It's hot there beside the sea, great billowing, shimmering
sheets of heat rise from the sand, so that even the healthiest shrub looks
wasted, shriveled-up, ready to die, and that's the way all the humans feel as
well . . . dry, used-up, parched-grey in the afternoon light . . . it's too
early for cool breezes, for desert-evening evaporative cooling . . . and yet,
still a crowd gathers, a roiling, dangerous, smelly crowd . . .if it's
hot outside the crowd, in the open desert that wraps the sea of Galilee like a
shroud, imagine what it's like in it's middle . . . and personal hygiene? Well, it's not of the highest caliber,
and the disciples, who'd followed Jesus out of the house, are now sandwiched
'twixt crowd and water, and everybody gets it when Jesus hops into a boat
tethered in the shallows, and so there they are, crowd and disciples on the
beach, Jesus in a boat just off-shore, late-afternoon sun beating on them so
that it felt like you could crack an egg and fry it right there on
Bartholomew's bald head.
But then Jesus speaks and the disciples forget the heat, they
forget the discomfort, they forget that most people around them hadn't used
Dial – don't you wish everyone did? – because the master is speaking,
and though he doesn't have an unusually fine voice, though it isn't a
street-corner orator's practiced instrument, though he doesn't sound like
Biggus Maximus—currently number one on the Palestine top-50 with his hit
"Do The Existential With Me"—the crowd is transfixed, stopped cold in
their tracks, frozen like a cheap margarita.
And although later on, nobody in the crowd – including the disciples –
can say what it was about his voice that moved them, everyone is caught up in
the moment, the earth seems to stand still, and Jesus begins to speak.
"Listen," he says, "A sower went out to
sow. And as he sowed, some seeds fell on
the path." and from the crowd comes
a murmuring: "Uh, oh . . . that can't be good . . ."
"That's gonna be a waste of some good seeds . . . " And when Jesus
says, "the birds came along and ate them up," there's a general
agreement from the crowd, a wise nodding of heads – "That's right,"
someone says, "Been there, done that!"
Jesus
continues: "Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where there wasn't a whole
lot of soil, and they sprang up like a house afire, 'cause the soil was so
shallow, you understand . . ." and again the crowd is with him, cause it's
an agricultural area they're in, and everybody knows about planting seeds . . .
and so when Jesus tells them that the sun rose and scorched the seedlings and
they withered away, they're way ahead of him "I just knew that was
gonna happen," they say. . . . and the story goes on in the same vein:
"Other seeds fell among the thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked
them," and now the crowd's turning on him "We came out in this heat
for that?" they're saying
"that's just basic common sense . . ." And finally, Jesus ends it, he reaches the
punch-line "But the other seeds, which fell on good soil, they
brought forth grain, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty. Let anyone with ears listen!"
And up from the crowd we hear a collective . . . "Huh?
What's he trying to say here? Of course
when you plant seeds on the path, they're gonna get eaten . . . of course
when you plant 'em in the rocks, they're gonna get burnt up . . . of course
when you plant 'em in the briars they're gonna get choked out. Every farmer worth his salt knows that . . .
and while we're on the subject, what kind of farmer does a thing like
that, anyway? That's some kind of bad
agriculture you've got there . . ."
Now of course, it doesn't stop there . . . the more thoughtful
among them know that there's more to it than meets the eye . . . or
rather than meets the ear . . . and a number of people in the crowd set
about trying to figure out what it all means . . . let's see, who does the
sower represent? The emperor? But if it's the emperor, then what's the
seed? And why would that ol' skinflint
Tiberius waste any of it, anyway?
The only thing he's known to waste is other people's money, and
then for his own pleasure . . . So maybe the sower is God, but that
leaves the same problem, what's the seed?
Maybe it's rain . . . after all, didn't Jesus himself say that God sends
rain on the righteous and unrighteous alike . . . maybe the rocky ground is the
unrighteous and the good soil the righteous but then what's the pathway
represent? And the briar patch? In an allegory, you see, you have to have a
one-to-one correspondence . . .
Meanwhile, the disciples ask Jesus why he speaks in parables,
why he doesn't just say what he means outright, and his answer – conveniently
cut out of the middle of our lectionary reading – is basically because it's for
them – i.e., the disciples to know – and everybody else to
find out, and that's a whole 'nother sermon, thank the Lord, but he does
tell them the meaning of the allegory, for that's indeed what it is.
"The seed," Jesus says "is the Word of the
kingdom" – and the disciples hit
themselves on the forehead and say "of course, the Word of the kingdom
. . . why didn't we think of that?" – and when anyone hears it
but doesn't understand, the evil one comes along and snatches it away – that's
the bird action, here – and that's what's sown on the path. And the disciples are nodding their heads –
God must be the sower, the seed's the good news of the Kingdom of God, the
pathway signifies folks in which the devil removes that Kingdom-news from their
hearts, just plucks it up like a ripe pomegranate. Got it.
"And furthermore," Jesus says "the seed sown on
rocky ground is the person who receives this Kingdom-word with joyful heart,
but shallow roots . . . and the scorching sun of adversity and persecution
burns hot, and he is scorched and falls away . . ." and again the disciples
nod sagely . . . yes, yes, we know a few folks like that, that's for
sure . . . And it goes on like that, Jesus explaining what each correspondence
in his allegory means: the word sown in the thorns is the one who hears the
words, but lets the cares of the world—and the lure of riches and wealth—choke
it out of them; the seed sown in good soil is the one who hears the word of the
Kingdom and understands it, who bears fruit and yields results
for the Kingdom, "in one case a hundredfold, in another sixty, and in
another thirty."
And so now the disciples understand, now they get it: Don't be like that pathway guy . . . don't
let those old birds come along and snatch the word right out from under your
noses . . . and don't be rocky-ground shallow either, don't be rootless, stand
firm . . . don't let a little thing like a death in the family or bankruptcy or
genocide in Darfur destroy your faith in God . . . and perhaps most
importantly, don't let idol worship, the worship of planes, trains or
automobiles, choke the word out of you like a blackberry vine . . . be careful
– it's easier for a seven-forty-seven to land in Greenhills than for a rich man get into heaven.
And so there it is . . . a simple morality tale, don't be a
don't bee, do be a do bee . . . the seed on the rich soil understands
the word and acts on it, producing fruit and yielding yield. They go out, proclaiming the Word to all the
nations, and the deep-soiled folks who hear it do the same, and pretty soon,
you've got a world religion.
And that's how it's often preached today as well . . . all you
out there in the pews, stand firm in adversity, don't let the love of things,
the love of your money, choke the faith out of you, etc., etc. And maybe that's OK, but what I want you to
notice is that we read admonition into this passage, it's not there on
the surface . . . that is, Jesus doesn't say that his listeners need to act one
way or another, he doesn't end his explanation with "Therefore I say unto
you, be like the deep-soil . . ."
In the parable of the sower he's merely describing what happens when the
word is sown . . . it's either plucked up, scorched out, choked out or
it produces. Furthermore, in that part
of the passage conveniently cut out of the lectionary, he implies strongly that
it's God who causes people to not understand that very parable –
certainly word of the Kingdom in and of itself.
Hmmm . . . what if we concentrate not on the results of the
sowing – that is, not on the people in which the word is sowed – but
on the sower. After all, Jesus
himself calls it that, he calls it the parable of the sower, not
the story of the soil . . . and the first thing that hits me about the sower is
that bad agriculture we talked about earlier . . . the sower seems to be
a pretty grim farmer. I mean, seed is
expensive, it costs money, a lot of companies like Pioneer and Monsanto
have made a bundle producing seed . . . and here this sower is, just
wasting it – what we have here is a picture of a farmer – whom we know is God,
right? – pitching the seed on infertile ground and fertile, on the receptive
and unreceptive, on the righteous and the unrighteous alike, and God
seems to have no control over the end result.
Wait a minute . . . no control? That doesn't sound like the God we know
. . . the God we know is in charge, in control, or – as we good
Calvinists say – our God is Sovereign. Consider the lilies of the field, why don't
you, God's got them – and the whole world – in his hands. And since God made the pathway, the
rocky soil, and every briar in that old briar patch, God must know ahead of
time which one's gonna be receptive and which one's not. Unless . . . maybe the sower in our parable doesn't
represent God! Maybe we've just
assumed that because, well, who else would sow the word of the Kingdom
if not God's own self? Well . . . we
Christians, for one. We're supposed
to preach the gospel, we're supposed to spread the Good News like so
much broadcast soybean seed . . . the last thing Jesus says in this Gospel is
"Go ye therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the
name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit."
And if we're the sower, it's not up us to determine who the
receptive soil is or where it's going to be, it's not up to us to determine
to whom the seed goes, we are required just to spread it everywhere, on
pathways and rocks and thorn-choked ground and deep, rich soil . . . it's up to
God the creator to determine where it bears fruit. This – to me, anyway – is a powerful, freeing
word . . . it's not up to us, it's saying, it's up to God.
Note that this doesn't absolve us of responsibility, it doesn't
mean we're not to work for the coming of the kingdom, proclaiming the Gospel –
as St. Francis said, in words if necessary.
After all, we are the sower.
What it means is that if the word is faithfully planted to the ends of
the earth, we aren't responsible for the results.
And
it means something else, as well . . . God's word – which the Gospel of John
says is Christ Jesus himself – God's word, God's saving grace is so abundant,
so overflowing that it can be sown where it might not produce . . . on rocky
ground and on flagstone pathways . . . in the most secular-seeming avenues of
power and our most blasted-out, cement-choked ghettos. God's grace is super-abundant, outrageously
abundant, scandalously abundant . . . there's enough for Christians and
Muslims, CEOs and meth dealers, U.S. Presidents and subway bombers. And, gloriously, magnificently, amazingly,
there's also enough . . . for you and me.
Amen.
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