Human Bean

Lent 4B 03/29/09

John 12:20-33

Grace and peace to you from God our Father, and from our Lord and savior Jesus Christ.

It’s the quintessential elementary school biology experiment. Take two Styrofoam cups, a handful of potting soil, and two seeds (usually of the legume family). Put one of the seeds in an empty cup. Set it aside. Put the soil in the other cup, the seed in the soil, add a little water. Then wait. And wait. And wait—it’s also a good lesson on patience! Finally, one fine morning, there, where before was nothing but an undercover bean, there proudly stands a bean plant! And in the other cup—just a bean. Conclusion—unless a seed goes into the dirt and is destroyed, it won’t achieve its potential, it won’t come to completion or fruition—it won’t ever be anything but a seed.

I wonder if Jesus ever did that experiment? Not with Styrofoam cups, of course. Maybe out in the family garden With wheat seeds, not beans. I say this only because, in today’s gospel, Jesus comes to the same conclusion—sort of. What he says is this: “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.”

Who says the Bible and science aren’t compatible? Here we have from Jesus’ own mouth the iteration of a basic biological theorem—that seeds must come in contact with the earth and die (lose their seed-ness) in order for them to sprout and grow into the next generation of bearing plant. Seeds for which this process is not forthcoming remain seeds. (Hence the many packages of vegetable and flower seeds I have in a box in my basement, purchased with good and noble intentions of planting them, but never having realized that goal.) Yes. Perfectly good science. Worthy of Bill Nye (the science guy). Or perhaps I should say worthy of Mr. Wizard?

But, of course, Jesus is not teaching third graders here. He’s talking to Philip and Andrew who have come to him because some Greeks want a meet and greet. And, in reality, Jesus isn’t talking about seeds either. Evidently, the appearance of the Greeks somehow signals to Jesus that “the hour has come.” The hour for the Son of Man to be glorified. (Son of Man—that’s how Jesus refers to himself as he is incarnate. You could say, “The hour has come for me as a human being,) That is, the hour for his suffering, death, and resurrection. He lived a human life, he will die a human death. For a reason. And that’s exactly what he’s talking about, with the seeds and the dirt and the dying and all. Jesus is saying that he’s going to be a human “bean.” (That one’s funnier when you see it on paper.)

Here’s an interesting thought I had after reading this passage for about the fiftieth time. “Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies…” We look at this statement and we think “if…then” and “if not…then” If a seed is buried and loses the characteristics of a seed—that which makes a seed a seed—then it will produce much fruit (unless it’s in my garden). If a seed does not die and get buried—then it will always stay a seed. Sound right? Think that’s how Jesus meant it? I don’t think so.

I believe that instead of “if—then,” “if not—then,” what we really have here is an “unless—then,” which is a variation on the same logical theme. “Unless—then” changes the formula by making one prerequisite the norm, and any other, opposite ones into aberrations when it comes to reaching the natural outcome. For instance, unless people sign up for assisting with worship on Maundy Thursday and Good Friday, then they will miss out on the chance to serve before God on two of the highest holy days in Christendom. But if people sign up to be lectors, ushers, communion assistants, and liturgists, then they’ll be serving the Lord. That’s simply an illustration.

In Jesus’ scenario, it is implied that the seed will fall into the earth and die—if the seed is to reach its full plant potential. This is the necessary input to produce the expected output. This is the only way to bear much fruit—putting the seed in a cup of rocks, or freezing the seed, will not get that same result.

To put it in the terms of what Jesus is really talking about here—unless the Son of Man dies, there will be no outcome—if he were to go back to carpentry, say, or move to Rome and live out his life there. There will be no outcome at all. That film by director Martin Scorsese, The Last Temptation of Christ, envisions such a scenario. Christ doesn’t die on the cross and the outcome is therefore subject to futility.

But if the Son of Man does die, which is the necessary input, then “it is finished.” The things he set out to do will be accomplished by this single, solitary action. Salvation. Forgiveness. Freedom from the power of sin and death. The even better than expected outcome.

So Jesus is telling Andrew and Philip that the hour has come when he must die. Must. No information on how the boys took that news. But we do, in the next few verses, discover a little bit about how Jesus is dealing with the whole seed dead in the ground thing. And in that we get just a whiff of Jesus’ humanity—something that gospel writer John does not do too terrible much. In John’s gospel Jesus is firmly in control of all situations. He knows all, he sees all, and what happens to him happens only because he allows it and it is according to the Father’s plan. In John, Jesus is human and divine—with a noticeable lean towards the divine.

But this suffering and death—what human being would not be affected by the mere thought of it? Jesus admits his “soul is troubled.” So much so that he applies the radical nature of the gospel to his own situation. Reasoning that for him to love his life to the point where he can not offer it up to God, means the whole purpose of that life is lost. But for him to willingly give up his life, hate it, will win eternal life for himself and all others who call on his name. That’s the gospel message. But, as a life-loving human being it’s hard to will such sacrifice, or trust fully in the promise. We’d rather just hold tightly to our lives, if you please, and not relinquish control of our fate to anyone. It’s hard—for us and for the human Jesus. So what can he do?

Prayer might help. But what would he say? “Father, save me from this hour?” This hour is necessary, it’s his purpose, it’s the world’s redemption, it’s the central moment of all of history. I don’t know if that would convince me to be a human bean, but I think it did for Jesus. After a spoken word from God, Jesus lets all who are present know that the voice was for them, not him. His union with the Father has given him the human courage to be the seed that bears fruit. John has Jesus’ hand firmly on the wheel again.

But when it comes down to it, we have to ask the question, “Why?” Why is it necessary for Jesus to die, in order that the plan become complete? God is God, after all, and surely God could have thought of a less bloody and less than fatal way of “doing salvation.” There’s lots of theories. But the one I have to go with is reminiscent of our first reading today.

In it Yahweh says that he has written the law upon stone for his people, but there would come a time when he would write it on their hearts. And then they would not have to ask each other if they knew the LORD, for he would be a part of them. He would be their God and they would be his people. That kind of knowing is deep—deeper than the many joys people are blessed with, deeper than all the pain and suffering humanity endures, deeper than life itself. For to truly know God, we need him to touch our hearts—take our cold hearts, our broken hearts, our hearts of stone, our unclean hearts, and put his Christ on them. It is necessary.

But, as one of my colleagues said this week, this knowing is a two way street. We long to know God and do through Christ Jesus. And God longs to know us fully, to know what it is like to be human, created—to know what it is to be happy, sad, hungry, itchy, sick, hurt, to laugh at a joke, to cry over a loved one, and most of all, to die. In my thinking one of God’s purposes in Christ is to experience life and death through him. And in that way we write on God’s heart. No longer do we have to say to one another “Know the Lord,” and no longer do we need to ask, “Does the Lord know me?” We do know God and God knows us thanks to Jesus’ life, suffering and death. It never would have happened…unless.

Okay so that’s this passage in relation to Jesus. How about you and I—where do we fit into this loving and hating life? Sounds complicated. But it isn’t. In fact, let’s go back to our science experiment. Seed that is never planted stays a seed, rattling around in a Styrofoam cup. It’s potential is not realized as long as it clings to its seediness. For us, making the transformation between seed (believer) and Plant (disciple) is based on many factors—some under our control, some not. What kind of dirt we’re buried in (our environment), how much miracle grow was used (confirmation class), whether we were watered too little (only on Christmas and Easter) or too much (that’s impossible)—these things we have control over. As well as giving oneself as an offering—falling into the dirt, knowing that we won’t be a cute little seed any longer, we’ll be plants that have to strive for the Sun (son), battle weeds (the devil), and work hard to achieve the potential God built into us. It’s hard to be a plant—but it’s fulfilling and it beats being a seed.

I like Eugene Peterson’s interpretation of this passage in his book, The Message. It reads, “Listen carefully: Unless a grain of wheat is buried in the ground, dead to the world, it is never any more than a grain of wheat. But if it is buried, it sprouts and reproduces itself many times over. In the same way, anyone who holds on to life just as it is, destroys that life. But if you let it go, reckless in love, you’ll have it forever, real and eternal.” Grow well and bear fruit! Amen