July 13, 2014 – The 5th
Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 10A
© 2014 Evan D. Garner
Farming has changed a lot
over the past fifteen years. Imagine, then, how much it has changed since Jesus
told this parable about the sower. Nowadays, GPS-based farm equipment is
programed with location-specific information so that each square foot of a
field is planted and fertilized with a specific density of seed and chemicals targeted
to produce the best possible yield. Everything is calculated. Nothing is
wasted. Back then, of course, the equipment was very different. There were no
tractors, and GPS was a matter of looking up at the stars and counting your
steps from one landmark toward another. But, even though the sophistication of
agronomy has increased exponentially, the principles behind farming are the
same. Back then, farmers knew to scatter more seed on the fields that produced
more and to apply more manure to the fields that produced less. And that means
that Jesus’ parable made as little sense back then as it does today.
Jesus would have made a
lousy farmer. Nobody scatters seed on the path or on the rocky ground or amidst
the thorns. Sure, farming was a lot simpler two thousand years ago, but the people
back then weren’t stupid. And that’s the point. When Jesus told the parable of
the sower, he was telling a story about a crazy farmer who defied every bit of
farming knowledge and common sense that his audience had. You didn’t have to be
a genius to tell the difference between good soil and bad soil, and you don’t
need a fancy computerized tractor to know not to scatter seeds in the middle of
Highway 20. So what, then, is this nonsense parable supposed to teach us about
the kingdom of God? Mainly, that the kingdom of God doesn’t make a lot of
sense.
This is the first of
three Sundays in a row when the gospel lesson is a parable. Parables are those
stories that leave preachers scratching their heads, wondering whether they’ve
really understood what Jesus was trying to say. And that’s why I love them so
much. They’re rarely as simple as they seem. There’s always another meaning
hiding in the text, waiting for the patient student to discover it. And that’s
the reason Jesus spoke in parables. Not because he wanted to leave the crowd
with a catchy take-away message that they would remember for the rest of their
lives. He spoke in parables because the kingdom of God is supposed to be
confusing, and the only way we’re ever going to grasp it is if we expect to be
confused.
The reason I chose to
lengthen today’s gospel lesson isn’t because I think that church services
should be even longer than they already are. (Trust me, I get plenty of
feedback about that already.) I wanted to include these intervening verses
because I think Jesus’ exchange with the disciples is critical for us to
understand what the kingdom of God is really like. “Why do you speak to them in
parables?” the disciples asked. “The reason I speak to them in parables,” Jesus
replied, “is that ‘seeing they do not perceive, and hearing they do not listen,
nor do they understand.’” In other words, Jesus did this on purpose. He wanted
to be sure that most of the people who heard him failed to grasp what his message
was really about. And that is the heart of the parable of the sower. When it
comes to the seeds of the kingdom, in order for them to bear fruit when they
fall on good soil, many more have to be spilled in places where they will never
grow.
That’s because, according
to worldly wisdom, the kingdom of God doesn’t make sense. We believe in a
savior who was crucified. We believe that his kingship is one of humility and
simplicity. In God’s kingdom, power is expressed through weakness. Fabulous riches
are found in destitute poverty. Life is only gained through death. There is no
way to say that plainly and still get the message across because the world is
not able to hear the upside-down message of the gospel and make sense of it. If
Jesus had spoken of the kingdom without disguising his message in parables, no
one could have grasped it. Instead, he scattered the seeds of the kingdom
wherever they would fall in order that those who saw how foolish the message
was might glimpse its true meaning.
Early last week, in
response to something I wrote online about parables, Harry Moore shared a poem
of Emily Dickinson with me. She was writing about poetry, but the connection
was clear.
Tell all
the Truth but tell it slant –
Success
in Circuit lies
Too
bright for our infirm Delight
The
Truth’s superb surprise
As
Lightning to the Children eased
With
explanation kind
The
Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every
man be blind –[2]
Those who want God’s kingdom
dispensed in ready-made packets cannot have it. Those who look for the kingdom
in obvious places will never find it. Too often in the twenty-first century, we
expect the secrets of life to be handed to us in an envelope with our name on
it, and we bring that same attitude with us when we approach our relationship
with God. We come to church as if it were the cafeteria line where everyone can
find an institutionally prepared dish he or she will enjoy. But this is not
Ryan’s or Golden Corral or Morrison’s or Piccadilly. This is God’s house, where
we come to encounter the almighty, incomprehensible, unfathomable, eternal
mystery that is our creator. His kingdom is a bewilderment to behold, and those
who expect to understand it never will.
When you come to church,
what do you expect to hear? Do you want the preacher to tell you something that
warms your heart and confirms your worldview? Do you want the preacher to
stroke your ego by telling you that you’re the good soil where the seeds bear
fruit a hundredfold? Should he jostle you ever so gently, spurring you to a
momentary rededication of heart and mind? Or should he pull the rug out from
underneath your feet, leaving you spinning and reeling and disoriented beyond
measure? We cannot approach the kingdom of God as if it will conform to our
expectations. If we are here looking for something that makes sense, we will
never leave fulfilled. Instead, we must beg God to strip us of everything that
we think we know about his kingdom and build us back up from scratch. We must
search for the sower who scatters his seed in places where it will never grow
in order that some of that strange seed might take root in our hearts. Amen.
[1]
The gospel lesson appointed in the Revised Common Lectionary (Matt. 13:1-9,
18-23) was lengthened at the discretion of the preacher and in accordance with
the rubrics of the Book of Common Prayer
(p. 888).
[2]
Poem by Emily Dickinson. Shared in an e-mail from Harry Moore.
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