Botanical Grace

In the 4th chapter of St. Mark, there are 3 back-to-back parables about seeds - The Parable of the Sower, which is not included in this year’s lectionary; The Automatic Seed and The Mustard Seed – that we did hear.

As a gardener, I’m most intrigued by the automatic seed.

The kingdom of God is as if someone would scatter seed on the ground, and would sleep and rise night and day, and the seed would sprout and grow, he does not know how.

I don’t garden much with seed. Let me be honest, I don’t ever garden with seeds; why wait for the seed to sprout when the vegetable six-pack offers immediate gratification?  I simply plant the miniature romaine in my geometrically arranged raised beds and watch the lettuce get bigger and bigger. For the immature gardener, the time between planting the seed, and the seedling breaking through the earth, can cause considerable anxiety.
 
By no means is this “in between time” limited to gardening. There’s the time between sending out a resume and hearing back, or not, from a potential employer.  Or having a biopsy and waiting for the doctor to call with the results. Or, being the best parent you can be and still not knowing whether your child will grow up to be well adjusted, or a sociopath. All of these situations with their inherent uncertainties cause anxiety. And all of the symptoms of anxiety – restlessness, perfectionism, irritability, insomnia - can overshadow our awareness of God.

With grow lights, genetically modified seed, and forcing bulbs to bloom in December so we can enjoy spring in the winter, we spend an absurd amount of energy trying to control our gardens.

But today we heard Jesus say that the interim between planting and harvesting is the very time the gardener should be sleeping at night and rising in the morning, in other words moving through the daily routine, without worrying about the seed’s growth. Faith in botanical grace allows the mature gardener to scatter the seed, then walk away. The mature gardener knows when it’s the earth’s turn to tend the seed, the mature gardener knows when her job is done.

Recognizing we’ve done all that we can, and then handing it over to God is often a tall order. Some of you may remember Brandon, the baby I took care of 13 years ago.  In June of 1999, when he was 9 weeks old, Brandon was shaken violently until he was unconscious. He was admitted to the pediatric ICU with massive subdural hematomas, bilateral retinal hemorrhages, right-sided paralysis and seizures. When a social worker called me to ask if I’d take care of this baby, my nephew whom I’d never met, the doctors didn’t know if Brandon would survive. If he did pull through, he’d likely be severely and permanently disabled.

I said to the social worker, I can’t take of that baby.

Why? Because I’m a lesbian. That doesn’t matter, she said.

Well, I have a kidney transplant. That doesn’t matter either.

I really don’t think I can take care of the baby, I’ve never changed a diaper.

This baby needs you; you’re a nurse, and you are stable. 

It would only be temporary until we find permanent foster placement. 

Please think about it, in the meantime I’d like to come up to 

San Francisco to see your home. 

Well I did think, and I prayed. I talked to my dear friends Karen and Melissa because I knew I couldn’t do it alone. Penny Warren, our associate priest, counseled and prayed with me.  

I made several visits to the hospital. I was shocked by how pale and limp Brandon was. He had staples on his scalp where a shunt was placed to drain the fluid from his brain, he was hooked up to an IV and sedated with anti-seizure medication. He was blind.

Once, I carried him down the hospital corridor to the one window with the sun shining through, he leaned toward the warmth of the sunlight; and a few moments later, he moved his head slightly when he heard a flock of birds fly by. By the time the social worked arrived to assess my home, I had decided I’d take care of Brandon. After all, when my biological mother, Brandon’s grandmother, relinquished me, I was adopted into a loving family. Taking care of my nephew until a permanent home was available seemed like the right thing to do.

However, unbeknownst to me, the conditions had changed. The social worker wanted me to legally adopt Brandon. She explained that he had already endured enough trauma in his short life, she didn’t want to further traumatize him by uprooting him from a stable environment. And, she certainly didn’t want him to go back to his family of origin. So I thought and I prayed. I talked to my dear friends Karen and Melissa because I knew I couldn’t do it alone. Penny Warren, our associate priest, counseled and prayed with me.  A few days later I called the social worker and told her I’d adopt him.

With all that I had - my heart, my medical training, with the help of Karen and Melissa, and with every last ounce of my energy, I took care of the baby. I measured his head circumference, gave him precise doses of phenobarbital, watched for alterations in consciousness, palpated his fontanels, took him to the ER in the wee hours more than once, and I listened to him breathe all night long. Brandon had the best pediatricians at UCSF.

And he had a community, this parish community, to rally around him: Mark Palcanis helped to enroll Brandon in a topnotch program for disabled infants at Children’s hospital. Sr. Ruth knit a rainbow sweater for his first Pride Sunday. Penny Warren made a quilt, Steve Griffiths gave him a stuffed sea turtle. During our Sunday worship, Brandon was passed around this congregation like communion bread; cradled in the arms of Timm Dobbins, and Sarah Lawton, and Br. Francis, and Marie Fowler, absorbing all the love; and there was so much love.

I learned how to change his diapers, give him a bath, make formula, sing him to sleep, and every night I prayed to God to fill our little home with healing love.

And he was healed. He learned to walk, he could see, he was weaned off his seizure medication, he laughed and played in the garden, and he called me Mama. In November, the neurologist compared new brain scan images with previous scans. This time, grooves and ridges in his brain were intricately defined. The doctor had never seen such profound changes, he said, If I didn’t know better, I’d say this isn’t the same baby.

As the healing progressed, Brandon’s mother initiated the legal process of reunification. After multiple hearings, the court granted her supervised visitation rights - an hour visit once a week, then twice a week, eventually there were unsupervised visits, a few months later an overnight visit. On his first birthday - April 8, 2000 - Brandon went back to live with his mother. The County of Santa Clara maintained legal custody for another year while she took parenting classes and looked for a job. I was granted visitation rights. After his mother regained full legal custody, I never saw Brandon again.

This congregation provided the community for Brandon’s healing.  And, while I had prepared the soil, and nurtured the seed, I didn’t have the wisdom to walk away when my job was done. Overwhelmed by grief and a broken heart, I was haunted by memories of Brandon’s clutch, and the sound of his sharp cry when he was taken away.

The mature gardener is able to rest in the certainty of botanical grace.  But it took me years to understand that God’s grace had already taken root and blossomed - in my life, and in Brandon’s.  Sometimes the seeds we sow aren’t hidden in the earth. Sometimes God’s grace happens in plain sight. Our challenge is to live everyday with steadfast faith and enough boldness to sleep in peace when our role in God’s plan has been completed.

Amen.

Proper 6, Yr. B