'With what can we compare the Kingdom of God, or what parable will we use for it? It is like a mustard seed, which, when sown upon the ground, is the smallest of all the seeds on earth- yet when it is sown it grows up and becomes the greatest of all shrubs, and puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the air can make nests in the shade.'
Mark 4:30-32

The Mustard Seeds Blog bears witness to the what and the why of Christian service- those small seeds which can grow into the Kingdom of God. Read and subscribe to read our authors' accounts of what Christian mission looks like in the modern world, and why our Christian faith calls us to fight the injustice entrenched in our society.

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Posted by: sreese on 3/15/2017 | 0 Comments

by Anna Wadsworth 


“And, behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earth-quake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake: And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice.” —1 Kings 19:11–12 

Some of our actions in the world serve as prayer, or so I would like to believe. Oh sure, I pray during the liturgy, find nourishment and guidance from time to time in The Book of Common Prayer, and treasure poems that approximate prayer in their beauty or quirkiness. I hope God finds poetry an acceptable substitute, because I’m a failure at serious, soul-searching prayer. The sort of penitential thing we’re supposed to do in Lent. 

I’m not the only one. Barbara Brown Taylor, in An Altar in the World, writes that she would rather show someone her checkbook stubs than talk about her prayer life. She left her ministry as an Episcopal priest to become an academic and a writer, and in 2014 she joined the ranks of the TIME list of 100 most influential people in the world. A holy and insightful woman, she admits, “To say I love God but do not pray much is like saying I love life but I do not breathe much.” Still, she has converted an old rosewood vanity into an altar and adorned it with icons and dozens of candles. Most of the time, she says, it just sits there. “Then comes a night when I am in deep need, deep fear, deep thanks, or deep want—either for myself or for someone I love.” So she lights all the candles, and prayer overtakes her.

Prayer overtook me when my son left home—not the day we set off down the road to move him into his college dorm—but later, when he pulled away from our curb in a packed U-haul, towing a battered Toyota, bound from Denver to Dallas. After watching the truck snake around the corner, I went into the kitchen to light a candle. During the long, straight-through trip, my husband followed Joel’s progress on the Find Friends app. I kept the candle lighted and fitfully prayed for his safety and for his new life as an adult. 

Over the course of my motley prayer life, I once even painted an icon. Actually, it’s called writ-ing an icon. It took six consecutive days, long into the evening each day, mostly in silence or listening to the mesmerizing chants of Russian Orthodox liturgy. It was a hallowing experience, an intimacy with God I will never forget. But you get the picture: these experiences remain vivid because they stand out from my routine: tooling so fast down my own road that it takes at least three flags to grab my attention. 

First flag: an email arrived from the Episcopal Public Policy Network. Usually the EPPN sends “alerts” with no personalized greeting. An alert notifies you of The Episcopal Church’s position on an upcoming bill in congress and urges you to contact your senators and representative to advocate for or against the proposed law, in the interest of the common good. But this time, this outward reaching arm of the church had sent a specially addressed Lenten letter. “Dear Anna,” it read. “The work of public witness is not separate from the inward work of prayer, self-examination, and repentance.” The longer message was well-written and theologically sound, but I wasn’t buying it. Who has time for prayer when the morass we Americans are slogging through demands political action?

Second flag. It came later the same day in the form of a book suggested by a friend: Where God Happens by Rowan Williams, former Archbishop of Canterbury. Our small book-study group that meets Wednesday mornings at St. John’s—all are welcome—has agreed to tackle it in a few weeks, so I began paging through. At first, I hated it. It was the most introverted, inwardly focused book I had ever picked up. All about penitence and prayer. But what had I expected? It is based on the tradition of the first Christian monastics, the desert mothers and fathers, who practiced their faith in fourth-century Egypt, Syria, and Palestine. I had dragged through 37 pages when I came to this story:

A certain brother came to see Abba Arsenius at Scetis. He arrived at the church and asked the clergy if he could go and visit Abba Arsenius. “Have a bite to eat,” they said, “before you go to see him.” “No,” he replied, “I shan’t eat anything until I have met him.” Arsenius’s cell was a long way off, so they sent a brother along with him. They knocked on the door, went in, and greeted the old man, then sat down; nothing was said. The brother from the church said, “I’ll leave you now; pray for me.” But the visitor didn’t feel at ease with the old man and said, “I’m coming with you.” So off they went together. Then the visitor said, “‘Will you take me to see Abba Moses, the one who used to be a highwayman?” When they arrived, Abba Moses welcomed them happily and enjoyed himself thoroughly with them until they left. 
The brother who had escorted the visitor said to him, “Well, I’ve taken you to see the foreigner and the Egyptian; which do you like better?” “The Egyptian [Moses] for me!” he said. One of the fathers overheard this and prayed to God saying, “Lord, explain this to me. For your sake, one of these men runs from human company and for your sake the other receives them with open arms.” The two large boats floating on the river were shown to him. In one of them sat Abba Arsenius and the Holy Spirit of God in complete silence. And in the other boat was Abba Moses, with the angels of God: they were all eating honey cakes. (pp. 37–38)

Give me the angels and honey cakes any day! My restless, extroverted spirituality was finding a home with the desert mothers and fathers. As I read further, these early monastics’ gentle insistence on examining our personal fault lines in the presence of God drew me in. 

Williams quotes John the Dwarf: “We have put aside the easy burden, which is self-accusation, and weighed ourselves down with the heavy one, self-justification.” The Dwarf was calling my number. Self-accusation: I don’t pray enough. Self-justification: But I like poetry, and once in a while I persevere in prayer for a short stretch. Besides, even Barbara Brown Taylor doesn’t pray very often.

Williams beckons us to follow the example of these early Christians. He isn’t suggesting that we become hermits who weave baskets in the desert but rather that we combine, as they did, “relent-less penance with confidence and compassion.” Their vocation was “to put the neighbor in touch with God.” Their practice was to “engage each other in this kind of quest for the truth of one-self.” The quest, he says, creates a quiet space where “we peel away the fear, the self-centeredness, the ambitions, the addictions that stand between us and commitment to the presence of God.” 

Williams envisions a church where, as in the ancient desert communities, we can pursue the quest without fear of condemnation “for not having a standard or acceptable spiritual life.” Yet, in the next breath, he argues that the church must require “quite demanding forms of spiritual discipline.” His reason: the church cannot be an effective witness in the world if its members do not enter into this intense, interior space with God. Now that’s a connection between prayer and action I can accept; we must get at the truth of who we are in order for our small flame to dispel great darkness. 

The following morning, the third flag waved me down: I’m walking out of my dance class alongside another student when, apropos to our conversation, she suddenly remarks, “I think people are afraid to see how close Jesus and God were. The same with Moses. And we can all have that closeness. It’s about getting quiet and listening. I was so fortunate as a child; at synagogue I was given a book called The Still Small Voice. I’ve spent my entire life getting back to what I knew as a child. It’s my mission.”

You win, God. Three flags in little over 24 hours. I will take off my shoes, sit in a chair, light a candle, and listen. 


Note: You are welcome to join our book study that meets in the Wellspring Center, Wednesdays from 11 am–12:30 pm. Our target date for beginning Where God Happens is March 29. To sign up and to order a book, contact 
jawadsworth@icloud.com. 


Posted by: sreese on 2/21/2017 | 0 Comments

by Anna Wadsworth


You’re hiking along a path beside a winding river, enjoying the warmth of the sun on your face, when you see something bobbing along in the current.  Shading your eyes with your hand, you’re astounded to see that it’s a baby.  You kick off your shoes and wade into the shallows until you come within inches of the shivering infant.  You scoop him in your arms and teeter back through the rushing water toward shore. 


Two women hiking along the trail see you emerging from the river carrying the limp, dripping baby, his lips blue.  One of the women runs back down the path, calling over her shoulder, “I’ve got a blanket in the car.”


The woman who has remained behind suddenly cries out, “There’s another one!”


You turn to see another baby in the fast-flowing waters.  You hand off the rescued baby and plunge back in.  The infant safely in your arms, you splash back toward shore.  A small crowd that has gathered on the riverbank spots a third baby being swept along by the current.  A young man breaks away and sloshes past you, scrambling to reach her. 


On the riverbank, the woman who ran to get a blanket reaches out to enfold the baby you’re carrying.  A couple volunteers to drive the babies to the hospital, and others say they will follow.  A man adds, “I’ll call Social Services.  Once the babies are released, they’ll need homes.”  Others have pulled out their phones to ring up the police and the local news. 


More babies keep coming, and several are crying, but as the need for volunteers is growing your crew is tiring.  Someone steps forward and gathers the rest of the group.  Short-handed as you are, together you reach a sobering decision: some of you must hurry upstream to stop whoever is throwing babies into the river. 


Community organizers often tell this tale of babies in the river to illustrate how churches, like the hikers in the story, can respond in various ways to critical needs in the broader community.  Most commonly, like the woman who offers a blanket, congregations make charitable gifts.  At Saint John’s, we follow this tradition in several ways.  Our Grants Committee supports community-partner organizations serving the poor.  The annual Loaves and Fishes Drive enables us to collect food for the hungry, and the Giving Tree makes it possible for us to purchase Christmas presents for people in need.


A church can also meet needs through direct service.  Like the hikers who jump into the river to rescue babies, parishioners can take a hands-on approach.  For instance, in order to provide homeless women with overnight shelter in Dagwell Hall, more than 60 parishioners regularly cook meals, set up cots, and launder bed linens.  Our present “One in a Thousand” campaign urges us to volunteer for such direct service with and for the poor. 


Another form of direct service is community development, which requires working alongside partner-organizations, community members, and government officials.  Our provision of land for the Saint Francis Apartments (permanent housing for the homeless) exemplifies this approach, as does the Learning Garden.  Through this program, Metro Caring clients, or guest gardeners, will work alongside parishioners to acquire skills in gardening, nutrition, and food-service job training.  


Our church’s various forms of outreach are worthy, loving responses to our Baptismal Covenant call to “seek and serve Christ is all persons.”  As a thriving church, we can go further, and our mandate as a Jubilee Parish Ministry requires us to do so.  Commissioned by The Episcopal Church in 2015, St. John’s Cathedral is one of a network of 600 such ministries throughout the United State.  Our call is to “joint discipleship in Christ with poor and oppressed people, wherever they are found, to meet basic human needs, and to build a just society.” 


He has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?” (Micah 6:8)  In the prophetic tradition from which Jesus’ teaching flows, doing justice means standing up for and with the vulnerable, the marginalized, and the poor.  In other words, advocacy.  As a Jubilee Ministry, we’re specifically required to provide not only “human service” but also “at least one human rights advocacy program.”   


The advocates in our story are the hikers who make phone calls, speaking up for the rescued babies.  Like those advocates, we can add our voices on behalf of others’ human dignity and their needs. In addition to advocating as individuals at the federal, state, and local levels, Saint John’s can speak with a united voice for public policy that serves the common good. (Churches cannot legally engage in campaigning for or against specific candidates; however, as a congregation we may lobby for or against legislation, as long as lobbying does not exceed a substantial part of the churchs overall activities.)


Advocacy of this nature, unlike charity and direct service, can stir controversy.  To guide our stance on particular issues, we can look to scripture, prayer, and Episcopal theology.  We can look to The Episcopal Church’s official positions on specific matters of social, economic, and environmental justice.  These are found in resolutions passed by General Convention (the governing body of the Church), and by Executive Council (www.episcopalarchives.org under “The Acts of Convention” and “Resolves of Council”). 


In acting as an advocate for the dispossessed in our community, we are following the cathedral’s historical path.  Notably, Paul Roberts, dean from 1932 to 1957, was a founder and president of the Denver Unity Council and chairman of the Mayor’s Commission on Human Rights, formed to combat religious and racial bias. 


Finally, we can fulfill our Jubilee Ministry mandate to do justice through transformative change.  Several hikers in our story form a small team to find and to stop the people responsible for tossing infants into the river.  Similarly, congregations can respond to such injustices as lack of affordable health care, income inequality, racism, etc. by addressing root causes and working for systemic change.


Transformative change is a localized, lengthy process.  It begins with training parishioners to conduct one-to-one conversations with the church’s neighbors, in order to build relationships and to identify recurring, common concerns.  Organizing in this way puts us on an equal footing with the people we hope to serve.  This process can lead to simple reforms (a new stop sign on a dangerous corner) or more complex ones (legislation to provide affordable housing). 


Once a concern is identified, parishioners and neighbors research “best practice” solutions.  Together, they identify officials or others who can effect the necessary change and meet with them to describe the concern and propose a solution. If the process is used to address a citywide or statewide concern, such systemic change requires joining with other faith-based groups to engage in political action.


Through transformative change, we come to know our neighbors, and the resulting relationships can become longterm and redemptive as we encounter Jesus in one another.  Compassion (suffering with) replaces paternalism, or what longtime pastor and organizer Bob Linthicum has described as “stand still while I do good to you.”  The process requires that we question institutions and power structures and demands our best—wholehearted commitment and courage.  At a January 22, 2017 meeting led by Canon Evelyn Hornaday, parishioners expressed support for such a process in the neighborhood surrounding Saint John’s.  


faithful church, and certainly one designated as a Jubilee Ministry, values the entire spectrum of ministries to meet basic human needs, including charity, direct service, and community development.  Such a church also calls for justice by engaging in advocacy and transformative change, taking small steps to enact the Kingdom of God “on earth as it is in heaven.”  

Posted by: sreese on 2/14/2017 | 0 Comments
From left to right: Awet, Habtemariam, Major (in front, his brother’s hand on his shoulder), Yonus, Mana (the matriarch), Kidusan, and Zeru (the patriarch), standing behind the two youngest children, Letemedhin and Kidanemariam.


By 
Robert Renfro

In August 2016 the Meharenas arrived in the United States, having fled their home country under dire circumstances that they do not discuss. I suspect they want to protect loved ones who remain behind. 

First, let me tell you a little bit about Eritrea, an East African country.  About the size of Pennsylvania, it presides atop the Horn of Africa, where the Red Sea empties into the Gulf of Aden. Eritrea once dominated the commercial route between India and the Roman Empire, when it was called the Kingdom of Aksum, after its capital city. Colonized in the 19th century and absorbed into Italy’s African holdings, Eritrea fell under British administrative rule after World War II. Eritrea declared its independence in 1991. The Eritrean leader, Isaias Afworki, has since then assumed dictatorial powers and instituted a highly militarized society marked by mandatory conscription into national service, sometimes of indefinite length.

Tigrinya is the predominant native language.  More than half of Eritreans are Christian, and the country is home to some of the most ancient Christian churches in the world. Unlike their Orthodox Ethiopian neighbors, Eritreans are largely Roman Catholic, a legacy of their colonization by Italy.

Lutheran Family Services

I got to know and work with my assigned family, the Meharenas, through Lutheran Family Services (LFS), where I volunteered after attending a Faith-in-Action event held in Dagwell Hall last summer. David Cornish, an LFS staff member, described an emergent and worsening refugee crisis worldwide, and I was inspired to get involved. LFS assigned me to a four-person group, and together we serve as cultural mentors. Our role is to help refugees acclimate culturally and learn to converse in English.

The Meharena family is gracious and hospitable. A warning to future mentors: If you are going to visit an Eritrean family, arrive very hungry and be prepared to consume copious amounts of delicious food no matter the time of day! This will be accompanied by the coffee ceremony, always.

The family is relieved beyond measure to be living safely in the United States. Yet they also struggle, quite understandably, with culture shock and homesickness. They describe being very sad at having been forced to leave their home. Life in an Ethiopian refugee camp brought bouts of depression for the matriarch, Mana. She admits to persistent and deep sadness since then, but she appreciates her new country and is enjoying conversation with her newfound mentors from LFS. The seven Meharenas children, aged 21 to 5, all love the adventure of learning about their new country and are acclimating and learning English with great finesse.

But the process has not been easy. The family has not only had to learn a new language, culture, currency, and climate, they have also have had to navigate many economic and logistic hurdles—hurdles that most of us never have to face.

The Department of Immigration provides newly arrived refugee families with a stipend of $1,000 per family member—regardless of a region’s cost of living. This is a onetime allowance. For a family of nine in Metro Denver, $9,000 does not go far. The family was assigned to LFS, which is charged with helping newly arrived families find housing and employment and with administering the stipend. LFS found a rundown, 1970s, split-level house in Montebello. With the washer/dryer in disrepair, Mana does the family laundry by hand. The plumbing leaks, too. But the furnace works! Rent for this house is $2,000 per month; the deposit was $4,000, leaving the family with $3,000 to live on until they could find employment. 

Zeru and the older children went to work immediately in a pillow factory within walking distance from the house—half an hour one way. They still work at the factory on an as-needed basis. But it does not provide the stable income the family needs. Zeru, who was a farmer in Eritrea, is looking for a job in the food-service industry via a program at Denver University. 

The family also depends on public transit, which from Montebello to anywhere in the city can be an ordeal. The LFS group of mentors raised enough money for them to buy a car. The eldest son, Habtemariam, has since passed his written driving test and has a learner’s permit. In short, the family is acclimating, learning English, and showing great initiative. 

Mana has said many times the United States has saved her life. In addition to the conditions in Eritrea she had to flee from, she required emergency gall-bladder surgery shortly after arriving here. She was close to death and was astonished to learn about ambulances and accessible hospitals!

The perseverance and patience of this family inspires me. May God continue to bless them. I know the group of LFS mentors are blessed to know them and have the opportunity to serve them as they make their home among us.

For a history of Eritrea and the refugee crisis, this New Yorker article is an interesting read: 
newyorker.com/magazine/2016/12/12/the-soccer-star-refugees-of-eritrea

For more information about Lutheran Family Services, see their volunteer web page: refugeevolunteerdenver.org

Posted by: sreese on 2/7/2017 | 0 Comments
Posted by: Ed Watson on 6/16/2016 | 0 Comments
For the past eleven months or so, I've been working as Missioner-in-Residence at Saint John's Cathedral, Denver. I realised that I was in over my head almost immediately after I arrived. This was a new role, not just at Saint John's, but (I think) in the Episcopal Church—the role of a young lay-person charged with trying to facilitate encounter between diverse groups of people, both within and outside the Cathedral, in the hope of empowering those loving relationships which manifest the Kingdom of God. There wasn't much of a blueprint to work from!
Posted by: Ed Watson on 6/9/2016 | 0 Comments
Over the last year, I have been the lucky participant in many aspects of St. John’s Faith in Action work. Over and over I have been blown away with the hard work and the strength of faith shown by parishioners at St. John’s doing this work. I feel so blessed (and humbled) to be part of a community that is working this hard to make Denver a more just and compassionate place.
Posted by: Ed Watson on 6/2/2016 | 0 Comments
Our picture of the poor and underserved in America has become pixelated when it comes to access to health care. There is no clearly defined profile of those with no or limited access to affordable healthcare. But how can those who can’t afford it find quality health care that is provided with compassion and embraces the patient’s dignity?
Posted by: Ed Watson on 5/26/2016 | 0 Comments
Imagine coming together with a group of 90-120 strangers with the purpose of seeking deeper understanding, with the desire to learn more about the faith that animates another's life. That is just the kind of experience that we have had during the past six months in a series of sustained, facilitated interfaith dialogues, hosted by the Abrahamic Initiative.
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