope of future generations.
Too often, we lose sight of this
basic fact of life, that our sacrifices are the foundation of the building to
come. We feel that we have done our part, the ears are swollen with new corn,
and we can now enjoy the fruits. We did our part. The future can now take care
of itself. Life is now more about our rights than about those who come after.
We tell ourselves and others, "I have a right to do this or that, so why should
I submit to not exercising those rights?" We make that argument for gun rights,
religious rights, speech rights and carry them to extremes where people are
murdered, forced to accept the majority religious view, or denigrated by foul
and abusive speech all in the name of preserving rights. When I was in grade school,
we were taught in civics that our rights end where the other person's nose begins.
Somehow that has morphed into a right to punch them in that nose if their opinion
on any topic does not mimic ours. Our attitude is that maybe the Bible says the
meek will inherit the earth, but they better not get in our way because we want
it for ourselves. Our right to multiple homes, several cars, boats, and enough
food that we can allow it to rot in our refrigerators shall not be infringed.
What are those so-called rights
based upon? We feel entitled based on who we are. We exclude others from those
rights based on race, gender, or any number of other artificial distinctions
that would deny others so we can have more. We claim privilege in the face of
others' need. We refuse to relent until our hands, touched with the icy chill
of death must finally turn loose of all that our rights have afforded us. Even
then we hire attorneys to make sure that nothing slips from our grasp postmortem.
When we contrast our demand to
have our rights with the character of Jesus, we stand condemned before the one
who could have called an army of angels to deliver him from death but chose
instead of exercising that right to submit himself to suffer humiliation and
death upon a cross. He had done nothing to deserve such a death. But his life
of service, humility, and compassion was a living rebuke to those who grasped
for all they could no matter whom it hurt. Each who allowed those nails to be
driven into that pure body knew they had the right to condemn Jesus by virtue
of their privilege, their station, and their laws, and they exercised that
right to the full. In contrast, Jesus as Creator and Savior, had those rights
also, but he set them aside so that compassion and grace could take root. He
died, was placed in the earth, and the hope of a better future took root, growing
into a plant that teaches us all how to set aside our rights to be better
servants to all.
We are all destined to die. What
we do between now and then not only reveals our present character, but it also
reveals the shape of the future. The more we grasp for our rights over those of
others, the more we create a hell on earth for the powerless who cannot hope to
grasp for anything in the face of our selfishness. Fortunately, the opposite is
also true. The more we forego our privilege that others might thrive, the more
we create a heavenly experience for the struggling. Jesus spoke of those who
would rise at the last days as witnesses regarding our behavior. Will they rise
to curse us for our self-centered greediness, or will they rise and bless us
for our compassion and empathy?
Even sooner, what does the next
generation say about us now? As I write this, much of the west coast of the
United States is inundated with thick smoke from wildfires exacerbated by
climate change that seems to bring us worse fire conditions with each passing
year. I have lived here for forty years, and only recently has it become an annually
worsening event. Our failure to deal with it timely and the future it has left for
our children speak volumes about our willingness to sacrifice our comforts, our
rights, our means for the sake of others. Creation has struggled under our care
and eagerly seeks deliverance.[i] But
that deliverance can only come if we set aside our own selfishness and submit
ourselves to what is needed. We must come to understand that in saving nature,
we are saving ourselves from a hellishness that could well become unpreventable
if not already to that point.
What are those rights anyway?
Over time they have eroded significantly. We have gone from being those who are
"secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects" to the point where we
must empty our pockets to be allowed to use public transport or governmental services.
This is because we have proven repeatedly that we cannot be trusted to exercise
our rights responsibly. If we cannot learn to use our rights equitably instead
of abusing them as a matter of privilege, if we cannot learn to love others as
much as we love ourselves, and if we cannot loosen our grasp on the material
goods that our privilege has placed in our hands, then Jesus is right to wonder
if when he comes again, he will find faith on the earth. A charred cinder may
be all that is left, and that is not a good thing.