I mentioned last week how I have recently learned from my mother-in-law how to make some of the most savory curry that you’ve ever put in your mouth! And this process included something so bizarre to me-popping mustard seeds.
I’d honestly never even heard of this before. And although my ignorance in the matter most certainly indicates my very limited knowledge of the world of Indian curries, I got such a kick out of popping something completely out of the “corn” family. I had watched Mrs. Abraham once before, but it wasn’t until I clumsily tried the recipe on my own that I looked at my “popping” pan a little differently. I almost felt sorry for the little mustard seeds… throwing those tee-tiny little guys into hot oil, only to hear them surrender to the heat and POP. It looked like a painful process, and one with which I could identify…
I don’t think that I’m all that unique in how I’ve often imagined God’s “discipline.” We screw up, only to look up and see God’s big frown of disappointment as He straps the dunce cap on our heads and points His finger toward the “time-out” corner. This is not at all what my parents taught or how they disciplined. I think it had to do with my “baby faith,” with its inability to more fully grasp the true heart and nature of the Father. It wasn’t until college that my perception of God’s instruction and patient love for His kids took a beautiful turn.
I had this class with a professor by the name of Dr. Wetmore. And I remember the day he rocked my world when he boldly proclaimed “True love is always painful!” I hurried out of the classroom fuming, racking my brain for proof to the contrary. I got back to my dorm, my mind a jumbled mess. “Love is beautiful! Peaceful! Tender! There’s NO WAY it could be painful!!!” That’s when God revealed to me something entirely better. Verse after verse from the book of 1 John came flooding back…
“This is how we know what love is; Jesus Christ laid down his life for us.”
“This is how God showed His love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him.”
“This is love: not that we loved God, but that He loved us and sent His Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins.”
“How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God!”
“Love” was demonstrated on the cross. “Love” showed itself in that while we were still enemies of God, He chose to send His Son as the sacrifice for those same sins that had separated us from Him. “Love” was in that patience, that suffering, that pain! And because of that agonizing love, I could be called a child of God! Wow. In the most excruciating of acts, Jesus loved us to death. His death. And right then and there, the paradigm shifted. I got my first true glimpse of the Lord’s discipline through the lens of that kind of love... I envisioned a surgeon intently at work, focused as he performs heart surgery on a sickly patient. Those surgeon’s hands, though they be breaking bones and slicing through muscle to reach the hurting heart, are hands bringing abouthealing, not destruction! In the end, the benefit of the surgeon’s intervention FAR outweighs the immediate pain caused in surgery. It ultimately produces LIFE!
The writer of the book of Hebrews puts it this way, as he quoted Proverbs 4:
“’My son, do not make light of the Lord’s discipline, and do not lose heart when he rebukes you, because the Lord disciplines those He loves, and he punishes everyone He accepts as a son.’ Endure hardship as discipline; God is treating you as sons… But God disciplines us for our good, that we may share in His holiness. No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.”
And so I looked down at my mustard seeds, popping under the intense heat and yet somehow ending up better for it. Or so the recipe said. So out of curiosity, I “googled” a more detailed description of the whole mustard-seed-popping-process. And I found the following, written by the self-proclaimed “Flavourguy,” Nicholas Robinson:
“Black mustard seeds can also be ground into a powder but the flavour is bitterer, less mustardy. Most people who taste it for the first time don’t like it… And that might be the only way that we would eat black mustard seeds if their flavour didn't change so impressively when roasted or fried. Try them this way and cooking becomes a complete sensory experience.”
Some call it the crucible; some call it the refining fire. But the bottom line is this: we, God’s children, are always better for experiencing His discipline. And although there are many times when pain is a part of that fiery process, to the point that we feel like we might “pop,” there is a beauty on the other side that can only be achieved through the flames. Without the heat of instruction, I’m a lot like that black mustard seed, bitter and hardly useful. But there is a transforming that can happen when I submit myself to the loving discipline, the refining fire, of my Father… whose desire is that I, His child, be all the better and more “flavorful” for the pain in that frying pan.
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