Contemplations on a Pea

A Pea Seedling--Silent Sermon

A Pea Seedling

This is a sprouted pea. A few days ago, it was a perfectly whole fine pea that was, in itself, all that it needed to be. Everything was going just fine in its pea sized life. Then something happened.

First, either by accident or by some intention, it went into darkness–pure, utter darkness.  It was wet, and  didn’t know where it was, how it got there or where it was going.  Perhaps it was questioning the meaning of its existence and convinced it was going to die. But somehow in the process of all of this adversity, its hard shell began to soften, and as it did, something deep inside began to awaken and emerge, something that it didn’t even know was there. And this thing inside began to reach towards warmth and light, and  in reaching, it grew–first by the tiniest, almost imperceptible little increments, then more and more— until it soon broke through the darkness and opened itself to the sun.

So, what of that nicely shaped and shiny round pea? In the surge of its sprouting, it was split wide open, and it too was pushed above the ground, so that we can see how it’s broken open, how it no longer bears any resemblance to its former self, and how there’s really nothing left of what it used to be but a shell that the breeze will soon dry up and whisk away. So there instead is a sturdy, life giving vine,  green and supple, shooting its way towards the sky– and all that it was meant to be.   Amen


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