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One family in particular lived in an old, ramshackle cabin.
The TVA built them a beautiful split-level ranch home on the hill
overlooking the location of their former home. But when the
Authority came to help the family move, they refused to go. The
engineers tried to reason with them and, when that did not work,
they called the project manager in. He failed, too.
Meanwhile, the river was building up behind the dam and the
water was getting closer and closer to the old cabin. So the TVA
brought in some bulldozers along with a group of lawyers waving
legal papers, but they were met with a hail of buckshot from the
cabin.
Finally, the TVA brought in a social worker. She asked the
family to tell her the reason they did not want to move so she
could explain it to the officials. The father of the clan
pointed to the fireplace and said, "You see that fire in there?
My grandpa built that fire 100 years ago when no one in these
parts had matches. So he made the family promise to never let it
go out. He tended it as long as he could and then my father took
over and kept it going while he was alive. And, now that it's my
responsibility, I am not about to let it go out."
That gave the social worker an idea. She asked the family
if it would be all right if the TVA brought in a coal bin and
transported the burning coals from the cabin to the new house up
on the hill. That way, they would have the same fire in their
new home. The family huddled together to discuss the suggestion
and decided that would be acceptable. And so that family was
moved out of the way before the river came and covered their old
cabin. And all lived happily ever after (or, at least, that is
the way the story SHOULD end, even if it does not - we will never
know).
I share that incident along with a question: Have you ever
felt that way? Like that father? Have you ever felt that it was
absolutely and utterly up to you, against all opposition, to keep
the fire going (no matter what "the fire" might be)?
If you have, you are certainly not alone. The situation
being addressed in this morning's New Testament lesson is along
that line. As you Bible scholars all know, Matthew's gospel was
compiled and distributed probably some fifty years after Christ's
earthly ministry (around 85 AD). The early church had expanded
beyond Jerusalem through the missionary efforts of Paul and
others but was still rather minuscule in terms of numbers and
influence. There was opposition and even some persecution at the
hands of political and religious establishments. It was a time
when discouragement could have easily overcome that small band of
believers. These were the folks for whom Matthew was writing,
and this section of his gospel was organized just for them. In
chapter eleven, Jesus confronts political opposition as Herod
arrests and murders John the Baptist. In chapter twelve, he
faces religious opposition as the Scribes and Pharisees challenge
him and even suggest he is in league with the devil himself. Now
we come to chapter thirteen and a series of parables, these
"earthly stories with heavenly meanings." The order of
arrangement is no accident - coming on the heels of these
accounts of continuous opposition, the stories were meant to
address that concern.
The first one is the most familiar, the Parable of the Sower
(although considering the emphasis of the story, it should
probably be called the Parable of the Soils). No doubt you have
heard sermons about it. It uses imagery that is familiar (even
if less to us in urban America than in agricultural Palestine).
It offers an automatic four-point outline. And finally, for
those who fear offering an incorrect interpretation, there is
Jesus' own explanation of the meaning of the four types of soil
(although most scholars agree that the explanation is not really
from Jesus but some later editor who added it in - no matter).
It WILL preach.
Start with the imagery. As Jesus sat in that boat, he may
well have seen a farmer off in the distance going about his work,
scattering seed by hand. The field(2) would have been one of many
long narrow strips with the ground between serving as a right-of-way, a three-foot wide common path, beaten as hard as a pavement
by the feet of countless passers-by. If seed fell there, and
some was bound to, there was no more chance of its penetrating
into the earth than if it had fallen on concrete.
Then there was stony ground. Not ground filled with stones
but rather what was common in that part of the world, a thin skin
of earth on top of an underlying shelf of limestone rock. The
earth might be only a very few inches deep before the rock was
reached. Seed could certainly germinate, because the ground
would grow warm quickly with the heat of the sun. But there was
no depth of earth and when a plant sent down its roots in search
of nourishment and moisture, it would meet only the rock. It
would swiftly starve, and shrivel and die.
Thorny ground? Deceptive. When the sower was sowing, the
ground would look clean enough. It is easy to make a garden look
clean by simply turning it over, but in the ground still lay the
fibrous roots of the couch grass and the bishop weed and all the
perennial pests, ready to spring to life again. Every gardener
knows that the weeds grow with a speed and strength that few good
seeds can equal. The result was that the good seed and the
dormant weeds grew together, but the weeds were so strong that
they throttled the life out of the seed.
Finally, the good ground. Deep and clean and soft. The
seed could gain an entry, find nourishment, and grow unchecked.
In the good ground it brought forth an abundant harvest.
Suddenly the preacher thunders, "And what type of soil are
you?" (Isn't that the way it is supposed to go?) First, there
are those whose minds are shut, those into whom the seed of an
idea has no more chance of taking root than the seed that falls
onto a path beaten hard by many feet. Is that you? Then there
is the one whose mind is like the shallow ground, someone who
follows the fads, responds to the emotion of the moment, who
takes something up quickly and just as quickly drops it. Is that
you? Or there is that busy, busy, busy individual who has so
many irons in the fire, so many interests in life, that often the
most important things, get crowded out. Is that you? Finally,
the good ground, the fertile mind - like good soil, it is open,
deep, uncluttered. A word from the Lord will take root there and
bear an abundant harvest. Is that you?
Well, to be painfully honest, answering for myself, I am ALL
of them. There are times when someone speaks to me that they may
as well be talking to a wall. For whatever reason, I do not hear
what they are saying. The seed is falling on the path. There
are times when an idea comes to which I latch right on with
enthusiasm but there is no follow-through. It dies away. Stony
ground. My life is busy, as is yours. Everyone knows we have
far less leisure time than we used to. Good ideas come, and they
begin to take root, but with so many competing claims on me, they
fade and eventually wither. Thorny ground. Finally, yes, there
are times when something comes along that takes root - it grows
and blossoms and produces abundantly. I wish that such were
always the case, but... Does that sound like anyone you know?
Frankly, we could listen to a thousand sermons on these soil
types and still be the same mixtures as we are - part and parcel
of being human. That is one of the things that convinces me that
Jesus had something else in mind when he told this story.
Another is the placement of the parable in the gospel narrative:
right after accounts of opposition, and the first in a series of
vignettes that describe the sure and certain victory of the
Kingdom of God. One more thing convinces me: Jesus was a good
storyteller, and good storytellers know that you cannot make a
multitude of points in a story and have any hope of your
listeners remembering them. Jesus had a point to make here, not
a whole list of them.
So, what is his point? For Matthew's audience of good
church folk who, for various and sundry reasons, might be a bit
discouraged, and who like the Tennessee father, might be figuring
that keeping the fire going was their responsibility, it comes
right at the end. The harvest. The AMAZING harvest. Thirty-fold. Sixty-fold. A hundred-fold. A harvest of four- to ten-fold was considered normal, with a harvest of fifteen times what
was sown being exceptionally good.(3) Who was responsible for such
a thing? The Sower? Of course not. It could be none other than
God. Always has been. Always will be. Even when we figure it
is all up to us.
Janet Mathistad is a Lutheran pastor in Minot, ND. She
writes,
Pastor Janet continues.
Hmm. The Parable of the Sower. In the original version, I
suspect we would identify Jesus as the farmer, the seed as the
gospel, and the field as the world. I would cast you and me, not
as those types of soil with which we may have been identified in
years past, but rather as tenant farmers. We too are involved in
spreading the seed, whether it be by preaching, teaching,
singing, inviting, or day-to-day LIVING.
I would love to tell you DO NOT BE DISCOURAGED, but I know
that is easier said than done. I wish I would not get
discouraged, but I do. Membership declines; finances tight; a
neighborhood that has changed; but it is still up to me to keep
that fire going, no matter what. You work hard, but where are
the results? The message of the parable to all of us who, on
behalf of Jesus, are sowers of seed is do not get discouraged
over RESULTS. Those are out of your hand.
You may encounter those outside the church who could care
less about this enterprise and will never be convinced that we
are worth bothering with. The well-trodden path. Keep sowing
the seed. There are those who respond quickly, join with us in
our work and worship, but who just as quickly, and for no
apparent reason, stop coming. Stony ground. Keep sowing the
seed. There are those who are active for a time, but slowly
participate less and less (and especially if something occurred
that was in the least bit upsetting); church used to be a
priority but now there are so many other things to do. Thorny
ground. Keep sowing the seed. And then there are those who are
the pillars of the church - here every time the doors are open,
always willing to take on any task, always anxious to be part of
the solution rather than part of the problem. Somebody sowed
that seed. Praise God from whom all blessings flow. And keep
sowing the seed. You never know. You just never know.
H. L. Gee tells this story.(5) In the church where he
worshiped there was a lonely old man, old Thomas. He had
outlived all his friends and hardly anyone knew him. When Thomas
died, Gee had the feeling that there would be no one to go to the
funeral so he decided to go, so that there might be someone to
follow the old man to his last resting-place.
There was no one else, and it was a miserable wet day. The
funeral reached the cemetery, and at the gate there was a soldier
waiting. An officer, but on his raincoat there were no rank
badges. He came to the grave side for the ceremony, then when it
was over, he stepped forward and before the open grave swept his
hand to a salute that might have been given to a king. Mr. Gee
walked away with this soldier, and as they walked, the wind blew
the soldier's raincoat open to reveal the shoulder badges of a
brigadier general.
The general said to Gee: "You will perhaps be wondering what
I am doing here. Years ago Thomas was my Sunday School teacher;
I was a wild lad and a sore trial to him. He never knew what he
did for me, but I owe everything I am or will be to old Thomas,
and today I had to come to salute him at the end." Thomas did
not know what he was doing.
No preacher or teacher ever does. Keep sowing the seed. We
can leave the rest to God, including keeping the fire going. And
that is GOOD news for all us tenant farmers.
Amen!
1. Noted by Jim McCrae, via Ecunet, "Sermonshop Sermons," #1509, 7/7/99 2. Soil information from William Barclay, And Jesus Said: A Handbook on the Parables of
Jesus, (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1970), pp. 18-19 3. The New Interpreter's Bible, CD-ROM (Nashville: Abingdon, 1997) 4. Janet Mathistad, via Ecunet, "Gospel Notes for Next Sunday," #3026, 7/7/99 5. William Barclay, The Daily Study Bible, CD-ROM edition (Liguori, MO: Liguori
Faithware, 1996) used by permission of Westminster/John Knox Press
One aspect of this text that has interested me is that
even in the good soil, there was such a difference of
yields. I got an insight into one answer back in 1993,
when I had just married my husband, who is a farmer.
That was the summer that the Mississippi River flooded,
and our area of North Dakota received 13 inches of rain
in June (our total average annual moisture is only 17
inches). A phenomenon happened in Todd's durum fields
that he referred to as "stooling out." Whereas
normally, each seed sends up one stalk and produces one
head of wheat, when the weather is cooler and wetter,
the grain will send up a second and even a third stalk.
The yield is therefore abundantly greater. This summer
of 1999 is the first summer since then where the
conditions have been right for stooling out. And lo
and behold, that is what is taking place.
I see it as an example of something that humans have no
control over. If the wheat stools out, it is not
because the farmer was especially clever or because the
soil was so good, but because the weather conditions
were right. It seems that in farming or in ministry,
we can sow, but we cannot guarantee results. We can
give it our best effort, but cannot completely control
the outcome. Only God can do that. And God is
convinced that in the end, when it comes to [that]
harvest the results will be abundant.(4)
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