“What Would You Dare to Do?” Mark 5:21-43

What would you dare to do for your own child?

The Gospel lesson today is a story within a story.  So much is going on here that it is very easy to get lost in it all.   You can pick apart the details of Jairus, the woman, the matter of ritual purity, the actions of the disciples and the crowd, but all those details end up being somewhat of a maze of distractions from the central point.

It’s really quite simple.

What would you dare to do for the sake of your child?

That is the central question.

Jairus is willing to seek out the touch of Jesus for his daughter.  

This is not Jesus’ first “go around” within the synagogue.  We have seen him cast out demons and heal a man with a withered arm. 

We’ve also watched as the Pharisees and leaders of the Synagogue have been watching Jesus, trying to catch him in some impropriety. 

Suffice it to say that Jairus as one of the “leaders of the Synagogue” was most likely one of those who had frowned upon Jesus’ activity there and was likely outwardly critical of Jesus.

All of that evaporates, however, when it is your own daughter that is at death’s door.

Jairus lowers himself to begging.   “Come lay your hands on her, so that she may be made well and live.”   He pleads.

We are given no details of the daughter’s illness; just that it must be grave, and Jesus asks for none.   When asked by this eminent leader of the Synagogue, Jesus simply responds and begins to make his way to the house.  He follows Jairus through the crowds. 

It is in those crowds that press upon them that there is found also this anonymous woman. 

She also desires Jesus’ touch.  She has suffered much under the touch of many physicians (so we are told,) whose efforts have simply made her worse.   The hemorrhages from which she suffers would make her ritually unclean.  She should not be in this crowd.  As an unclean person she is obliged to keep her distance from others, and announcer her presence.  

Jesus, a ritually clean Jewish male, cannot and should not touch her.  He cannot touch her, or he will be made unclean himself. 

She cannot even ask him for such a favor or gesture.  Instead, what she determines to do is to simply touch the hem of his garment on her own.  Just touching Jesus’ clothing will be sufficient to be healed she hopes, hopes to do that in secret so that none will be the wiser. 

She will risk everything to give this a try, a last ditch effort to find some relief and release from her afflictions.

She touches his garment, and Jesus perceives immediately that touch.  We are told that he knows that power has gone out from him somehow, and so he stops this procession to Jairus’ house.  He must know who has done this.

The woman fesses up, and when she does, what Jesus says to her must have been a surprise to everyone, including her.  

For, instead of lecturing her on the breaking of social codes, or the deceptive practices,  Jesus simply says,–“Daughter, your faith has made you well, go in peace and be healed of your disease.”

“Daughter” – That is a word, I believe, that is chosen with intention.  

This one, who had been left out of the community, is claimed and brought back in.  

This one, who was unclean, and could not come near to anyone, is now restored, made family. 

This one, who knew her place and could not dare to hope for the touch of Jesus. This one, Jesus calls “daughter.”  

What will you dare to do for the sake of your own dear child?    

We know that Jairus would lower himself to begging.

In the actions of Jesus here we discover what it is exactly that God will do to get back his daughter. 

God will stop at nothing to seek out the lost one and restore her.   

The disciples think Jesus is crazy for stopping to find an unnamed person in the midst of a crowd who presses on him.  “Don’t you see the crowds?”  They say.  How could he help NOT being touched the way they press in on him?

But Jesus is not so concerned about the wisdom of the disciples here.  He is concerned with only one thing, finding his child who needs to hear these words that will do more than just heal her physically.  

He longs to give the words that will bring her back into the community.

What will God dare to do for his child? 

In Jesus’ actions here we see that God will stop everything.  God will risk looking like a fool in front of others.  

God will even seem to have mixed up priorities if that is what is needed to get back the lost one.

Jesus does all this while in the midst of the urgent task of making his way to Jairus’ house.

Jairus’ daughter, remember, is near to death! 

Jairus had pleaded with Jesus, and now Jesus chooses to stop so that this anonymous woman can be called, “Daughter!”

The hesitation is enough to cause Jesus to apparently be too late.  Jairus receives the word, that his daughter is already dead. 

The professional mourners have shown up on the doorstep to wail and to weep and to do the rituals required now that death has come.  

“There is no need to trouble the teacher anymore,” they say.  

We know what to do from here on out.  

We know the established prayers to say, the death wails to do, we have all the means and practices for grief and for proper mourning to go through in the wake of death.

“No need to trouble the teacher, Jairus.   We got this.”

What will God dare to do for his child?

In Jesus’ actions again, we find out God is willing to break all the social conventions!   Jesus refuses to let even death be final.  “She is not dead, but only sleeping”  Jesus insists, and then calls her forth…”little girl, get up!”  

“Give her something to eat!”  

So, what will you dare to do if you are God for the sake of your own dear child?   Let’s review.

Evidently, you will beg.

You will go immediately.

You will risk everything.

You will stop everything if you have to find to reclaim the lost one.

You will risk looking foolish in the eyes of those around you.

You will re-arrange the established priorities.

You will shift focus when an opportunity comes up.

You will throw out convention and established practices.

You will even defy death, and you won’t mind even being laughed at!

That is what you will do, if you are Jesus, if you are God, to save your own dear child.

Back in Mark 3 there was an episode where Jesus’ mother, Mary, and his brothers and sisters were asking for him.   Maybe you remember it? 

Jesus had chosen his disciples and he was once again surrounded by the crowds. He had been healing and teaching, just as he was here, and they said to him, “Your mother and your brothers and sisters are outside, asking for you.” 

And Jesus replied, “Who are my mother and my brothers?” And looking at those who sat around him, he said, “Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother.”

God in Christ Jesus was sent to help us understand that we are all children of God. 

In Jesus we see modeled and mirrored for us what it is that God is willing do for us.

This is what God will do for God’s own dear child, whether that child is the child of his arch enemy in the synagogue, or the nameless and unclean daughter in the crowd.

This what God will do to bring in the promised Kingdom. 

This is also what God hopes we would be willing to for one another, that such a Kingdom may come in its fullness in our midst.

So, the question that this complex Gospel story begs is this, “What would you dare to do for one another?” 

What will you be willing to do for the sake of the Kingdom now that you see that each and every one is a dear child of God?

People whose legacy is this story of Jesus, what will you dare do for one another, and for all those out there who have no names?

Would you beg for them, plead on behalf of others?   Or will you dispassionately remark that the crowd presses all around, and how can we know who to touch, or worry about who touches us?  

Would you go immediately when asked, or do you hesitate?  Do you have other places, other things you find more pressing than helping your neighbor, than working for the Kingdom? 

This is a stewardship question when you think about it. How will you allocate yourself, your time, and your resources? 

What is your sense of urgency about the Kingdom?  Is serving Jesus something you put at the top of your check register and your day-planner, or is it relegated to the “left-overs” or “if it’s not an imposition?”

Would you risk everything, or weigh your every action against what it might cost you personally to save a dear child of God?

Would you stop everything, or would you just keep going along the way?

Would you risk looking foolish, in the eyes of this world, in the eyes of your friends, your neighbors, in order to respond to the ones who need not just touching but reassuring that they can be made well and that they do belong?  They do have a place in the family of God?

Would you re-arrange your priorities?

Would you throw out convention and established practice to intervene, bring things to a halt if it meant a life could be restored?

 Would you dare to even defy death?   Continue to work to change the inevitable and treat it as if it does not have to be?

These are the questions that this Gospel lesson presents to us, things for us ponder over.

We find out here what Jesus does.  

We see here what Jesus models for us about what God will dare to do for this sake God’s own dear child, for the sake of each and every one of us seated here.

 God has made us all daughters and sons, brothers and sisters, members one of another through the waters of baptism. The question now becomes, “What will we do, what will YOU do, for the sake of the daughters and sons of God you meet in this world?”

“Of What Should We Really Be Afraid?” Mark 4:35-41

O.K., I’m from Nebraska where the ancient oceans receded millions of years ago.  The largest body of water we have there is a man-made lake on the Platte River; a river which is otherwise known for being a mile wide and six inches deep.   

          I do not know the sea.

          I have been in a few fishing boats, but never on any open water that seemed scary.

          I did take an Alaskan cruise once that encountered twelve foot seas, but on a massive cruise ship, that experience was largely about laying on a bunk bed and turning green from motion sickness — no real fear of sinking.   We only wished that we could die….

          I only know about big water’s power and force from what I have read, and from the movies I’ve seen.  

I don’t really know what it is like to find oneself in the kind of perilous situation described in the Gospel today, with the waves crashing and a boat swamping.

          The Disciples, (or at least a good portion of them,) were seasoned fishermen and so one supposes that they should have known this lake and their own business well enough to know when they were in trouble!

It is no small thing then for the disciples then to decide to shake Jesus awake and cry out, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?”

          In fact, that might be a question worth considering for our own circumstances.

          We live in the midst of what often feels like overwhelming times.  There are storms raging in our own lives that threaten to swamp us. 

          The Pandemic.

The perpetual upheaval in the Middle East and tug of competing interests.   

Extremism.   

Domestic terrorism. 

Religious fanaticism.

Conspiracy theories circulating around that threaten to undercut confidence in the truth.

Debilitating partisanship in politics.

Economic forces we do not understand and can’t predict.

Global temperatures rising, drought, famine, and the migration of populations.

Political corruption.

All these things and forces are swirling around us, and they often seem like some “perfect storm.”   There are legitimate things to be afraid or, or worried about these days!

Most annoying to us is the apparent silence of Jesus in the midst of all of this! What, is he asleep or something?

What are we to make of this apparent disinterested sleep of Jesus while we face all the raging storms and struggles of this world, apparently on our own?

          “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing here?” 

          This is what really bothers us; Jesus asleep, not seeming to care at all about what happens to us in the storms of this life.   Not seeming to care about what happens to our world.

Where is Jesus in the midst of this storm I’m going through? 

Where is Jesus in the midst of my job loss or change?

Where is Jesus in the uncertainty of my retirement? –  in the diagnosis that hits our family so hard? , – in the struggle to make grades, or to keep up appearances?

Where is Jesus in the midst of all the uncertainty of what the future will hold for any of us, or for the next generation?

I don’t have any good answers for you. 

I wish I did.  

I wish I could say that everything will be all right in the end, but we know that’s not always the case.   

 Some stories end poorly. 

The storm will win, the ship will be lost, a not everything in this world arrives at a happy ending, a peaceful resolution, or ends up wrapped up in a nice tight bundle with no loose ends.

“Happy endings” are not what Jesus came to promise us.

Jesus came promising that he would be with us, even to the close of the age.

Jesus is, (you know,) no less present with those disciples in this story even in the worst of the storm than he ever was.  He may be silent, or apparently unconcerned, but he is there!

He is still there with them in the midst of that storm that grips and tosses.  

They know that he is there!   That’s why they cry out to him in fear, wondering why Jesus seems so unconcerned.

          Why doesn’t Jesus leap into action right away at the first hint of rough weather?  

Well, it appears that most of the storms of this world that we fear most and that we get most worked up about just don’t demand or attract Jesus’ attention.  They seem pale in comparison to the true forces that conspire to sink us.

The stuff that we fret over and scurry around about doesn’t even warrant Jesus raising his eyelids.  

          There are larger forces at work in this world that Jesus needs to be concerned about, bigger things to be afraid of than the huffing and puffing that we can see and feel.

          Jesus barely lifts an eyelid at the raging of the storm. 

But, at the suggestion that he doesn’t care about them, or about us?   

When that is suggested Jesus’ full attention is aroused!   That is when he speaks, rebuking both storm and the disciple.

          “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?”  He asks his disciples bluntly! 

 And they, in return were filled with great awe and said to one another, “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?”

          That’s a really poor translation, “filled with great awe” – the Greek uses a doubling down of the same Greek word, Phobos – “they are “feared with a great fear” – We might say, “they were scared spitless.”

If they were afraid of what the storm could do to them, that was nothing compared to what they found sitting in the back of the boat with them!  

Here is someone who can command sea and the wave!   He rebukes the forces of nature with the same kind of language and ease that he uses to silence the demons and to cure the impossible afflictions.

If the guy in the back of the boat can command those unbridled forces of nature, what else might he be able to do?   What else might he be able to command – perhaps of us?

          This is a story about fear, and the things of which you really ought to be afraid.

          We waste so much time and energy being afraid of the little things in this world, the swirling storms of petty bickering and arguments. 

We whine about gas prices or our neighbor’s dog doing its business on our side of the lawn.

We bemoan the actions of those folks in Washington as the bicker and posture to make plays at power.

We listen to the international news and fret over what is happening half a world away that might affect us someday, if nowhere else than in our pocket books.

But all the while, most of those things that we make a big deal over aren’t really that big a deal, and they certainly aren’t the things that WE can make much of a dent in. 

The storms we most obsess over are just the whims of personalities and principalities. 

They have repeated themselves over generations and across cultures.   

          Corruption in government?   Nothing new…you can find it in every civilization over the last 4000 years.

          Threats of nation against nation?  War?  Again, nothing new to the world in the grand scope of history.

What makes those things seem like big deals are the forces behind them that feed them. 

Sin.

Arrogance.

Greed.

Insistence on one’s own way as the best way, the ONLY way.

Pride.

Envy.

These are the real forces conspiring against us and against the Kingdom of God coming into our midst, and these are the force which rouse Jesus to action. 

Sin, Death, and the power of the devil as Luther said, — those are all the things conspiring in larger realms than we can imagine. 

They amplify our own petty human ambitions into truly dangerous levels.  

          The storms we see now, wars and lies, deceits and betrayals, the breakdown of families and governments and societies, scary as they may be, — are not what we have to be afraid of.   

They are only symptoms of the deeper ill, the deeper evil, and it is that power in this world that Jesus comes to confront.

What you really ought to be afraid of is forgetting that Jesus is with you!

What you really ought to be afraid of is rousing his anger by suggesting that he does not care!

He who commands the wind and sea, has told us how to live and love one another.  He has shown us at great cost to himself how to are to live together and to love one another, do you imagine he sleeps through our neglect of that?   Your neglect of that?  Where is your faith?

When accused of not caring about us Jesus pops up off the cushion and asks us where our faith is?   Have we no trust in God’s presence with you in the here and now?

          What you really ought to be afraid of is thinking that the call to follow Jesus is somehow an option, or an obligation that you can fulfill just over the weekend or whenever it seems good to you.

          It is fitting that this story appears on the weekend of “Juneteenth.”   That’s an anniversary that very few of us who are not African American know much about or know what to do with really.  It commemorates the issuing of General Order # 11 in Texas that ended the practice of slavery there.

Slavery had indeed ended with the Emancipation Proclamation 2 ½ years earlier, it just appears that the good people of Texas and Louisiana simply chose not to inform their slaves of it.    They continued to own, work them and profit from them.

They pretended, you see, that God did not care.  Pretended God was slumbering while they continued to engage in oppression and persisted in an unjust system long after it had been abolished by law and had opportunity to see their brothers and sisters of color in the way that God saw them, as beloved and precious.

          It is not you see the policy or laws, not the storms of politicians or nations that attracts Jesus’ attention and rouses him to question. 

          The man who appears to be asleep in the back of the boat commands your very life, and he is roused to action whenever it is implied or argued that God does not care for you, or that God does not care for others, or that God does not care about life!  

Who are we to oppose Jesus, to ignore him, to treat his call upon our lives to love and to forgive one another and to be his witness so lightly?

          Of what should we really be afraid?   

Not the storms we can see, but the ones that rage within unseen.  

The hardness of heart, the stopping of ears, the persisting in pulling at the oars of prejudice and greed, to act as we always have even when the wind of the Spirit indicate a change of course is needed.

We ought to fear the winds of the Spirit that blow in and around us, calling us to love.  Winds we so often seem to struggle against, resist because they call us to change.   

No matter how those disciples pulled at the oars, expert as they might be at the ship they found themselves in, they could not out-maneuver a wind that was set against them.  

What winds of the Spirit are blowing against us now, calling us to sail with them instead of struggle against them? 

What demons found in, with, and under the storms of this life attract Jesus’ attention and rebuke?  Will only be calmed when he rebukes both us and the storm?

Of what should we really be afraid?   We should really be afraid of not realizing that Jesus is here, and that God cares for all!  

“The Kingdom of God is Like Ragweed.” Mark 4:26-34

“The Kingdom of God is as if someone were to scatter seed upon the ground and would sleep and rise, night and day, and the seed would sprout and grow, he knows not how.  The earth produces of itself…”

          This is what the Kingdom of God is like.  It happens all by itself Jesus says!   Like “weeds”, or wild Mustard that is invasive and creeps in even where you don’t want it!

          Which prompts us, (or at least people like me,) to say, “Then what am I doing pounding my head against a wall as a Pastor???”

Why am I up here preaching, going to all these meetings, preparing these sermons and doing all this “church” stuff if the Kingdom of God is supposed to grow all by itself and grow wildly?!”

Might I add, it sure doesn’t seem there is an awful lot of “automatic” about church. 

I haven’t served in a location yet in the last 36 years that hasn’t been concerned about a lack of volunteers, or worried about stretching out resources, or a fretting about its future! 

If the Kingdom of God is supposed to grow by itself and wildly, then why isn’t this place busting at the seams and packed to capacity with people?  

If the Kingdom of God is supposed to grow like wild mustard, when why does it seem like we have to work so hard to plant churches, to find volunteers and to make things work?

          There are two things that I think this parable has to say to about that.  

The first one is easy for us to get.  

The truth is growth is indeed a mystery!  It does happen on its own, sometimes very inconveniently and almost never on our timetable!    

          I have a window box with chives on my deck.  It amply provides an herb that I love to use, year after year, without me having to do anything except water it from time to time and dig around to loosen the soil up a bit.  

Those chives are so prolific in fact, that when they go to seed they even scatter down in the rocky soil below my deck, and I find them in various places throughout the yard.   When I mow my lawn, I am often greeted with a green onion scent that tells me the chives are growing wild here.    The seed gets carried by bird and wind far from that window box, I know not how!

          Life finds a way!  What takes root is not always appreciated to be sure, but it does come of its own accord.  

          So, part one of what Jesus is saying in this parable is that the growth of the Kingdom of God is not ours to control.    

          We can’t force seeds to grow.  

          We can’t force people to be good disciples. 

          We have to be on the lookout for what is growing where and move to take advantage of it as it matures and presents itself.

This is a somewhat painful thing to acknowledge, for it sometimes hits very close to home. 

We had kids.   We brought them to Sunday School.  We did mealtime and bedtime prayer, we did everything right, and yet, we no longer see them around our church!

They are not here to take on the tasks we want them to take on, to carry on the legacy, to care for all we have built and intended to pass on to them.  

Our great temptation is to think that if we just have the right program, or the right kind of building, or sing the right kind of songs, or use the right brand of communion wine, — they’d come back!   They’d grow!  They would love church as much as we do!

          But the truth is, Jesus says, the Kingdom grows by itself, and takes root where it will.

          That frustrates us a bit.  

“But, but Jesus you said go out and make disciples!”  

That is true, but even in the midst of sending out his own disciples Jesus acknowledged that their “peace” would not be received by all or where expected.

          Or, as is the case here in Mark’s gospel, Jesus instead says, be ready for the harvest!  

When I survey my own struggles with chives, I begin to recognize that growth is not really the problem. 

The problem is in my management, with where I want things to grow, and what shape I want them to take on.

I wonder if that is the case with our churches too?  

Do we have in mind that this soil is reserved for what we want here?   Perhaps a particular kind of person?  A particular variety of member?   Maybe a church with certain characteristics.  We are people who are used to monoculture farming, after all.   Our eyes are tuned to expect to find wheat in a wheat field and corn in a corn field, and we often curse when a plant not intended shows up where we didn’t plant it.

Do we, perhaps, have too much of a “monoculture” concept of church, where we envision only “people like us?” 

Many of our churches were planted and founded on the “Homogenous Community” principle in one way or another.

Our immigrant forefathers and mothers came to this country on the promise of free land and a better life for themselves and they settled in ethnic communities.   The families often sending money back to the old country to secure passage to their loved ones to this place of opportunity.  

The churches they established on the Great Plains were pretty muchly all ethnic enclaves.  Waves of Swedes, Germans, Norwegians, and Danes who came and settled and planted a church for mutual support and connection. 

Those who spoke the same language in the old country met here to worship and to help one another adapt to this new world, holding on to their ethnic identity long after they had learned English and figured out the lay of the land.

In many ways, we never got past that. 

In the 50’s and 60’s when Lutherans planted churches across the American Suburbs we would go out and do surveys to find out how many Lutherans were living in a given area, and if there were enough Lutherans living there, that is where we would plant a church.

Instead of watching to see what did grow there, watch it mature, and then be ready with the sickle when it was time to gather the harvest in, we went looking selectively for the harvest we wanted, and we only put our sickle in when we found it!

          So, part one of what Jesus has to say to us is that God doesn’t force the Kingdom on anyone.   We can’t always tell where God will be causing things to grow.  We must instead be ready to harvest where we see the growth, and not go looking for the kind of the particular kind of growth with which we are most comfortable.

 But there is a second parable in this Gospel lesson for today, and we should spend some time with it as well, because it also has something to say about our assumptions we make about the Kingdom.

          The choice of a Mustard Seed is a curious one for Jesus if the point he wanted to make in the parable was that the Kingdom of God was going to be impressive. 

There were better examples of impressive plants for comparison that he could have chosen.  

Jesus could have chosen the Fig Tree, which also has small seeds but which does grow into an impressively substantial and useful tree, bearing fruit and giving shade.

          Jesus could have chosen the great Cedars of Lebanon if the point he wanted to make was that the Kingdom of God was to grow into something strong, sheltering and resilient.  Something to be seen from afar and coveted for their stature.

          But instead, Jesus chooses the Mustard Seed, which is little more than a shrub, a bush.  

          Let me re-tell this parable in a way that I think will help you see what Jesus is doing.

          “With what can we compare the Kingdom of God, or what parable will we use for it?   It is like Ragweed, which, when scattered on the ground is the smallest of all seeds on earth, yet when it is sown it grows up and becomes the greatest of all shrubs, and puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the air can make nests in its shade.”  

          Ragweed! That’s awful stuff, Pastor!  It grows where you don’t want it to grow!  

But for Jesus that seems, that is the point! 

Mustard grows wild in Galilee, and it pops up in cultivated fields.  It can be harvested and useful as an herb, true, but just as often it can be a nuisance!   It emerges where you don’t really expect it and perhaps do not wish it to be!

This is what Jesus compares the Kingdom of God to – intentionally!

The Kingdom of God tends to be invasive.  It tends to be persistent.  It is not always terribly attractive.  It can event be an irritant to some.

In the Northland of Kansas City where I live a few years ago there was a ragweed plant that took root in a highway median by an intersection I had to go through every day. 

It grew there all summer long. 

I marveled at it each time I drove by and sat at the stoplight.

It grew out of nothing more than a crack in the pavement.  

It was surrounded by blistering hot concrete, no other vegetation around, dependent upon whatever water there was already under the pavement and whatever would trickle down through the cracks. 

It was a most improbable thing.

I watched it get taller and taller – and as it got larger and larger, I watched one day as birds would jump underneath it for shade.  It offered a bit of relief from the scorching heat, and they would check there for insects or fallen seeds, a morsel to sustain them this day.

For those birds it was a refuge.

For me, (and other allergy sufferers,) it was just an irritant!

But it was there!

I wish I had taken a picture of it.  It was the perfect example of the Kingdom of God, taking root in the most unlikely of places, growing without apparent reason, and providing a refuge for those few unlucky creatures who found themselves in a most in-hospitable place.

Is that what Jesus is telling us the Kingdom is like?  

If so, then that requires some re-arrangement of our own expectations.    

The Kingdom becomes a place that is never really as safe or as permanent in this world as we would like it to be, thought it would be! 

The branches are big enough to give you some cover, but not so big as to build the kind nests you can come back to season after season.

Those who come underneath it find rest and shade, but you are still “on the ground” and subject to all the dangers of this world.

Is this what Jesus is saying in this parable? 

If so, we may have to re-arrange our thinking about this Kingdom into which God has called us.

We tend to view church as a place of safety and permanence.  

Like Christendom that it came to be modeled after, we assume that each year, the Kingdom of God is supposed to gain in power, prestige and honor.  

It is supposed to just always be there for us!

Instead, the Kingdom as described by Jesus here appears to offer just a bit of shade, and a bit of cover in the midst of all the dangers of this world!

It’s not permanent so much as it is prolific!  

It spreads in wild and unpredictable ways!  

It spreads such that you can always find some part of it for cover somewhere, and you can depend upon it being where you least expect to find it.

The Kingdom of God is like ragweed, and that is good news!

For it means that you cannot get rid of it.

You cannot predict how and where it will spring up.

You can depend upon it appearing to provide a place of shelter for those in need, and you can depend upon it to find a way in this world to grow – even if it’s not as you might expect it to grow or appear. God always finds a way in this world to be there, for us.