RVCC Pastor's Sermon

Sermon - July 13, 2008

“The Parable of the Three S’s”

By Rev. Nancy Foran
Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

Jesus was a storyteller. He always had been. In those years that stretched from the time his parents discovered him in the temple hobnobbing with the elders when he was twelve until the start of his public ministry, said to be roughly 20 years later, I imagine him honing his storytelling skills until the day came that the people fairly begged him, “Tell us a story, Jesus. But not one with high falootin’ words we can not possibly understand. Tell us a story about the things that we know. Here on the lakeshore of Galilee, tell us a story about fish and nets and the common life that we love. Tell us a story about herring and cod – hundreds of them - flipping and flopping in our fishing boats, glittering in the sun.”

And Jesus laughed. He had such a wonderful sense of humor. His stories always ended with some sort of exaggeration – or were completely outlandish, given the circumstances of their telling. They always threw everyone off just a tad, creating a head scratching and puzzling paradigm shift, so folks had to reorient themselves and reflect upon what he had said if they were ever going to really figure it out.

And so Jesus stood up in his little rowboat, and in the clear water of the Sea of Galilee he could see the shadows of the fish beneath his boat. And he chuckled to himself and said, “I will tell you a story – one that will knock your socks off. And laughingly he began, “Once there was a sower, yes, you heard me correctly, not a fisherman, but a sower, and he went out into his fields one early morning to sow his grain. And if you have ears, listen to what I have to say.”

And even though they were fishermen and not farmers – or maybe because they were fishermen and not farmers - they listened mighty hard. And they pictured themselves walking the land, a sack of seed instead of a fishing net slung over their shoulder, heavy with grain for planting, more than enough for the fertile ground around them.

They saw themselves flinging seed – great handfuls - left and right and, what the heck, there was so much of it, tossing it onto the rocky ground and the arid ground because, who knows, when you come right down to it, the seed might, it just might grow where you least expect it.

And the harvest…oh, yes, they saw themselves clearly at harvest time, rejoicing in its abundance, as much as a hundredfold in a land that produced double at best. Finally, they sighed in relief – finally now enough to go around.

And they imagined themselves as seed, tiny grains of wheat and barley, tossed to the four winds, carried who knows where, flung from the rough and gentle hands of the farmer into the air only to be caught in its currents, landing gently on the earth, nestled in the soil, waiting for the sun and the rain, waiting for the life that lay buried within them to sprout forth.

And they imagined themselves as strong and sturdy stalks of wheat, swaying in the wind, soaking up the sun, bending to the nudges of nature until they were gathered and tucked into great sheaves to be taken to the miller where they would be ground into flour and baked into bread to feed a hungry world.

And they pictured in their minds what it would be like to fall upon rocky soil or dry and dusty soil, to wait and wait for rain, to push against the weeds that lived too easily and so abundantly among the cracks and crannies of the stones where they lay.

And they wondered too what it would be like to be the soil, just the dirt and nothing more. Would they be fertile – or would they suck the lifeblood out of the seed that fell upon them – or would they be like rocks – or stones – and just not care?

“If you have ears” Jesus whispered. “If you have ears, then listen.” “And if you can imagine yourself at once as a farmer and seed and soil, sometimes one and sometimes another, then you have truly heard.”

And into this a simple story, we – like the fishermen and fishmongers before us - are challenged to put ourselves in multiple places – often unfamiliar places - within it if we are to begin to understand its breadth and depth. Because, you see, if we do not, we inevitably end up thinking that the world would be a better place if there were more people like us in it. More good seed. More fertile ground. More astute sowing of the seed, so that the grain is not wasted on the rocky or dry soil.

But I do not think that is what Jesus had in mind when he told this first of many parables through the Gospels. Surely Jesus would laugh at us for being so arrogant, for being so, so undeniably right in our narrow mindedness.

Surely Jesus would tell us that God calls us to look deeply at our own lives, not at everyone else’s, and to amend ourselves, so that our lives more closely reflect the wholeness and shalom that God offers.

Like all of Jesus’ parables, this one provides no straight answer, though Matthew does attempt to explain it later in the passage we read. However, many scholars think that the Gospel writer inserted this explanation to appease his audience of early Christians who were clamoring for answers in a world that was becoming increasingly complex – not unlike our own world - and antagonistic to their religious beliefs.

In many ways, this parable is a story rich only in questions – questions that rise and fall in their level of importance to us as disciples, followers, learners of the Gospel message. Each time we read this parable, we are someone, something, else as we struggle to understand our place in the world and in God’s abundant plan.

Sometimes we are seeds, with the light and life of God within us, struggling to be born, to grow into stalks of life-giving grain, waiting to be gathered into great bunches, multiplying a hundredfold for a harvest of compassion and justice in a world that is hungry for the same. Sometimes we are seeds of hope, seeds of promise.

And sometimes we are the dirt, simply the dirt. Sometimes we – let’s admit it – are rocky and resistant to God’s love. Sometimes the most we seem to be is arid and dreadfully thirsty, desperately thirsty, for the cool and clear waters of life. And yet, sometimes, sometimes at those moments when we sense a bond with he who hurts and she who weeps, we are the fertile soil where God’s plan is nurtured and grown. Yes, sometimes we are the soil, the medium through whom the Kingdom comes and God’s will is done on earth as it is in heaven. Pray for our fertility.

And sometimes too we are the farmer, the sower of seeds. And then we toss the grain hither and non with great and glorious abandon because all of the world is a field; all of the world is a garden. And we do not look at where the seed has landed because a tree grows in Brooklyn – in the nooks and crannies a flower blooms, and life returns, and the dead arise. And we do not measure the seeds we sow because in our hearts we know that with God, there is no scarcity but only abundance. There is more than enough to go around.

And in the end, when you come right down to it, there is nothing tricky, nothing subtle, nothing complex in this little tale told from a rowboat to a bunch of folks who made their living by the seashore. A sower went out to sow….It is the old, old story of God’s love for an imperfect and incomplete world – and our role in it. Swirling about the images in this parable of seed and soil and sower are both a challenge and a promise. It is a challenge to toss the grain far and wide with great abandon because there is always enough to go around – and to do whatever it takes to be the fertile soil because God depends on us to grow the seeds of love. And it is a promise – a simple yet most profound promise that within each seed is life itself and bread for the world.

Sermon - July 13, 2008

“The Parable of the Three S’s”

By Rev. Nancy Foran Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

By Rev. Nancy Foran
Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23