Sermon for Proper 12, Year A

Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52
Romans 8:26-39

Rich Mullins is reported to have said, “I tend to think that success is overrated. It’s something that everybody goes after until they get it, but then nobody knows what to do with it.”

And I think he was right. Several years ago, I was talking with a very successful businessman that I knew. This person had been very successful in business, worked hard, made a lot of money, and had all the nice things that come along with that. And he said to me, “You know, none of it has actually made me very happy.”

Our world’s definition of success is centered around that which is flashy, that which is fast, and that which is cheap.

It’s flashy in that we like spectacle. We like bigger, better, faster, more.

It is fast in the sense that we like instant gratification. We like immediate returns on investment.

And it’s cheap, not necessarily in the monetary sense, but in the sense of being very convenient for us.

But all of that together, like my friend the businessman observed, doesn’t really create a sense of lasting joy or happiness.

It’s not that success is wrong or evil. It’s just that it doesn’t have the power to save us. One of my favorite authors, Richard Rohr, says, “After the age of 35, success has nothing more to teach you.”

But Jesus, on the other hand, comes to us with a very different definition of success.

In this series of five, short parables that we’ve heard today, there’s the parable of the mustard seed, the yeast, the treasure in the field, the pearl of great price, and the net catching fish.

There is a common theme running through each of these parables, all of which are about the kingdom of heaven, which I remind you, is not the place where we go when we die.

When Jesus talks about the kingdom of heaven, he is talking about the way that God is working in this world, transforming us from the inside out.

The kingdom of heaven, according to Jesus, is not flashy. It’s hidden.

So, you’ve got the seed, the tiny seed, hidden in the ground. You’ve got yeast, which is microscopic, and the treasure buried in the field.

It’s hidden. It’s not flashy.

Second of all, it’s not fast. It’s a growing thing. That seed isn’t going to blossom into a tree overnight. You have to wait and let the bread rise.

And the third thing is that it’s not cheap. It’s precious. It is worth the cost that comes with it.

There might not be an immediate return on investment. It might not be convenient for us. But, if you stick with it, it is worthwhile.

Jesus describes how the kingdom of heaven works, and Paul, in our second reading today, tells us why we can trust it.

We can trust it, Paul says, because the Spirit is at work, even when we can’t quite see it. Working often beneath the surface, like that seed in the dirt, or like that yeast in the bread. Working secretly, in a hidden way.

Paul says, all creation is groaning in expectation. Sometimes we feel so lost, we don’t even know what to pray for. But the Spirit is praying in us, “with groans too deep for words.”

Finally, he says, we can trust this work because there is nothing in heaven or on earth that will ever be able to separate us from the love of God.

Even though it is hidden. Even though it is slowly growing. And even though it comes at a cost.

The person in Christian history who embodied this lesson, better than anyone else, is St. Francis of Assisi.

St. Francis was born into success and into privilege. His father was a wealthy cloth merchant in the town of Assisi, Italy.

He had all the benefits that come with privileged childhood. He was a bit of a party guy. He would be what we might call a “nepo baby” in today’s terms.

When he came of age, he did what was expected of young men. He joined the army, went off to war, got captured, got deathly ill while he was in captivity, and his captors released him home, because they thought he was going to die.

But as it turns out, St. Francis didn’t die. He recovered. And during that time of recovery, he started to think about his inner life, his spirituality. He thought, “Gosh, what am I doing with my life?” And so he started putting some pieces together.

He says, well, you know, I’m a young guy. I’m a soldier. I guess if I’m going to be spiritual about it, I should join the papal army.

So, he sets out on his horse out to meet the pope’s army. But then he hears a voice say to him, “Francis, why were you deserting the Lord for his vassal?” And so then he turns around.

He says, “OK, I guess I’m not supposed to go fight for the pope. What am I supposed to do?”

He spent a long time kind of wandering the countryside. And he came across this abandoned, ruined chapel called the Church of San Damiano.

He would sit in the ruins and pray, “What is my life supposed to be about?”

And then one day while he was praying in there, he had this vision of the Christ speaking to him through the crucifix, saying, “Francis, repair my church.”

Francis goes, “Oh! OK, great! I know what I’m supposed to do now. I’m supposed to rebuild this church.”

And so he goes and he starts picking up rocks and rebuilding the walls.

He talks to some of his friends around town, who join him in this work. And they’re building the church back up, piece by piece.

But even then, he didn’t quite have the full picture.

Over time, this community came together around the rebuilding of this chapel. They started talking about their deepest beliefs and commitments, as Christians. And they founded this community based on poverty and of service to the poorest members of their community, a community that respected all creation as members of their family.

Francis wrote some really beautiful hymns about “Brother Sun and Sister Moon.” And there’s wonderful stories about the ways that Francis was a great lover of animals. In time, this movement spread beyond the chapel and became a worldwide renewal movement that caught the attention of the global church.

So in the end, Francis figured out what his purpose in life was. But it didn’t happen all at once. There were a lot of false starts.

There were a lot of wrong guesses along the way. But bit by bit, it came together like a Polaroid picture, slowly developing.

That was how Francis’ sense of calling emerged. And I think that is how our sense of calling emerges. We, like Francis, probably are not going to get it right on the first try.

We’re not going to instantly know what the purpose of our life is. But if we stick with it, if we keep asking the questions like Jesus asked them in these parables, looking for:
that which is hidden beneath the surface,
that which is growing slowly, and
that which is precious and costly,
we’ll start to get a clearer and clearer sense of who it is that we are called to be and what it is that God is calling us to do with “our one wild and precious life,” as the poet Mary Oliver called it.

Looking around at your life, you might see the things that other people don’t notice. You might care about other people that folks want to give up on. But something in you draws you to them.

And I encourage you to ask yourself continually, not what is most convenient or what is most efficient, but ask what is most faithful and most loving.

And we’ll find the Spirit indeed is still at work within us and among us.
The seed is still growing.
The yeast is still rising.
The polaroid of your life is still developing, and finally,
that there is nothing in heaven or on earth that will be able to separate us from the love of God.