Jeremiah 31:31-34, Hebrews 5:5-10, John 12:20-33, Psalm 51:1-13

“Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.”

We’ve come to the time of years when the day’s mail brings a continuous stream of catalogs of fruit bearing seeds and glossy colorful depictions of abundantly beautiful flower gardens and lush orchards.  Bulb companies quite masterfully market their spring flowering bulbs by offering the opportunity to order now while we gaze enviously out the window at our neighbors’ luscious yellow daffodils, planted last fall, and now in full bloom.  “ORDER NOW!” proclaims the postage-free return order form; “SEND NO MONEY.”  There is a large red checkmark pre-printed in the square next to the words, “Please bill me when my order is shipped this fall.”  It’s all so easy; commit your order now and worry about paying the price later.

All around us, the grains of winter wheat have died to themselves and now are growing toward maturity.  The seeds of the earth are bearing fruit.

We don’t often think of a seed dying at this time of growth – seed dying to itself in order for this fruit bearing to occur.  If we take time to notice the birdseed that has fallen from our feeders or the grain that was left in the field from the fall harvest, we might find that much of that seed has sprouted in response to the increasing warmth and sunshine.  And, looking closely at the sprouts, we find that the grain has lost its definition as a grain; little is left to convince us that the green and growing sprout was once a tiny seed.  With proper nourishment, the grain, which has effectively died to itself, will put down roots and produce fruit many times over.

We don’t often think of a seed dying to itself in order to bear fruit, other than when we read this Lenten passage, these words of Jesus in the latter part of John’s Gospel as the shadow of the Cross became more and more consuming.  But, as we study the tiny sprout under the bird feeder, who could discern that this fruit bearing plant was once a very typical seed?  – a seed that is no more, a seed that has dared to die and, thus, to bear fruit and, even later, to bear new life in a multiplicity of new seeds.

“Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.”  What’s your point, Jesus?

In the quietude of Lent, Jesus is confronting us with the realism of the maturity of our faith.  We might comfort ourselves with the misconception that Jesus is talking to those other people – the sinners; or at least, those people whose sins are worse than our sins.

Most of us gathered here come from a lifetime of church experiences, a life-long faith journey.  Most of us do not know of life devoid of the Christian faith and opportunities of Christian mission.  We certainly do not know anything of having our freedom to worship challenged.  And, while that life of faith is an enormous blessing that we all celebrate, the downside is that we risk being less aware of the need to address the ongoing maturity of our faith – intentionally and continuously; we too easily subsist in the safety and security of the seed package where all the other seeds look just like we do and think like we do, and we are very content to remain there being seeds – not taking any risks with what might become of us if we venture forth, being exposed to the fertile soil and gentle rains and warm sunshine of discipleship.

That’s all very scary.  After all, we’ve spent our entire lifetimes working on us – a few sinful rough edges here and there, but surely, we can’t be in need of too much improvement.

But, Jesus says, “Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain.”  Throughout the Gospels we note that Jesus offers healing rather than criticism for sinners – often summed up as “tax collectors and prostitutes” – the “others” of society – those that the religious establishment would label sinners.  To these sinners, Jesus offered healing salvation.

But, Jesus reserved his sharpest criticism and redirection for those who thought they were not sinners – those who were puffed up with their own superiority and self-righteousness and self-assurance.  Jesus spoke directly and harshly to and about those who assumed moral superiority, setting themselves in a position of always being right – there is little need or room for God when we are morally perfect in our own sight.  And, with this disposition, there is certainly no room in our lives for anyone who doesn’t share our level of moral perfection.  If you’re going to live here in my seed packet, don’t tamper with that ziplock; if we were to spill out on the fertile ground, there’s just no telling what might happen.

In these closing weeks of our Lenten season, Jesus is challenging us to look starkly, truthfully, objectively at our faith journey.  Are we maturing in our faith in order for our arrogance and self-importance to die away, making room for the fruit of humility to bear in abundance?  Our Franciscan brother, Richard Rohr states, “If you are filled with your own opinions, ideas, righteousness, superiority, or sufficiency, you are a world unto yourself and there is no room for ‘another.’”[1] 

Dietrich Bonhoeffer said, ”As we embark upon discipleship we surrender ourselves to Christ in union with his death—we give over our lives to death…  When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.”

As we gaze upon the emerging beauty of spring, we are seldom aware of the death that occurred to bring about this newly restored bounty of growth.  As Jesus challenges us with the discipline of Lent, we rejoice in the death of our timid, inwardly self-seeking focus – a death that allows us to bear the fruit of discipleship – a death that allows us to rise with Christ victorious over death itself.

[1] Richard Rohr, Adapted from Eucharist as Touchstone