Unless a Kernel of Wheat

“Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.” John 12:24

These are the words of Jesus that Dostoevsky chose to open The Brothers Karamazov  with, words that are now etched as the epitaph on his gravestone.  I want to know what he was feeling when he chose that verse; take away all your critical essays and footnotes and academic speculations, and just let me see that man’s heart before his God.

Was he feeling what I feel today?

“Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.” John 12:24

These are the words of Jesus that have been on meditative repeat all day long, washing away the fear that dirties my eyes and clogs my ears.

The fear has lied to me for years, spouting its logic that such a sacrifice is not meant for me, but for another follower. “You,” the fear whispers, “must make your primary goal self-protection, you must do everything to prevent yourself from this daily death. You are fragile, brittle, weak, and the grand paradox must be experienced from a safe distance, in the acknowledgement of the One who set the precedent and in the reading of stories of followers who were so much stronger than you. Don’t think you need to follow in their footsteps; it is your spiritual mission to achieve a peaceful control. Control over anxiety, depression, and your unpredictable emotions is what will make you most useful to Him. For what good is a desperate child, weeping, fumbling through the day without finesse or passion or plan? Only when you feel confident and competent will you understand what it means to live victoriously.”

“Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.” John 12:24

The death is meant for me too, though, I realize as I walk along icy streets awaiting spring’s breath. Safety doesn’t equal freedom in His kingdom, and it is beauty, not shame, to be in the place where I have to cry every morning “your grace is sufficient for me, for your power is made perfect in my weakness.”

This death is meant for me, and the words of Christ nudge me to stop and consider if the goals I’ve subconsciously set for July and beyond really align with his calling. Five months of living in chaos external and internal has tempted me to exchange the word adventure for comfort, a concession I never thought I would make. Yet here I am, tricking myself into the smallness of stability.

“He who loves his life loses it, and he who hates his life in this world will keep it to life eternal.” John 12:25

Jesus’ next words defy logic, proclaiming a paradox that I have been so scared to embrace. I love my life too much, and in trying to barricade it against harm, I suffocate and starve it.

I may never get control of my “issues.” Depression and anxiety may very well make regular appearances throughout my life. And I may not ever feel like I have it all together. But the words of Christ make me realize that gaining control of my emotions, my relationships, and my vocation shouldn’t be my goal. My goal, however unsafe and unfair and impossible it seems, should be to embody John 12:24-25.  In each feeble step forward to breathe “He must become greater, I must become less.”  To reclaim adventure by embracing this paradox of life through death.