Wednesday, March 19, 2014

Thursday in the Second Week of Lent


The Mustard Seed, miniscule and yet offering so much, this tight, tiny seed is filled with potential, and transformative possibilities.
When I was a child, my grandmother wore a charm bracelet with a particular charm that captured my attention. It was “the mustard seed.” I would hold it carefully in my hands in amazement. What was this treasure? Why? How? On the back of the charm scripture was inscribed. Now, those words are too small for me to see. They too, carried immense power. They held strength as the word of God, this Bible verse magically inscribed on this treasure. So here were two gifts, the mustard seed, and the word. 
Reflecting on this verse I was also reminded of cycles of life, change, and possibility. For years in Massachusetts, many gathered to pull the wild garlic mustard that has become so invasive in and by the Charles River and in other conservation land around Massachusetts.  We worked to pull this so that the other plants and the natural habitat could thrive, for this sharp, pungent mustard had gone astray, and was wreaking havoc everywhere. 
But, wait, there is more; it is edible. I was taken with the idea of this as a green, making a pungent wild mustard pesto, and I began to experiment.  The plant is high in vitamins, and has a sharp horseradish-like flavor.  Distinct from the flavorful Italian pesto most are accustomed to, this pesto served its own culinary, nutritional, and social purpose. For in breaking bread and coming together with others to share, the gifts of this small seed were magnified.
Are we not asked daily to look within our lives at these small, seemingly insignificant things that are so rich and can offer so much in healing and transformation?  Simply to notice and to wonder, to listen and to reflect, to recognize inherent value and to let it be transformed is our task. To see the possibilities—whether in providing shelter for the birds, or feeding the hungry. Are we not also asked to do this with one another?

 — Kelley Lewis

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