"Planted in the Sea" | The Rev. Heidi Thorsen | October 5, 2025

Sermon Preached: Sunday, October 5, 2025 at Trinity on the Green (Preach in for the Planet)

Year C, Proper 22: Habakkuk 1:1-4, 2:1-4 | Psalm 37:1-10 | 2 Timothy 1:1-14 | Luke 17:5-10

May I speak in the name of God, who is to us Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

I spent most of this summer on maternity leave. Which is to say, I spent most of this summer growing an eight pound baby into an over 15 pound baby. According to those terms, it was a very productive summer. But I’ll tell you one thing I did not do this summer: I did not weed. They started small– so easy to ignore on the edge of the yard, and on the far side of the planter. And yet, as my baby grew, those weeds grew too. And they grew, and grew… until those small weed shoots were over six feet– I kid you not– six feet tall.

At the height of this weed crisis, I decided to figure out what was growing in my backyard. The answer: mugwort. Mugwort, or Artemisia vulgaris, is an invasive weed that grows in vacant lots and at the edge of roadsides. In fact, now that I know what it is, I see it everywhere. This particular weed has a system of rhizomes, or underground stems that grow new plants from the bottom up, instead of relying only on seeds to grow new plants. As a result, mugwort grows thick and dense, and it can bounce back even after repeated weeding or mowing– something that I can confirm to be the case. Mugwort is particularly challenging because it isn’t a native plant here in Connecticut. Instead, it grows and thrives, and edges out the other native plants that are needed to keep our flowers pollinated and our ecosystem in balance. While I can complain endlessly about mugwort, it’s also worth taking a moment to appreciate the resilience of this plant. In appropriate environments, mugwort is not a weed but a desired plant with medicinal benefits. A number of ancient cultures also used this plant to guard against evil spirits– and if there’s even a small chance that works, hallelujah! We could all use a bit of protection against the forces of evil these days.

That being said, in the context of my backyard in Connecticut, mugwort is an invasive species. It is wildly difficult to uproot. And I will be living with it for months, if not years to come (thank you, maternity leave).

I couldn’t help but think of mugwort when I read today’s Gospel passage. In the Gospel of Luke Jesus tells his disciples, “If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you.” My first thought was: well, how difficult is it exactly to uproot a mulberry tree? The answer is: very. 

Mulberry trees, originally from southwestern Asia, were cultivated in the Middle East in ancient times and prized for their fruit, and their helpful role in silkworm farming. While it seems that mulberry trees were not technically invasive in the ancient world where Jesus lived, they were notoriously resilient. The roots of the mulberry tree, or Moris nigra, spread thick horizontally, making it difficult to remove the whole root system. It isn’t a rhizome root system, like mugwort, but still there is some similarity in how difficult these plants are to uproot. In our modern world mulberry roots are known for buckling sidewalks and destabilizing the concrete foundations of buildings. This background helps us to appreciate the significance of Jesus’ words: “If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted, and planted in the sea.’” 

And what about that mustard seed? This is a plant metaphor that Jesus returns to, throughout his teachings– and the emphasis is always on the smallness of the seed. Jesus compares the kingdom of heaven to a mustard seed elsewhere in the scriptures. It starts small, but has the capability of growing large enough for all the birds of the air to nest in its branches (Matt 13:31-32, Mark 4:30-32, Luke 13:18-19). In today’s Gospel, the mustard seed is a metaphor for faith. With just a little faith, you can do great things. You can even do things that may seem impossible. In Matthew’s version of today’s Gospel passage, Jesus says that faith the size of the mustard seed can move mountains. While the mulberry tree might seem like small beans compared to mountains, it’s important not to underestimate the significance of this task. When you are out there in the backyard digging up roots, there are moments when it feels impossible. There are moments when it feels like it would be easier to give up and let the weeds grow.

But here’s the thing about our Christian faith: it is our job to tend the garden. From the earliest stories that we tell about creation– Adam and Eve– it is our job to tend the garden. It is our job to be stewards of God’s good earth. 

Here is the point in my sermon where I am speaking quite literally. I have left the metaphors behind, at least for a moment. It is our job, as Christians, to take care of the earth. In Genesis we are given two parallel stories of creation; two equally important, essential accounts. In the first story we hear about how God created the heavens and the earth in six days, and after each phase of creation the scripture says: God saw that it was good. On the sixth day of that account God created human beings. God created them in the image of God–male and female– and God gave them dominion “over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the air and over every living thing that moves upon the earth.” And then, there is a second creation story. Starting in Chapter 2, it’s as if the story starts over again, on the day that “the Lord God made the earth and the heavens,” but as of yet there were no plants. And in this story God creates human beings out of the dust of the earth, starting with Adam, and later making Eve. In this story, “The Lord God took the man and put him in the garden of Eden to till it and keep it” (Genesis 2:15). Not to rule it. Not to have dominion over it, but to till and keep it. It was Adam’s job to tend the garden. 

There’s a small echo of this responsibility in today’s Gospel passage, that complicated second part about the slave and his master. There is so much to unpack there, both in terms of what slavery meant in ancient times, and the later centuries of baggage around these words. Nevertheless, today this passage reminds me that caring for the earth is a kind of commandment. It is a duty. It is not an optional part of our faith that we can be commended for. Instead, it is a part of what we are each called to do.

As human beings we have this dual legacy in relationship to the earth, revealed in the creation stories of Genesis: a legacy of dominion, and a legacy of stewardship. Our legacy of dominion reminds us that we have great power to shape the world that we live in. And our legacy of stewardship reminds us that it is not our job to exploit the earth; rather it is our job to care for and protect it. 

All too often Christians have focused exclusively on that first creation story. We have focused on dominion, and lost sight of the call to stewardship. As a result, our earth is changing. Centuries of pollution are having visible effects on the earth, its weather patterns, the tides, and the health and wellbeing of so many creatures. There are times when it can feel impossible to reverse some of the changes that are happening on the earth, this home that God made for us.

And yet today’s Gospel passage reminds us: with even a little faith we can accomplish things that seem impossible. Jesus’ teachings are rooted in this hope. Like the camel going through the eye of a needle (Matthew 19:26), God calls us to pray for impossible things; to work for impossible things. The kingdom of heaven is a realm of justice, hospitality, and grace that may seem out of reach. But that impossible way is the way of salvation. We are called to work towards God’s vision. Not our vision. God’s vision. While aspects of that vision of salvation may seem out of reach, the scriptures comfort and challenge us with these words: “For mortals it is impossible, but for God all things are possible.”

“If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea.’”

I invite you to think about whatever feels impossible in your life today. Maybe it is our changing planet; maybe it is the partisan divisions in our country; maybe it is a relationship in your life; maybe it is a physical or emotional wound that seems like it will never heal. Do not doubt, but believe. Believe in impossible things. And know that the outcome of those impossible things may look different than you expect. No one expects a mulberry tree to be planted in the salty waves of the sea, growing strong. And yet God still wants to grow that seed of faith, in us and in our world. May we have faith, like a mustard seed, to grow the kingdom of God, like a mustard seed, into a canopy that is wide enough for all of creation. Amen.