My Dear Little Mustard Seed

A Mustard Seed.  I wondered what its like.

A mustard seed to disguise my shortness of sight.

When I read and wondered, I wondered as I read,

What does faith as a mustard seed look like?

I wondered and I wondered inside of me,

Pondering the question with intensity,

What does a mustard seed of faith really look like?

 

And I remembered a question posed one day,

By a neighbor friend who helped us at CAL Store that day.

When he paused and said, “Do ya think Jesus is actually gonna come?  Is any of that really true?”

And my dad responded, “Nah, I don’t think so.”

And I thought, my dad, for all his years of church, oughtta ‘ave said somethin’ other than no.

I thought maybe his answer should have been resounding yes,

 

And wolves dressed as sheep all climb from the clutter,

Abusers and accusers who peep and mutter.

Take a few words and preach it as though grande,

But never once even so much as a mustard seed plant.

Never never once even so much as a mustard seed plant,

 

As my good buddy who dared question pose, “Is it even true?”

The effort to make known, an interrogative, a true search,

Rather than a sum total of summed up assumptions.

Rather than a sum total of summed up assumptions.

And a mustard seed was borne.

A mustard seed was borne of him in me in that day.

Question question question everything, even the littlest of things,

That so many want to choose to refuse to not to asssssssssssssssssummmmmme.

 

All you assumers out there, false accusers, and abusers who wolves in sheep’s clothing,

Lesson may be learned from the wise–from a man willing to plant a simple mustard seed.

Rather than spend pages and volumes to preach.

 

Bye Bye Bye, as it might be said, “Bye Bye Man.”
(Oh, shit.  I forgot I wasn’t supposed to say his name.)

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