Fifth Sunday after
Pentecost/ 13th July 2014
Parables sometimes make my head hurt.
And my soul. They can give anyone a good headache. And Jesus was the parables-gives-me-a-headache
master. No one told a parable quite like
him. He wasn’t the first to use this teaching method. In the Greco-Roman world, public speakers, politicians,
philosophers, including Socrates and Aristotle, used parables. Within Judaism,
prophets and rabbis told parables. Jesus didn’t create that parable form, but
he was brilliant in its use.
In the Gospels we are hearing
vintage Jesus. We have his core teaching, the mind of Christ. They were
shocking then and should be shocking now and if they’re not shocking today,
that says more about us than about Jesus and his parables.
What
are parables? Yes, they’re stories with a lesson. They’re designed to teach us something. Yes, they’re often read as allegories, with
one thing standing for something else. This is probably what you learned in Church
school. It’s what I was taught.
However,
stories with lessons containing allegories rarely give one a headache and if
you don’t have a headache, if you’re not confused, if you’re not wrestling with
what Jesus said and not sure how to respond, then you’re not “hearing” the
parable. Parables
are not “example stories,” they’re
not morality tales, telling you how to behave. They’re parables.
Parables pack a punch. They’re supposed to generate an
experience, touch us deeply, hit us in the gut, and knock us off our
feet. They’re very similar
to a Buddhist koan, which are designed to provoke, such as this famous one:
“What face did you have before you were born?” Parables make us think. They force us
to wrestle. They mess with
the way we view the world. They
are intentionally disorienting, which is probably why we want to turn them into
morality tales. But then
they wouldn’t shock us and they’re meant to shock.
“Listen!
A sower went out to sow….” Sounds harmless, doesn’t it? The shock-element of this parable is subtle;
it’s actually counter-intuitive,
which we’ll see in minute.
Let’s
go deeper. Matthew, Mark, and Luke
include this parable in their Gospels, each with slight modifications. The Gospel of Thomas also includes this parable,
which means that what we have in this text is right at the heart of Jesus’ life
and ministry. That alone makes it significant. The story is straightforward
enough. Some seed. Some soil. Simple.
The sower casts—broadcasts—the same seed on different types of soil or
soil conditions, which yields different results. There’s nothing startling
about this. It’s obvious, even for a
city-dweller.
Let’s
break it down. The first nine verses of chapter 13, especially verses 3 through
9, record the original parable. The
lectionary then skips over a section and returns with verses 18-23, in which
Jesus interprets the parable. Matthew, like
Mark and Luke, includes the original parable and then offers an interpretation. Most scholars believe that the interpretative
verses were not part of the original parable, but were added by the early
church—very early, but still added.[1] Only the Gospel of Thomas has the original
parable standing alone.[2] All of which poses
considerable problems for modern-day readers and preachers. Why? Because the explanatory text (verses 18-23)
doesn’t square with the intention of the parable on it’s own. The interpretation modifies how we read the
parable itself.
For
example, if we read the parable through the lens of the explanatory text
(again, verses 18-23), in which Jesus explains the parable, the parable becomes
essentially about ethics and morality, about how we should behave. The emphasis is on where the seed lands, the
four environments. Seeds land on foot
worn paths that are dry and dusty, and the birds eat them. Seeds land on rocky ground, with little soil,
not enough for deep roots. Seeds land
among thorns that choke what is trying to grow.
Seeds land on good soil. From
this perspective the four environments or soil types become metaphors for the
hearer of the parable, for you and me.
Therefore, we think the parable is about us.
So
we begin to look at our lives and ask: what kind of soil am I? What kind of
soil are we as a church?
Has
the word been sown in your life but not taken root because, but you’re
soil-less, flat, downtrodden, dusty, well worn by life, and therefore think, “nothing
of God can be planted in me”?
Or,
has the word been sown in your life and you’re feeling happy and joyful in
Jesus, but something is wrong, these feelings can’t take deep root now that your life is a mess, you’re a mess, your family is a mess, you’re facing
considerable financial or emotional or personal challenges, you’re not sure
what you believe any more and you’re thinking, “nothing of God can be planted
in me”?
Or,
has the word been sown in your life, you know God’s love and grace, have known
it since childhood, but you worry and worry and worry and the cares and concerns
and anxieties of the world have become like weeds choking the life out of you and
you’re thinking, “nothing of God can be planted in me?”
Or,
are you good soil, the one who hears and understands what has been sown in you,
and your life bears and yields much fruit, because you think "something of God
has been planted in me?”
Can
the seed that the sower is sowing take root and flourish in our lives or not? That’s a worthy and important question to
ask.
In
fact, all of these are important questions to ask at certain times in our
lives, both individually and as a church.
It’s not surprising that these texts have been used as a way to talk
about evangelism, for aren’t we as a church called to spread the word, plant
the seeds of the gospel, bring them to life?
Isn’t that how we grow the church? If we cultivate ourselves, as soil,
then God’s good seed will take root in our lives, and we will grow, grow,
grow…hundredfold, sixty, thirtyfold.
What church wouldn’t like these membership statistics? Who wouldn’t like that kind of yield? In
fact, the explanatory verses here are exactly the kinds of things that churches
and institutions are most concerned about: growth. (This might be another clue
that Jesus never said these words, but were included by the early church.)
Now,
all of this is fine. But, remember, the
emphasis in the explanatory verses is upon the soil. And with such a reading it’s natural for us
to judge the soil, which means judging ourselves. Were you judging yourself as I described each
seed/soil scenario? Were you comparing
and contrasting one environment to another? Were you judging others who have a
different soil scenario from yours? I’m curious—I won’t ask for a show of
hands— how did you answer? How many
answered, “I’m good soil”? My guess is not many. We love to judge ourselves.
What
if, then, we stay with the original parable and try to set the traditional explanatory
lens aside; we come out with a different take on this text.
First,
did you notice that Jesus never judges the soil scenarios; he just describes
them. Yes, he says that one scenario is good, but he doesn’t judge the others
for not being good. They just are. Second, he doesn’t tell us how the good soil
became good. There’s no mention of rehabilitating the “bad” soil to make it
good. He doesn’t tell us to aerate the
path, feed the soil with nutrients. He
doesn’t tell us to remove all the rocks from the soil. He doesn’t tell us to pull all the weeds—as
someone who has spent hours this summer weeding his yard I wish all weeds were
forever cast into the fires of hell! But
Jesus doesn’t say this.
Maybe because the focus on the parable isn’t
the soil, but on the sower and the way the sower sows. This, then, is the counter-intuitive aspect
of the parable. It’s not what we expect. We think the parable is about us—that’s
because we think everything’s about us—but it’s really about the sower and what
is being sown.
Here’s
a story: many years ago I heard a powerful sermon on the Parable of the
Prodigal Son (Luke 15: 11-32), preached by Fred Anderson, pastor at Madison
Avenue Presbyterian Church in New York City.
He helped me see something I had never noticed before about this parable.
I’ve never forgotten it. That story should really be called the
Parable of the Prodigal Father—prodigal can mean wasteful, but it can also
mean extravagant. And in the story,
you’ll recall, the father’s grace toward the wayward son is nothing less than
extravagant and exuberant and irrational, given what the son did to the father.
The father’s extravagance toward the wayward son then infuriates the eldest son
who stayed at home. When we focus on the
behavior of the good or bad son we turn it into a morality tale, an example
story. We think the parable is trying to teach us what we should or should not
do—don’t be prodigal like the son—when Jesus is really trying showing us through the parable that we are children
of a Prodigal God. That’s the point.
Similarly,
the sower here is God. God is the sower
sowing the seeds of God’s Kingdom—the message of God’s coming Kingdom or Realm
is the most important element of Jesus’ teaching. We really need to be clear about this: the
Kingdom and all that it represents—wholeness, grace, healing, liberation,
salvation, radically inclusive justice, together stand at the very center of
Jesus’ preaching and teaching. Not—dare
I say—the cross, not his death and resurrection even, but the good news of the
Kingdom. It’s Kingdom living and
teaching that might cause you to suffer (probably will), maybe even get you
killed (like Jesus), but don’t worry, for the last word in the Kingdom is
resurrection. That’s what Jesus came to share and embody and he wants his
disciples, he wants us, to help spread the word.
“A
sower went out to sow.” Broadcasting—literally,
broadly casting gospel-seed, wildly, arbitrarily all over the place. Not in neat, well-ordered rows of Presbyterian
respectability. Not in predictable
places. Not in places that are already
cultivated and ready to receive the message of the Gospel. Not in places that even want to hear about
God’s justice-love and mercy and grace.
The
sower sows gospel-seeds in good places and thorny places and rocky places, on
good people and thorny people and rocky people and shallow people, and will not
stop sowing seeds. That’s how God operates. That’s how Jesus operates.
Remarkably,
what we discover from this parable is that “God is a really, really, really bad
farmer.”[3] The Sower isn’t “wondering whether the rocky,
or the hardened, or the thorny soil measures up or is worthy of the sower’s
seeds.”[4] So, for heaven’s sake, stop judging the soil
and look at the sower—and what a sower God is!
“God doesn’t stop sowing the seeds of divine love because the soil isn’t
perfect”—of course the soil isn’t perfect! What soil is? “Rather, God is busy sowing indiscriminately,
irresponsibly, irrationally.”[5] It’s not about you or the soil. Depending upon the day or hour, you might be
thorny, good, and completely worn-out. Yet,
“God is still sowing love, and always will.
God’s love is relentless.” It’s
inexorable. And in time it will yield.
My
colleague David Henson says, “God is throwing seeds around like an intoxicated
fool at the bar buying another round of drinks that she can’t afford.”[6] We might be pushing a limit here with this
image, but it makes the point. It’s kind of zany. There’s no limit to the
extravagance, to the generosity and love. “What kind of farmer sows seeds on the hard
path? What kind of farmer plants in the thorn bushes? What kind of farmer
tosses seeds among the rocks? What kind of farmer wastes so much?”[7] The kind of farmer who is madly in love with you and me and the world.
This
is who God is. This is what life is like
in God’s Kingdom. It’s significant that in Matthew’s Gospel Jesus begins to offer
parables, particularly this one, just at the moment when Jesus and the
disciples are facing pushback from the Jewish authorities, when the early
followers are facing hardship and discouragement. This parable of the kingdom is saying to
them—and to every disciple facing discouragement and every church worrying
about its future—this message: it’s not
about you, so relax. Yes, some seed
falls where it never takes root, most of the seed won’t take. That doesn’t stop God from sowing. And don’t let that stop you. The yield will come; it always comes. One hundred, sixty, thirtyfold might sound a
lot to us. But these figures are actually in the range of an average-to good
harvest. The figures aren’t outrageous.[8] God’s work will yield, as it will. The Kingdom will yield in due time. There will be enough, more than enough. Don’t worry about that. Trust in the
sower. The seed will yield. So, “expect wonders” as Thoreau (1817-1862)
said.[9]
In
the meantime, sow some gospel-seeds yourselves.
Bushel loads of seeds. Go wild. Be prodigal. Hold nothing back. Expect wonders!
“The
church is called to ‘waste itself,’ to throw grace around like there is no
tomorrow, precisely because there is a tomorrow, and it belongs to God.”[10] It all belongs to God. So, relax. Just keep throwing more grace
around—and expect wonders.
[1] Thomas G. Long, Matthew (Louisville: Westminster John
Knox Press, 1997), 150.
[2] Gospel of Thomas,
Logion/Saying 9.
[3] I’m grateful for David
Henson’s imaginative sermon on this text, “Dirt is Resurrection and God is a
Bad Farmer.” http://www.patheos.com/blogs/davidhenson/2014/07/god-is-a-bad-farmer-homily-for-the-parable-of-the-sower/.
I refract the text from a slightly different angle.
[4] Henson.
[5] Henson.
[6] Henson.
[7] Henson.
[8] Bernard Brandon Scott, Hear Then the Parable: A Commentary on the
Parables of Jesus (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 199), 356-357.
[9] From the quote printed
in the bulletin by Henry David Thoreau: “Though I do not believe that a plant
will spring up where no seed has been, I have great faith in a seed. Convince
me that you have a seed there, and I am prepared to expect wonders.”
[10] Long, 151.
1 comment:
Yes, better title.
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