Jul 29 | “The Child Sower,” (Sermon, July 16th 2017)

“That same day Jesus went out of the house and sat beside the lake. ²Such great crowds gathered around him that he got into a boat and sat there, while the whole crowd stood on the beach. ³And he told them many things in parables, saying: ‘Listen! A sower went out to sow. ⁴And as he sowed, some seeds fell on the path, and the birds came and ate them up. ⁵Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and they sprang up quickly, since they had no depth of soil. ⁶But when the sun rose, they were scorched; and since they had no root, they withered away. ⁷Other seeds fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked them. ⁸Other seeds fell on good soil and brought forth grain, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty. ⁹Let anyone with ears listen!’

18 ‘Hear then the parable of the sower. ¹⁹When anyone hears the word of the kingdom and does not understand it, the evil one comes and snatches away what is sown in the heart; this is what was sown on the path. ²⁰As for what was sown on rocky ground, this is the one who hears the word and immediately receives it with joy; ²¹yet such a person has no root, but endures only for a while, and when trouble or persecution arises on account of the word, that person immediately falls away. ²²As for what was sown among thorns, this is the one who hears the word, but the cares of the world and the lure of wealth choke the word, and it yields nothing. ²³But as for what was sown on good soil, this is the one who hears the word and understands it, who indeed bears fruit and yields, in one case a hundredfold, in another sixty, and in another thirty.’”

Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

Good morning, St. Timothy’s. I’m so glad to be with you today.

This year was the first year my husband and I decided to plant a garden on our balcony. I was excited because last year, friends who hosted me in Gibson’s had given me nasturtium seeds. The peppery orange blossoms had made their way into our salads every day over there, I had been looking for something ornamental and fragrant to climb up a load bearing post on the corner of our balcony.

The time came to plant and I did. And, like many of you with gardens probably did in this very strange year, waited. And waited. And waited.

I had never grown anything from a seed before, only already-blossoming plants. A low point was probably when I went online to look for tips, and one website cheerfully assured me, “Nasturtiums are so easy to care for, a child can do it!”

That obviously did wonders for my self-esteem. I stared at my empty pots and cursed that writer to a fiery afterlife where demons daily assured him that poking sinners with a fork was so easy, a child could do it.

But since having that terribly uncharitable thought, and since my nasturtiums finally started blossoming this week, I have reflected on what a beautiful theological statement that can be for us, relevant to our passage today.

Perhaps sowing the seeds of the Gospel is also so easy that a child could do it.

Let’s take a moment to think of the exuberant movement in this parable. Let’s not focus on which seeds are which kind of people. Let’s not even focus on Jesus’ explanation. Instead, let’s think about children sowing seeds.

Teaching a child co-ordination takes a lot of patience and love. Parents will remember endless repetitions of, “Gentle, gentle,” and “Slow down!” and “Not too much!” But for a moment, let’s imagine the kind of child that occasions those words, imagine her safe but without any adult supervision, with a skirt full of seeds, running along the path, throwing them helter-skelter everywhere, throwing them without even looking, throwing them perhaps with that ear-piercing and rather delightful shriek that toddlers get when they’re just so darn excited about something, the kind of shriek that makes us wince but maybe also makes us giggle, because maybe we half-remember being that kid, astonished by the world and its wonders.

Imagine her getting to the end of the path and just letting go of the end of her skirt so that the last few seeds just scatter at her feet. Imagine her looking down and examining them with that beautiful and hilarious intensity that very small children have. Imagine her looking back at the chaos she hath wrought and then just booking it back up the path, so proud of her work, even though a more measured eye will twitch at the reckless wastefulness of good seed.

Christians were never meant to know what it was like to love small. While our work can be small – tending a few blossoms by the side of the road as opposed to a whole set of palace gardens – our love was never meant to be. The cares of the world can make us feel like there is not enough to go around, that no matter how much we sow, there is always more that goes barren.

There is a piece of this recognition in the verses that are cut out of today’s reading. Those verses are a bit scary. But I think we have to address at least a piece of it. So here is a piece of that lacuna.

“Then the disciples came and asked Jesus, ‘Why do you speak to them in parables?’ He answered, ‘To you it has been given to know the secrets of the kingdom of heaven, but to them it has not been given. For to those who have, more will be given, and they will have an abundance; but from those who have nothing, even what they have will be taken away.”

That last part sounds awful, doesn’t it? We have all seen this truth, and we have all felt its claws. But I think also that we know those folks who seem to have everything and yet are restless, constantly worried about the next need, the next empty space, convinced that they have nothing even though they own the world. And we all know those folks who have very little but treasure the good things they do have, and live life in a constant state of gratitude.

Jesus continues, “The reason I speak to them in parables is that “seeing they do not perceive, and hearing they do not listen, nor do they understand.”

We know that people can go their whole lives without ever seeing the good or the growth or the gains. We know pain, and one of our faith’s gifts is that Christianity was never meant to hide from it. But like the earth turning in space, Christians are in shadow and light simultaneously, and we turn from one to the other over the years. We cannot afford the luxury of spiritual despair or spiritual rosiness. Hope and joy are not the same as optimism and happiness. Hope and joy have teeth. They both demand much from us. And it’s hard. It’s hard in a world that focusses so often on the negative and the tragic. It’s hard in bodies that evolved, quite rightly, to hoard for the lean times rather than embrace generosity. Generosity and openness and faith have risks.

But blessed are your eyes – our eyes – for they see, and your ears, for they hear. I know if you all take time to think about all of the ways God has blessed this place, and your life, and your heart, you will see, because you’re here. You could be doing anything else right now. You could be doing things that are, frankly, easier than this, or more fun than this. You could certainly be doing something that makes more sense in our world than this, this getting together and singing songs and talking about strange spiritual truths that are hard to translate across the gulf of time and eating a meal that is a memory of a meal but also a meal that transcends time and provides a window into eternity.

But God called you here, and God continues to call you. You who are here because your parents made you come, many years ago or today: that’s part of the call. You who are here because you’ve been coming all your life but on the hard days you’re not really sure why you still bother: that’s part of the call. You who are here for the first time and you’re still not entirely sure why you’re here today: that’s part of the call. You who come because you know that the Voice of Love which permeates all things has made itself at home in the still open space in your heart: that’s part of the call.

Bring back to mind that little child, booking it down the path throwing seeds to the wind, the chaos of seeds scattered hither and yon.

Resist the urge to tame this child, to make things tidy, to gather up the seeds that didn’t make it. Resist. Instead, water the ones that made it to the good soil. You will know them by their fruits: joy, peace, love, devotion, sacrifice. It may be that they will succumb to blight, or never grow. It may be that they will grow as tall as trees. And it may be that the ones which fell on the path become the ones that are poking little green fingers through the cracks in the stone some time later, doing their work unseen, creating a network that will burst right through. It may be that the ones which were swallowed by birds are then carried across vast distances to new places, and left in better soil. And it may be that the ones which grew up among thorns provide unseen nutrients for microorganisms which work silently in the dark earth and feed many other plants.

Allow yourself the freedom, the joy, the love, to become that child, and to scatter recklessly. We can sow and water and feed, but only God brings the sun.

Just sow, and care, and trust.

– Preached at St. Timothy’s Church, Burnaby