Three Sons

From the Harvest newsletter, Summer 2008 Edition:

Three young princes sat in the gates of the city, presumably handling the affairs of their Father, the King. The youngest sat on a fraying rug, tossing a few small pebbles at a nearby clay jar, the corners of his mouth turning up with satisfaction each time the rock hit the mark, producing a satisfying 'plink!'

The middle son was busy explaining the trade policies of the King to a group of merchants who were looking to offload their imported treasures. He made a face at his younger brother, who was probably too young to be about the King's business, but was regularly sent along by their Father to 'learn the ways of the kingdom.' "We sell high quality goods here, nothing shoddy. Dishonesty is not tolerated. We value an honest measure and we treat our customers..." his voice went on and on.

The eldest son rolled his eyes and turned back to the group he was talking to. He was bored with policies and rules and speeches. He was celebrating his success in the recent spring battles. His crowd of awestruck boys, swooning girls and forward thinking bootlickers were hanging on his every word, listening to his every word, watching him twist and slash with his sword as he retold the battle in the minutest detail. "...and while others sat in the gates DISCUSSING THE PRICE OF FISH HEADS I was on the battlefield, surrounded by the enemy, tired, but unwilling to yield. In spite my wounds, I regained my feet, and..."

The eldest voice merged into the buzz of the city gates. This was the center and heart of the kingdom. Authority was seated on the throne, but the power of the king was made known here in the gates day in and day out.

A clear voice rang out, "If I may have your attention please..." All eyes turned to see the King's shield bearer entering the gates. The princes turned to take in the words of the King's closest advisor. "The King has been called to attend to immediate business. He will return, but the matter is important and cannot be delayed. The princes must assume leadership. Your father has left a precious gift for you in his throne room; you must make your way there. He has cared for you for all of your days, now he asks you to care for his kingdom. Use his gift wisely."

The little prince was the first out the door. His bright smile flashed as he laughed and ran. "Stop! We must all go together," shouted the middle prince. The oldest ran next, sheathing his sword and breathing fury toward his little brother, "We must get there before he ruins everything. He won't use the gift like I will!"

The middle prince ran after as well. Long days pondering books, thinking about policies, debating and researching hadn't helped his running ability. But he was clever... he stopped to ask the shield bearer if the throne room was locked. It was. He smiled and took the key from him and set off to the castle.

"I am the fastest!" thought the little prince. "I am the best! I am first! The kingdom will celebrate me because I took the gift!" he shouted, but his race was cut short by the imposing figure of his older brother. "Speed is nothing without skill and strength, and you prove that you are little fool by not knowing that! I will take the gift. It is my right, and the people will honor me in the place of the King, and they will see you for the wretch you are."

The crowd gathered around to see the two princes engaged in their scuffle, but their attention was quickly drawn to the sound of the well-oiled gate opening.

"But neither of you can access the gift without wisdom and knowledge, and my skill has trumped yours... because I secured the key! My gift proves that I alone am fit to rule the kingdom while our father is gone!"

But the middle son possessed neither skill nor speed, and as the oldest son prevented the gate from slamming shut, the little prince slipped inside and leaped violently on his brother. Fists and curses flew. A tooth lost its home. The people gaped and wagged their heads at the spectacle the boys were making. The distinct sound of metal scraping meant the eldest was drawing his sword... as the littlest opened the small box sitting before the throne. A small scroll, bound with a neat ribbon and sealed with the king's signet ring was produced.

"What does it say?" demanded the eldest.

"I cannot read!" cried the youngest.

"Give it to me! Here!" demanded that middle, with a smile of triumph on his face.

"My dearest sons," he began to read in a confident voice, "I have watched you grow from children to men fit to rule a kingdom. You are my pride and joy, and I delight in you. All that I have is yours. Lead and guide my people, my greatest treasure. They will look to you guide them. Remember, you have different gifts, but when used together for the good of the kingdom, your differences produce strength. Remember what I have always told you, since you were boys..." the voice of the middle son cracked and then wavered…

The eldest hung his head in shame and the youngest fell to the ground and began to weep.

"...they will know you are my children by the love you display to one another."

The Seed

From Our Church Newsletter, Pre-Easter Edition.
I plan on posting the next one as soon as I wirte it.

Just about a hundred years ago on a small farm in the Midwest of the United States, there was a stubborn little grain that had an independent mind and a hunger to see the world. “Planting season is almost here,” said the grain, “and that means I'll get put into the ground, and buried... and that's the end! Not for me!” So the little kernel gathered his courage and determined to avoid his fate.

“Where are yooooou going?”mooed the cow, “It's almost planting time! Yooooou've spent the whole winter safe and dry, getting ready for this time. It loooooks like you're planning on running away!”

“I've been thinking it over,” said the seed, “and being buried and broken just isn't for me. Besides, shouldn't a seed have a right to do what he wants with his own body? No one is going to force me to give up my freedom and put me two inches under!”

“But where will the children get milk if there is nooooo hay for me to eat? They'll be thirsty!”

“They'll figure something out,” said the kernel, walking on.

The kernel walked along, and by midday had reached the front stoop of the farmhouse, where the farmer's wife sat repairing the farmer's tattered trousers. “Where are you going, little seed?” she asked, careful not to poke her fingers with the needle as she sewed, “It's almost planting time! We harvested you at the end of last season, and after looking you over, we selected you as the finest of the bunch, sure to bring in a great harvest and provide for all our family's needs.”

"I've been thinking it over,” said the seed, “and giving up my independence for a family I don't really even know just isn't for me. Besides, shouldn't a seed have some say in being picked to provide for the needs of others? No one is going to convince me to forfeit my own life for the benefit of a family that might not deserve it.”

“But how will we survive if you don’t? We'll starve! This is what you were created for!”

"You'll figure something out,” said the kernel, walking on.

The kernel made his way out toward the field, shuddering as he thought of the fate that would overcome him if he were to be planted in that deep, rich earth. The darkness surrounding him. The water that seeped down to penetrate his husk, his insides bursting apart as massive green tendrils snaked out from him, looking for water. It would be the end for him... he would cease to be. What had he done to deserve this? What could possibly justify this sacrifice?

The kernel was jolted from his daydream when he noticed the massive booted foot before him. He looked up to see the farmer bent down over him, his weathered face looking down, its hardness broken with a happy smile.

“Where are you going, little seed?” asked the farmer. “It's almost planting time. It is time to give yourself over. That is what the First Seed did. When the Farmer sent Him to be planted, He gave up himself so that He would be the first of the Harvest. You have been given life by Him, and He calls you to play your part, so that many will grow from your sacrifice. If you go away, if you do not do this... there will be no others. You will be the last, and there will be no Harvest.”

“I... I've been thinking it over,” said the seed, “and it seems like everything falls on me. Will everything suffer if I refuse?”

“It will be worse than suffering. It will be the end. You are our hope. The Farmer has planned it this way,” said the farmer.

“Then... I embrace the future that has been chose for me... I will not run,” said the seed.

Smiling, the farmer scooped up the little seed, placed him in a tiny hole, and covered him over with dirt.

John 12:24 says, “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.” In this season when we celebrate the resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ, we give thanks to the one who did not despise the shame of the cross, but gave himself over for our benefit. He welcomed what he did not deserve, so we could receive what we could never earn. His sacrifice purchased life for us. We are called to lay down our lives to pass along the life He gave to us. May every green shoot that sprouts from the ground remind us of the seed below that gave its life so that life could begin.

Let us marvel at the glory of the sacrifice of Christ. He gives himself up, and though He is destroyed, His life does not end. It is the glory of the Son to give Himself so that others can live, it is the glory of the Father to raise the Son again. It is our glory to lay aside our prerogatives, give ourselves to others, and pass His life along.