When a Seed Dies

I know a lot of people are spooked by cemeteries; they avoid visiting them whenever possible. Myself, I’ve always kinda liked them. Especially the old ones with unique tombstone shapes and meaningful – or at least interesting - epitaphs.

I used to stay each summer at a church camp in Pleasantville, and take regular strolls through the nearby cemetery. One tombstone was shaped like a large dog (that guy sure must have loved his pet), a second was heart-shaped, and many others were unique and eye-catching. Under the shade of towering pines, hundreds of graves lay peaceful and quiet (except for the chattering of squirrels and the thump-thump of pine cones falling to the ground).

But some of you are shuddering at the suggestion of finding peace and quiet in such a place. So…maybe it would help if we thought of a cemetery as a garden. That’s what it is, isn’t it? Row upon row of many seeds, planted and awaiting germination.

Edward Markquart, a Lutheran pastor on the West coast, once consulted Dr. Gibbe, a professor with a Ph.D. in plant physiology. Pastor Markquart informed the prof that he was planning a sermon on John 12:24, and asked him, “Can you tell me what happens when a seed dies?.” In a sermon entitled "When a Seed Dies," the pastor shares what he found out:

“He told me that inside every seed is an embryo, and in that embryo is a root which goes down into the ground; and a shoot that goes up into the sky. Every embryo has a root and a shoot; and inside that little embryo, (and this is really a miracle), there is an ‘on’ and ‘off’ switch. I didn’t know that. I didn’t know that seeds have ‘on’ and ‘off’ switches. But they do…

“And when you plant a seed into the ground at 40 degrees for 40 days, that mechanism goes on, but if the temperature is at 20 degrees, the mechanism stays off… Now there is also a thin coat around that seed which protects the oxygen from coming in prematurely. And then when this dormant seed is planted into the ground, for 40 days at 40 degrees, the switch goes "on" and the seed takes in water, and it miraculously begins to expand, and the seed coat is broken, and it begins to mature and produces sugar and protein; and then out comes the little roots and the little shoots, and the shoots produce more seeds which produce more fruit. ‘And that’s what happens when a seed dies,’ said the professor. ‘It's a miracle.’”

What will come forth from that broken, dead seed-coat? The garden gives a hint. Those pink-coated corn kernels my dad and I used to bury in the soil were given new “bodies” – towering, tassled, and ear-laden. Tan seeds, large and flat, came up as golden butternuts squash. And the zuchinni seeds… well, need I say more? It’s all much more, much better, much grander, than what was originally planted.

Which makes the grave of each who have died in the Lord a mystery-filled place, bursting with eternal potential, just waiting for the switch to go “on”… and a split-second germination process to be fulfilled.

Almost makes you want to take a walk in a cemetery, doesn’t it?