What is that Mustard Seed like, Anyway?

Many of us have probably heard this statement of Jesus’s before:

“Truly, I tell you, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.”

I’ve often met this quote from Matthew 17:20 with a discouraged attitude. Faith as small as a mustard seed can do that? Man, my faith must be smaller than a grain of salt, then. But on Friday I had the opportunity to hear a new perspective on this verse while attending a writers’ retreat with my mom.

Have you ever been curious enough about the actual mustard seed and the plant that grows from it to do some research on the topic? I haven’t. Instead, I got to benefit from listening to someone else who had looked into this tiny seed, and I learned a bit of information that has opened my eyes about this matter of faith. Then I looked up the information she shared so that I could pass it along to my readers.

Here is what ehow.com says about growing a mustard tree (or shrub, as I think its actual horticultural categorization would call it):

“The mustard tree originates from Persia. It grows best in hot, dry climates. The ideal soil for the mustard tree is sandy and well-drained. The mustard tree can grow in U.S. hardiness zones 7 to 11. Humid temperatures and climates may stunt the growth of the tree or cause mold problems.”

The same website notes that in caring for a mustard tree, “The tree does not need watering, nor does it require many nutrients for healthy growth…. The fruit should be harvested as soon as it is ripe.”

This tiny seed that produces a tree that grows best in what sounds like a desert, is stunted by humidity, doesn’t need to be watered, and has its fruit picked quickly represents faith that can move mountains, according to Jesus. What does that say about the sort of “climate” that my faith needs in order to grow?

Dry. Hot.

In other words, uncomfortable. I’ll be the first to admit that the second things become unpleasant I am running to God asking Him to fix it. Put the temperature back to about 72 degrees Fahrenheit, please, and make it just moist enough that my skin doesn’t dry out but not so much that I feel sweaty sitting still. Thanks.

This would kill my mustard seed faith. My growth would be stunted. I would have “mold problems,” whatever that might translate to in this metaphor.

God knows how to grow faith and ripen its fruit. He knows that I won’t depend on, believe in, and learn to trust Him if life gets too comfortable. He knows that dryness makes me run to Him to quench my deepest thirst. He knows that as soon as fruit is produced in me (perhaps love, joy, peace, patience, self-control, etc.? See Galatians 5:22-23), it must be picked before it rots and is no longer good for food; then more fruit can grow in its place. He knows what I want, but He also knows what I need.

Whatever the question is, He knows.

And when I trust Him to lead me through the desert, faith grows just a little bit stronger in me, and God is free to make forward progress on the masterpiece He is crafting.

The Price of Damaged Goods

Sunday was Easter. More people all over the world probably thought of Jesus Christ's death and resurrection than on any other day of the year, Christian or not. The group of Christians I meet with every Sunday morning also reflected on, sang about, and talked about this monumental event and what it means for us. I'm not going to try to explain all of what Christ's death and eternal life means in this little post, but there was one particular point in the message that was spoken Sunday morning that I haven't been able to stop thinking about.

The speaker, a guy named Dave, was saying that when Jesus died, He bought every person who believes into Him with His blood. Then Dave asked the question, "But what did He get for His purchase? I don't know about you, maybe you're perfect, but when Jesus bought me, He got damaged goods." He used the illustration of going to a computer store and shopping in the refurbished section. "We're refurbs," he said. There might be, and probably are, things wrong with us that go unnoticed at first glance, but those glitches can cause major malfunctions down the road.

Think about your experience, or that of someone you know, of buying damaged goods. Even though it can stink to discover an imperfection in an item you want to buy from a store, isn't it sometimes also a little bit exciting? Why would she say that? you might be asking. Because that means you can argue for a discount!

"These pants have a spot on them, can you reduce the price for me?"
"The screen is cracked on this computer monitor, can I get a discount?"
"The button on my iPhone stopped working, will you give me a brand new one for free?"

Broken stuff is cheaper!

But wait a second. I don't remember the story including anything about Jesus getting a discount because He bought damaged goods. Lots of damaged goods, at that. It's not just me, and it's not just you. It's everybody. We're all guaranteed to be flawed because of the sinful nature inside each and every one of us. So where is Jesus's discount?! He knew going into this that He was redeeming, meaning "buying back," broken people. It's as if He walked into the refurb section of an electronics store, saw an old, poorly repaired model of a computer, and said, "How much is that one? Oh, it's only $100? How about if I give you $1,000,000 for it!"

He laid down not just His physical, human life, but His perfect union with the Father that had never been broken from eternity past. He had committed no wrong, transgressed not a single law, in fact He had fulfilled the entire Jewish law in the way He lived His life, yet He chose to pay the price of total separation from His Father, with whom He had only ever known total oneness, so that I wouldn't have to know that separation now, in the judgment day, or ever. So that you wouldn't have to. So that we could all stop trying to pay our own way into God's presence because we. can't. do. it.

Only Jesus could do it.
Only He could pay that price.

He paid the highest price possible, and look what He has to show for it: damaged goods.

It's illogical to me. It's above and beyond what was needed, isn't it? Couldn't there have been a simpler way that seemed more fair?

Why would God want imperfect people?

So that He could make a treasure out of our brokenness that is beyond what we can even imagine.