Sunday, July 26, 2026
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52
He put before them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in his field; it is the smallest of all the seeds, but when it has grown it is the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches.” He told them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with three measures of flour until all of it was leavened.”
“The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which someone found and hid; then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field. “Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls; on finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it. “Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a net that was thrown into the sea and caught fish of every kind; when it was full, they drew it ashore, sat down, and put the good into baskets but threw out the bad. So it will be at the end of the age. The angels will come out and separate the evil from the righteous and throw them into the furnace of fire, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. “Have you understood all this?” They answered, “Yes.” And he said to them, “Therefore every scribe who has been trained for the kingdom of heaven is like the master of a household who brings out of his treasure what is new and what is old.”
When I was a boy, we lived in a parsonage that had a very long sidewalk that led from the back door all the way out to the alley, where the trash cans were kept. One of my jobs was to take out the trash and to burn it. You could do that in those days. And since most little boys are budding pyromaniacs anyway, I loved that job, especially when there were cardboard boxes to be consumed.
But I had another chore that also involved that long sidewalk. And that job I hated. The sidewalk was raised very high off the ground and the lawnmower couldn’t get close to the edge, so of course, that’s where the weeds grew. And it was my job to get rid of the weeds – all the weeds, on both sides of that very long sidewalk. We didn’t have a weed whacker, but we did have my two hands. But no matter how many weeds I pulled, they always came back. And that was when I first learned to hate weeds.
I have a kinder, gentler attitude towards weeds now. And at this point in my life, I would concur with the great 19th century American philosopher, Ralph Waldo Emerson, who once said that a weed is “a plant whose virtues have yet to be discovered.”
But even so, I still would never make it my business to plant weeds. But Jesus said that the Kingdom of God can be compared to someone who planted weeds on purpose.
He put it like this: “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in her field; it is the smallest of all the seeds, but when it has grown it is the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches."
Now we might think of mustard as something to be cultivated. But first century Middle Eastern people thought of it as a weed – and an invasive species at that. The Roman naturalist, Pliny the Elder, who was alive during the time of Jesus, wrote: “Mustard grows entirely wild… when it has… been sown it is scarcely possible to get the place free of it, as the seed when it falls germinates at once.”
And that’s the problem with weeds. They multiply, sometimes wildly. And mustard seeds are tiny and easily carried by the wind. So, you always had to be on the lookout for the sprouts. But Jesus said: “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed that someone took and (purposefully) planted in her field…” Which begs the question: why would anyone import that invasive chaos?
Well, it was an absurd idea to a first century crowd who knew something about agriculture and even more about the Law of Moses that required the separation of different kinds of plants. So, when Jesus said there once was a farmer who planted mustard in her fields, eyebrows shot up and a murmur rippled through the crowd. “What did he say?!”
And if that statement were not enough to electrify them all, Jesus introduced birds to the story: squawking, ravenous birds. Now if you’ve ever planted a garden, you know what birds can do to all your glistening vegetables and glorious flowers. And they’re not just occasionally annoying. In the Bible, birds are often metaphors for unclean people: Gentiles and sinners and outsiders – the very folks you want to keep away from your garden. But Jesus said that the Reign of Heaven is full of birds. --And when he said that, a gasp went up in the crowd.
And if we were completely honest, we might allow ourselves to gasp too. Most folks are fonder of order and the separation of kinds than we let on. And we live in a time when some people want there to be even more separation of kinds. But Jesus said that God’s dream for the world is wild and weedy. God’s dream of a perfect community is one filled with colorful people who squawk and flap and eat too much. And according to Jesus, there is profound beauty in the chaos of God’s weedy and bird-filled garden, if only we have the eyes to see it.
Some years ago, I was in my church office when I was told I had a phone call from a former parishioner named Barbara. Now typically, this would delight me, but to tell you the truth, this was one parishioner I really didn’t want to talk to. You see, she was calling from that parish where I had served as an Associate Minister and from which I left the professional ministry for ten years.
But that was all behind me now. And I had gotten on with the business of planting a new garden, in a new parish. And I had worked very hard on leaving all that pain behind me – or so I thought.
When I was told who was waiting to speak to me, I thought I handled it very well. First, I cursed, and then I took the call.
It turned out that the congregation was compiling its history and they wanted to know where I was currently serving and to remind them about my education, etc. After some polite, strained, and orderly chitchat, Barbara gave me her email address and I promised to respond with all the requested information. As is my want, I replied right away to get it off my plate but mostly so that I would not have to think about her or them anymore.
A few hours later, a new email arrived in my inbox. It was from Barbara. “Oh God,” I sighed and then I took a deep breath and I opened it. She thanked me for responding so quickly. Then she ran through a list of people who had sent their love to me through her. And then she closed with the absolutely shocking salutation: “Love, Barbara.” Now I would have been tempted to simply dismiss that sentiment had it not been for her peculiar post-script. “PS,” she wrote, “Lucky Broadway United Church of Christ.”
And this took me by complete surprise, because quite frankly, I had always thought of Barbara as being particularly happy to see me go, eager to plow my messy garden under and restore order just as soon as I was out of town.
But apparently, mustard seeds are heartier than that. They are not so easily disturbed by the plows of cruelty or injustice or neglect. They thrive under a burning sun, even when completely ignored. And somehow, during the time I served that church, however imperfectly I did, something I said or did planted a seed. And that seed grew a weed. And that weed became a tree. And wonder of wonders, somehow Barbara had found rest in its shade.
But more than that, now Barbara was planting a seed of her own, with her words of reconciliation and peace, that challenged my ability to continue to dismiss her and to allow bitterness to grow in my heart.
Barbara planted a seed. And all these many years later, right here in Cheshire, CT, this old bird continues rests in its shade – a shade I didn’t even know I needed.
Thanks be to God.
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52
He put before them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in his field; it is the smallest of all the seeds, but when it has grown it is the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches.” He told them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with three measures of flour until all of it was leavened.”
“The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which someone found and hid; then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field. “Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls; on finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it. “Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a net that was thrown into the sea and caught fish of every kind; when it was full, they drew it ashore, sat down, and put the good into baskets but threw out the bad. So it will be at the end of the age. The angels will come out and separate the evil from the righteous and throw them into the furnace of fire, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. “Have you understood all this?” They answered, “Yes.” And he said to them, “Therefore every scribe who has been trained for the kingdom of heaven is like the master of a household who brings out of his treasure what is new and what is old.”
When I was a boy, we lived in a parsonage that had a very long sidewalk that led from the back door all the way out to the alley, where the trash cans were kept. One of my jobs was to take out the trash and to burn it. You could do that in those days. And since most little boys are budding pyromaniacs anyway, I loved that job, especially when there were cardboard boxes to be consumed.
But I had another chore that also involved that long sidewalk. And that job I hated. The sidewalk was raised very high off the ground and the lawnmower couldn’t get close to the edge, so of course, that’s where the weeds grew. And it was my job to get rid of the weeds – all the weeds, on both sides of that very long sidewalk. We didn’t have a weed whacker, but we did have my two hands. But no matter how many weeds I pulled, they always came back. And that was when I first learned to hate weeds.
I have a kinder, gentler attitude towards weeds now. And at this point in my life, I would concur with the great 19th century American philosopher, Ralph Waldo Emerson, who once said that a weed is “a plant whose virtues have yet to be discovered.”
But even so, I still would never make it my business to plant weeds. But Jesus said that the Kingdom of God can be compared to someone who planted weeds on purpose.
He put it like this: “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in her field; it is the smallest of all the seeds, but when it has grown it is the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches."
Now we might think of mustard as something to be cultivated. But first century Middle Eastern people thought of it as a weed – and an invasive species at that. The Roman naturalist, Pliny the Elder, who was alive during the time of Jesus, wrote: “Mustard grows entirely wild… when it has… been sown it is scarcely possible to get the place free of it, as the seed when it falls germinates at once.”
And that’s the problem with weeds. They multiply, sometimes wildly. And mustard seeds are tiny and easily carried by the wind. So, you always had to be on the lookout for the sprouts. But Jesus said: “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed that someone took and (purposefully) planted in her field…” Which begs the question: why would anyone import that invasive chaos?
Well, it was an absurd idea to a first century crowd who knew something about agriculture and even more about the Law of Moses that required the separation of different kinds of plants. So, when Jesus said there once was a farmer who planted mustard in her fields, eyebrows shot up and a murmur rippled through the crowd. “What did he say?!”
And if that statement were not enough to electrify them all, Jesus introduced birds to the story: squawking, ravenous birds. Now if you’ve ever planted a garden, you know what birds can do to all your glistening vegetables and glorious flowers. And they’re not just occasionally annoying. In the Bible, birds are often metaphors for unclean people: Gentiles and sinners and outsiders – the very folks you want to keep away from your garden. But Jesus said that the Reign of Heaven is full of birds. --And when he said that, a gasp went up in the crowd.
And if we were completely honest, we might allow ourselves to gasp too. Most folks are fonder of order and the separation of kinds than we let on. And we live in a time when some people want there to be even more separation of kinds. But Jesus said that God’s dream for the world is wild and weedy. God’s dream of a perfect community is one filled with colorful people who squawk and flap and eat too much. And according to Jesus, there is profound beauty in the chaos of God’s weedy and bird-filled garden, if only we have the eyes to see it.
Some years ago, I was in my church office when I was told I had a phone call from a former parishioner named Barbara. Now typically, this would delight me, but to tell you the truth, this was one parishioner I really didn’t want to talk to. You see, she was calling from that parish where I had served as an Associate Minister and from which I left the professional ministry for ten years.
But that was all behind me now. And I had gotten on with the business of planting a new garden, in a new parish. And I had worked very hard on leaving all that pain behind me – or so I thought.
When I was told who was waiting to speak to me, I thought I handled it very well. First, I cursed, and then I took the call.
It turned out that the congregation was compiling its history and they wanted to know where I was currently serving and to remind them about my education, etc. After some polite, strained, and orderly chitchat, Barbara gave me her email address and I promised to respond with all the requested information. As is my want, I replied right away to get it off my plate but mostly so that I would not have to think about her or them anymore.
A few hours later, a new email arrived in my inbox. It was from Barbara. “Oh God,” I sighed and then I took a deep breath and I opened it. She thanked me for responding so quickly. Then she ran through a list of people who had sent their love to me through her. And then she closed with the absolutely shocking salutation: “Love, Barbara.” Now I would have been tempted to simply dismiss that sentiment had it not been for her peculiar post-script. “PS,” she wrote, “Lucky Broadway United Church of Christ.”
And this took me by complete surprise, because quite frankly, I had always thought of Barbara as being particularly happy to see me go, eager to plow my messy garden under and restore order just as soon as I was out of town.
But apparently, mustard seeds are heartier than that. They are not so easily disturbed by the plows of cruelty or injustice or neglect. They thrive under a burning sun, even when completely ignored. And somehow, during the time I served that church, however imperfectly I did, something I said or did planted a seed. And that seed grew a weed. And that weed became a tree. And wonder of wonders, somehow Barbara had found rest in its shade.
But more than that, now Barbara was planting a seed of her own, with her words of reconciliation and peace, that challenged my ability to continue to dismiss her and to allow bitterness to grow in my heart.
Barbara planted a seed. And all these many years later, right here in Cheshire, CT, this old bird continues rests in its shade – a shade I didn’t even know I needed.
Thanks be to God.
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