A 13th-century Jewish sage, Nachmanides, taught that at the moment of creation, all the matter of the universe was concentrated in a point the size of a grain of a mustard seed before it expanded to form our cosmos.
That’s basically the Big Bang Theory proposed in 1927 by Belgian cosmologist and Catholic priest Georges Lemaître.
There is a difference between a mustard seed and the grain of a mustard seed. A mustard seed is as small as a needle head, while the grain of a mustard seed describes the smallest unit of physical matter.
This tiny seed’s name rings out from the sages through the ages.
Around the 4th century BC, Buddha elevated the lowly seed with his parable “Kisa Gotami and the Mustard Seed” which teaches the universal nature of death.
Years later around AD 28, Jesus Christ compared the Kingdom of Heaven to a grain of a mustard seed, that when grown, the birds come and dwell in its branches.
Jesus also said if we have faith the size of a mustard seed, we can move a mountain; nothing will be impossible for us.
Today, you can buy a mustard seed necklace to proclaim your faith. I haven’t seen any mountains move, but I await with anticipation.
The seed is also found in Islamic and Hindu texts.
Mustard was one of the earliest domesticated crops; it was used as a condiment and for its medicinal qualities.
The downside is the plant is highly invasive and almost impossible to eradicate, and it can damage your plants and crops.
Why am I giving you a history lesson about the mustard seed?
I pray I’m not blaspheming given the seed’s legendary religious status, but the mustard weed is my enemy. I have been at war with this weed most my life.
The Mustard Weed
My father, Joe Madrid, launched me into an early career as a grass cutter in Carlsbad, NM. I cut grass from when I was around 10 years old to 16. My dad taught me this nuisance plant must be destroyed.
I make no distinction between the mustard seed of history, and the mustard weed of today because they are closely related.
My father said don’t cut the weed with the lawnmower, because one plant can spew thousands of seeds into the air, which fly away and drop to the ground and lay hidden and dormant, sometimes for decades, until the sun calls them forth.
You must pluck the pesky pest by the roots and immediately put it in a garbage bag or can, because the seed has but one job: germinate.
When I cut grass in my younger years, I had regular customers, elderly folks who needed their yards and flowerbeds tended. Today I would be called a landscaper.
Over the years, I’ve left a trail of bagged up murdered weeds from New Mexico to Arizona. Hundreds. Thousands. I don’t know. This abomination appears in my yards, gardens and flowerpots. How does the mustard seed find my planter out back? Does the seed follow me? Are we enveloped in mustard seeds?
More than likely, dormant seeds are waking up.
Recently, I considered the weed’s chaos in the cactus pot. I admitted to myself it is an impressive plant. Tenacious. Indestructible even. A worthy opponent, and pretty too, in that naughty-international‑nuisance kind of way.
I shifted my perception and looked at my weed-infested-cactus planter in a new way. Why not accept the inevitable?
The weed won. I surrender.
My planter would be wild. Jungle-like. Something that would make Tarzan proud. Weed and cactus growing together untamed.
It was a breakthrough: I looked at the mustard weeds and they didn’t bother me. The cactus still dominated with its spiny beauty. My two silent Buddhas reveled in the sprouting mustard seeds.
I relaxed. A great weight as of a billion mustard seeds lifted off me. I was free.
Massive sigh. Kumbaya.
Then I thought about my dad.
My father’s teachings are implanted deep. I looked upon the weed with a renewed eye, an angry eye. “Invader! My immortal enemy! $#&%#@!,” I shouted.
So, I pull the weed again and again despite the seed’s popularity among the holy men of history. The vendetta against this enemy, handed down from my father, continues, I guess into eternity.
I looked at my planter, and one stubborn mustard weed towered above it all, as if photobombing a family portrait. I dealt with it most expeditiously.
Which brings me back to the beginning.
Can I love the mustard seed and hate the weed?
This is my dilemma.
David Madrid
Contact: David Madrid
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