'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.

Click the Subscribe button to get the blog delivered weekly to your inbox.

Subscribe Here
Posted by: sreese on 3/30/2017 | 1 Comment

by Anna Wadsworth

Thirty years ago, a militia attacked a Sudanese village, sending a man running into the fields to round up his cattle. His six-year-old son, Daniel Majook Gai, tore off in the opposite direction, fleeing for miles and meeting up with others who were struggling to escape. He became one of 30,000 children and youths who fled the encroaching civil war, hiding in forests and swimming across rivers to dodge wild animals and marauding soldiers. Many children died from dehydration and poor sanitation. Others joined the flood of young people who became known as the Lost Boys and Girls of the Sudan—many of them orphaned.

            Daniel survived and spent 14 years, mostly in refugee camps, separated from his family. Then one day, a friend announced that Daniel’s name was listed on the camp’s bulletin board, and that meant the time had finally come. At age 20, he traveled to Nairobi and then on to Denver, Colorado. And so began a connection between Saint John’s Cathedral and what would become South Sudan. As several hundred Lost Boys began arriving in Denver in 2001, parishioners offered tutoring, helped find jobs for the young men, and collected furniture, storing it in an old warehouse until the refugees found apartments.


            Among the volunteers, parishioners Ray and Marilyn Stranske served as table leaders at the catechumenate where they came to know another of the Lost Boys, Isaac Kohr Behr. Isaac eventually discovered that his mother had survived the war. The Stranskes, Carol Rinehart, and other parishioners began raising funds to send Isaac to the Sudan for several weeks to reunite with his mother. In 2005, Carol accompanied him on the trip, and together they found his mother. They were followed in the coming years by groups of Saint John’s volunteers eager to help in the region’s efforts to reconstruct itself.

            Travel in the Sudan remained dicey, and the groups had to be shepherded from place to place by the Sudanese People’s Liberation Army (the opposition to the government of the Sudan). In decimated villages—with no roads, clean water, or hospitals—the Saint John’s groups met with the elders to ask about their top priority for redevelopment. Given the apparent lack of basic infrastructure, the visitors were surprised to hear that the villagers most wanted education for their children.

            When Isaac and Carol returned to Denver, they co-founded a non-profit organization, Project Education South Sudan (PESS). For most of the past eleven years, Ray has served as chair of its board. Born in Khartoum to missionary parents, Ray lived as a child in the part of the Sudan that later split off to become South Sudan. In more recent years, he has made a number of trips there along with several Saint John’s parishioners and others from Denver. Under his leadership, PESS has built four schools and drilled eight wells to provide clean water in areas where water-borne illnesses flourish.

            To build new schools, volunteers taught locals the latex concrete construction method, which requires stretching fiberglass window-screening over a structure and painting it with a latex-concrete mixture. Ray said that he had to import building materials,” so on his flight over, he carried rolls of screen and latex.” With a smile, he said that he carefully labeled the bottles of white powder with mixing instructions so they wouldn’t be mistaken for drugs.

            At present, PESS focuses on education for girls, appropriately enough as the literacy rate of 16  percent for women in South Sudan is the lowest in the world. PESS’s man on the ground is Daniel, who at age six fled into the bush to escape the advancing militia. Because of PESS’s work, young women who have never before held a pencil learn to read and write. The government-sponsored schools in South Sudan don’t always pay teachers, who consequently show up for work sporadically. For this reason, most of PESS’s funds now support scholarships for girls to attend private school.

            Families often discourage education of girls, preferring them to cook, haul water, and work at household chores. When girls come home from school in the afternoon, they are expected to attend to these chores. Darkness comes early in the evening, and without electricity, students can’t complete homework at night. To address the problem, PESS hires teachers who offer after-school tutoring. To encourage girls to stick with their schooling, PESS sends them to a monthly discussion group on global awareness, where they receive leadership training and peer support.

            Each fall, Daniel returns to Denver to report on progress at a large fundraising gathering for PESS. At other times during the year, the organization offers free educational events to the public to promote awareness of South Sudan. Meanwhile, PESS’s work in the world’s youngest country continues despite alarming circumstances there. Tribal warfare prevails, threatening genocide, and in parts of South Sudan, severe famine is rampant. More than 4.9 million people, almost half of the country’s population, urgently need food assistance.

You Can Help

       Use your organizational skills to help Project Education South Sudan with fundraising, accounting, or communications, especially by establishing a presence on social media. For more information, contact Ray Stranske (raystranske@gmail.com).

       Attend the free panel discussion addressing human rights and the threat of genocide from  6:30 to 8 pm on April 11 at Denver University, Sie Complex, Maglione Hall. Panelists are Ken Scott, UN Commissioner on Human Rights in South Sudan; Pa’gan Amum Okiech, South Sudan’s chief negotiator with the Sudan on post-independence issues; Tamara Banks, Emmy Award–winning journalist; and Ved Nanda, who writes for The Denver Post and directs the Center for International Law at Denver University. DU’s Korbel School of International Studies will co-sponsor the event with PESS.

       Contact your members of Congress. The Episcopal Public Policy Network has made an appeal for Episcopalians to ask Congress to provide funding to help address the food crisis in South Sudan. Watch a recent report on famine in South Sudan available at http://www.cbsnews.com/news/fighting-south-sudan-famine/, then make a call or write an email. Your members’ websites allow you to submit your own message:

Senator Michael Bennet                      Senator Cory Gardner

www.bennet.senate.gov                       www.gardner.senate.gov

303-455-7600                                     303-391-5777

            If you live in the city of Denver, your member in the House of Representatives is:

Representative Diana DeGette




EPPN: Help Address Famine in South Sudan,” available at episcopaldigitalnetwork.com/ens/2017/03/03/eppn-help-address-famine-in-south-sudan.

National Public Radio, “He Fled Sudan and Made a New Life in the U.S. So Why Go Back?” July 9, 2015. http://www.npr.org/sections/goatsandsoda/2015/07/09/420905804/he-fled-sudan-and-made-a-new-life-in-the-u-s-so-why-go-back

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 


  • " it might take long but it's never going to to be forever.i have been a mother of an addict for a couple of years now, which wasn't funny.it caused a lot of loss to me and my mind not been settled.we got him rehabilitated twice, but all to no avail.fortunately i came across this testimony of a woman online who also battled with a similar issue with her sister until she got prayed for by diviner moses. i also contacted him for prayers regarding my son. he did prayed for him and now my son is free from addiction in less than 4 days of prayer. i oblige anyone with similar problem or any one, as the case maybe. to contact him via email;greatfulhands@gmail.com " Read more
    by mary on South Sudan Then and Now: An Update

    1350 Washington Street
    Denver, CO 80203