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The Story of the Scattered Seed
Mark 4:26-30
January 23, 2005

Our gospel reading today is a story that Jesus tells of scattering seed. It is a powerful metaphor of the mystery of God at work in the world. I happen to believe that God wants to partner with us in kingdom work- planting seeds of hope and encouragement and love into the lives of those around us. I also happen to believe there are times when we witness firsthand, the growth that God produces from the seed that has been planted in a life, in some cases, years later.

Last week, I shared about my sister-in-law, Ginger, who is a breast cancer survivor. When we were visiting family last Thanksgiving, we stayed with Ginger and my brother, Jim. And over breakfast one day, Ginger shared an amazing story that I promptly encouraged her to write down for me. She rose to the challenge and sent it to me just this past week.

As a matter of fact, she told me that writing this story down was so cathartic for her that she has decided to pick up the book she started to write some time ago about her cancer experience. Last November, I casually planted a seed in Ginger to share her story. Might this not be the way we partner with God in kingdom work?

Ginger's story helps me to trust that God can weave all the events of our lives, good and bad, into a beautiful tapestry.

Here is a slightly shortened version of her story…

Out of the ashes of my cancer ordeal, painstakingly sown seeds of hope began to grow and flourish. One such seed was sown some 32 years ago.

As a freshman in high school, I became friends with a young man named Greg. Greg was one of four boys born to a strict Catholic family. Blessed with an outgoing personality, a bright mind and terrific organizational skills, he became president of his senior class while I was an underclassman. Greg was a great listener and one with whom I could confide my teenage fears and frustrations. We enjoyed engaging in intense philosophical and often theological discussions and debates. We both were youthfully spirited and opinionated.

Several years older than I, Greg possessed not only a driver's license, but also his own set of wheels, a highly prized possession for any teenager. Every morning Greg would faithfully pick me up for school since his house was only two blocks away. This must have tried Greg's patience because I consistently overslept and kept him waiting out front with his car motor running.

One December, Greg and I attended the Christmas Formal. I spent hours preparing for this event, primping and getting my hair styled at a local salon. What I recall most about our elegant "grown up" evening was a trip to the bathroom where the white sash of my beautiful red velvet gown slipped into the toilet. So much for grown up glamour!

In September, Greg went away to college. I was sad to see my friend go. I handcrafted a homemade card for him with a special message on it. I only heard from Greg once or twice after he moved away, our lives diverting down separate paths, but I often thought of him and wondered what ever became of him.

In the Spring of 2002, about three years following my cancer ordeal, I was totally surprised one day to receive an email from, of all people, my old friend Greg! He had joined a website called Classmates. Com, and had tracked down my email address. It was delightful to hear from him after more than 30 years. We immediately exchanged a few quick messages and both were further stunned to learn that his parents, upon retirement, had moved to Temecula where my husband and I now live. His parents only live five minutes from our house!

Greg was coming to see them in two days and suggested that we get together. I was excited to see my dear high school friend again, but apprehensive about how best to tell him about my serious battle with cancer. "How does one casually drop this kind of news into a light hearted conversation?" I recognized Greg immediately -- older, grayer and somewhat heavier. He was dressed casually in a Hawaiian shirt and wearing Birkenstocks. We hugged and sat down to share what had transpired in our lives since we'd last seen each other. It was as if we'd picked up where we left off.

Greg told me rather matter-of-factly that I was the person responsible for his decision to pursue his chosen profession. Greg had become a Franciscan priest.

I joked, "Oh that's just great! Knowing me drove you straight into the priesthood!" After a good laugh, I said, "How is THAT possible? I'm not even Catholic!"

Greg asked if I ever remembered giving him a card when he'd left for college. I had remembered giving him the card but not much more than that. Greg explained that after college he was teaching and trying to determine what to do with his life.

"I kept your card," he explained. "THAT card was what led me into the priesthood."

I was almost too stunned to speak. "Are you serious?" I stammered.

"Absolutely," he replied. "I'm the rector at the Cathedral in Reno, Nevada. I got in touch with you because I wanted to thank you."

To think that I had somehow unknowingly influenced my old friend so many years ago to make such a profoundly life altering commitment was humbling and awe inspiring to me. I proceeded to fill "Father Greg" in on the highpoints, and recent low points of my life, including my cancer diagnosis and subsequent stem-cell transplant. He was amazed by what I shared with him because I look remarkably healthy.

"You could really help a young woman in my congregation," Greg said suddenly. He was clearly still a great organizer! "Her husband is the Deputy Chief of Police in Reno and they are members of my parish. As a matter of fact, I married them. Her name is Kelly. She is quite young…37 I think, and recently diagnosed with breast cancer. She is not taking it well. I think she could really benefit from talking to you." Without hesitating, I said "Well, give me her email address and phone and I'll contact her." Before parting, we hugged and promised to keep in touch and get together a couple of times a year when he was in town visiting his parents.

I was a bit uneasy about contacting Kelly, someone I had never even met, during what surely must be one of the most difficult times of her life. Would she be annoyed and tell me to take a flying leap off the nearest pier? I carefully composed an email to her explaining that Father Greg and I were old friends, that I had been through my own battle with cancer and that I was willing to help her in any way I could. I basically said, "If you need a friend, I'm here."

Kelly's answer came almost immediately. Like a person drowning she grabbed the line of friendship I'd tossed her. We began a frenzy of email communication back and forth unlike any I have experienced. She fired hundreds of questions at me that I tried to answer to the best of my ability. I told her in detail my own story. I gave her advice.

We were brutally honest, as only people facing a life threatening illness can be. The usual restraints of time and propriety were nonexistent and we spoke to each other like one would only speak to a close family member. She was very depressed and more than a little angry with God. Her faith, like my own, had been rocked to the core by a cancer diagnosis. She was angry with her family, her doctors, her situation, and yes, even at Father Greg. She poured out much of this in her correspondence to me and I just listened. I tried my best to encourage her and give her hope-real hope based on faith, not false hope-as she faced each new step and setback in her treatment.

Sometimes we spoke on the phone, but mostly we communicated by email, often several times a day. I prayed often for her. I was a mother hen and a cheerleader to my newfound friend as we formed our own unique support group of two.

Through this unexpected friendship, I began to see just how far I had come in my own personal journey. It was amazing to have reached a point emotionally and spiritually where I was now able to help someone else; when not long ago I had been in such a needy state myself.

Eventually Kelly completed her course of surgery, chemotherapy and radiation. Her beautiful auburn hair grew back thick and curly. I was thrilled to receive photos of her looking healthy and happy.

I was so excited when Kelly wrote to say that her husband was bringing her to Southern California for her first trip to Disneyland. We were finally going to meet face to face! We agreed to get together for dinner. One week before our scheduled celebration, Kelly called. I could tell immediately that something was terribly wrong.

"Oh, dear God," I thought. "Please don't let her cancer be back so soon!"

Through choked tears, Kelly told me that she had terrible news. "Father Greg died suddenly this afternoon," she whispered.

Suddenly, I could hardly breathe. "Whaaaaat?" I wailed, feeling like the air was being sucked out of the room. Apparently, Greg had been in the hospital being treated for an attack of pancreatitis, when he had a massive heart attack. Even though he was in the hospital, they were unable to save him.

I simply could not process this shocking news.

Kelly kept saying, "I am SO sorry to have to tell you this."

She promised to keep me posted regarding the details of his funeral. I hung up the phone and broke down sobbing.

"How could this have happened?" I wondered. "How could he have died so unexpectedly when Kelly and I had been battling cancer?" It made absolutely no sense to me.

One week later, the very day we agreed to meet Kelly and her husband, my husband Jim and I attended a memorial service for Father Greg at St. Catherine's Church here in Temecula. Greg had spoken there many times and was a favorite visiting priest among the parishioners there. A large and respectful crowd filled the sanctuary to give tribute to Greg.

Jim and I were impressed by the tremendous impact that Greg had on so many people. As we left the church, Jim casually said, "I wonder if you'll ever get to see the card you gave Greg all those years ago."

"Oh, that will never happen," I retorted. "I'm sure it's long gone."

From there we drove to meet Kelly and her husband at Disneyland.

I spotted Kelly before she spotted me. As I approached her she turned and we wrapped our arms around each other and stood hugging and crying for the longest time in Downtown Disney, totally oblivious to the stares of people passing by.

It was as if I'd met a long lost friend.

Kelly's husband told me, "You have been such a help to Kelly. This dinner is our way of thanking you."

We enjoyed a delicious meal, fabulous wine, and terrific conversation. As we sipped our coffee, Kelly said, "Ginger, I have a gift for you, but I'm sure you already know what it is."

I stared at the wrapped package she'd placed before me, totally clueless. I opened it and gazed long and hard at what I held in my hands. It was rather plain and obviously handmade and at first I couldn't figure out what it was. Then, as if I was being pulled through a time tunnel I heard a roaring in my ears and my eyes filled with tears that spilled out uncontrollably. In my shaking hands, was the card I'd made 32 years ago for my dear friend Greg as he'd left for college. Some of the ink had run and blurred with time, but Greg had preserved it by putting it in a glass frame that he'd kept in his office all those many years.

It simply read:

"Love is like five loaves and two fishes… it doesn't begin to multiply until you start giving it away."

"The kingdom of heaven is like seed thrown on a field by a woman who then goes to bed and forgets about it. The seed sprouts and grows-she has no idea how it happens. The earth does it all without her help; first a green stem of grass, then a bud, then the ripened grain. When the grain is fully formed, she reaps a harvest."