In the Name of the Living God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.
I think it’s safe to say that if you are an Episcopalian who faithfully attends mass during the long Florida summer when, judging by our summer numbers, clearly most Episcopalians take the summer off, you in fact want to bear the good, vibrant fruit of the gospel in your lives. Your very presence here [this evening/this morning] testifies to the fact that you’d like to be a better disciple.
But even if you’re one of those who prefers going to mass only at Christmas and Easter, and so you’re here today against your will because your husband or wife made you, I have yet to meet a single Christian (or any modern, global citizen for that matter) that doesn’t deep down really want to produce some good fruit – even if they have no clue where to start.
I mean come on, be honest; who doesn’t want to be a better person? It’s all the rage, is it not? If it were not so, Barnes & Noble wouldn’t have such sprawling self-help sections!
And so it is that our present culture of self-improvement and our zeal to be better disciples collide on this the Fifth Sunday after Pentecost and form our backdrop as we survey one of our Lord’s most famous parables, the Parable of the Sower from St. Mathew’s Gospel.
But if you’re looking for all the latest advice, you’ll be frustrated to learn that our Saviour is up to something entirely different.
The other thing that may frustrate you comes from hearing the parable – or at least the descriptions of the soils – and yielding to the temptation of thinking about other people and their lives.
And it’s so tempting to think of others because we do actually know people who, hearing the gospel – even repeatedly – are likened to seeds cast along that hard path our Saviour describes in the parable. Because of this or that (usually some hard knock or untimely, unfortunate and truly unfair blow), their hearts are too hard to receive any seed; the seed of the gospel just can’t take root. They are bitter, angry and covered in scar tissue – mad at God and the world for what has come their way.
And, of course, we also actually know people whose lives look like the seed of the gospel that fell on rocky soil. “Such a person has no root, but endures only for a while.” They hear about Jesus for the first time today and they spring right up and grow in faith rapidly. Tomorrow they are on fire for the gospel, wearing a sandwich board out here on the corner that says “Honk if you love Jesus,” and by next week they’ll be so zealous to share the good news that they’ll decide everyone around here is a sinner and beyond help, so they’ll move to Denver (where real Christians live) and to start a sandwich board ministry couched in some form of urban renewal. But when they run out of money to buy soy milk lattes because they quit their jobs (in other words, when they realize they have root rot and didn’t plan for curve balls) they’ll give up on the gospel altogether, blaming everybody and their brother for what has transpired. They will wither away.
Then there are others that you and I actually know that hear the good news, and, like those seeds cast among the thorns, they simply are too busy with life to actually do anything with the seed that was cast their way. The seed is great and lovely, but the cares of the world and the lure of wealth choke the life right out of them. Then one day, when they’re old and retired with nothing to do, they look back over their big careers and pursuits and instead of feeling a sense of accomplishment, they are empty and frustrated with being in the weeds their whole lives.
Now, I’ve been saying that we actually know these various sorts of people. Some of them might even be in our immediate family.
But the bigger question – the question the parable actually poses – the question our Saviour wants us to answer – is this: whether or not we actually know ourselves!
I had a great spiritual director years ago, who, after hearing all my complaining and moaning about how this or that was unfair and preventing me from being what I fancied as my best self, he always would lean in at what felt like the worst possible moment and say, “Charleston, you don’t need a scapegoat; you just need a mirror.”
In this parable, Jesus wants us to first think about ourselves. He isn’t telling us a parable about everybody else and all their troubles, my brothers and sisters, and he’s not handing out clever advice. He’s talking about you and me and the various ways we wrestle with receiving the seed of His love and solace.
You see, that’s what sin is all about; it’s not so much that we miss some hypothetical mark because we simply make a few mistakes here and there. No, sin is a condition that, following in the footsteps of Adam and Eve, says to God, “No thanks, I’ll do it my way without you.”
And in this repetitive act of saying “no thanks” we find that we become so reliant upon ourselves – our own supposed inner-strength and wisdom – that it’s hard to receive that life-giving seed of love and forgiveness that comes from the outsides and must take root within. So at times – in fact many times – we have all been like the hardened path, losing our faith in God; at times we’re like the rocky soil, lacking depth and withering under pressure; and sometimes we’re in the thorn-choked weeds.
But in the middle of all that tumult and frustration lies the best news we’ll ever hear. And it is this: whatever soil we happen to be in today, the sower is with us and is casting His seeds of love, forgiveness and new life all over this parish right now, inviting us – you and me – into what that great petition in the Book of Common Prayer calls “the newness of life.” That’s what this parable is all about!
Do you really want to know how radical and amazing God’s love is? I mean, think about it: by efficiency standards, God is an awful farmer! Why would God spend any time casting seeds in places that don’t always produce that good fruit – that thirty, sixty and hundredfold stuff? “Given my dubious past, why would God keep scattering His seed along my path,” is what you may be thinking, and that’s exactly what we all should be thinking.
Well, God keeps scattering because He is extravagant and loves us. And God’s love knows no bounds!
As that great second century poem, The Epistle of Diognetus, puts it:
He came as Savior to his own,
the way of love he trod;
he came to win us by good will,
for force is not of God.
Not to oppress, but summon all
their truest life to find,
in love God sent his Son to save,
not to condemn mankind.
And being summoned – not condemned for our hardened hearts, rocky pasts and thorny undergrowth – and in receiving that life-changing seed of love with arms wide open is how my hardened, rocky and thorny soil – and indeed your hardened, rocky and thorny soil – becomes good, fertile soil, bearing the abundant fruit of forgiveness, mercy and thanksgiving – “some thirty, some sixty and some hundredfold.”
Sermon preached by the Rev. Charleston D. Wilson
The Church of the Redeemer
Sarasota Florida
5th Sunday after Pentecost
13 July 2014