Sermon: Matthew 13

Note: For the same reason that I don't often critique other's sermons, I don't often post my own: I've noticed that among people who preach there's a heightened sense of "but that's wrong!" that often overrides the enjoyment of the message and with it comes the urge to offer those 'little tips' that stick like barbs in the skin. I'm not excluding myself from that, nor am I saying that I don't like or appreciate feedback. Feel free to comment, or post responses on your own blog.
But since my enjoyment of hearing, reading, and writing messages has actually decreased since beginning my seminary journey, I thought this one was worthy of a posting. It sings to me, and although I don't know exactly why, helped me find a little peace when I needed it most.
Good reading.

Grace, and peace to you from God our Father and our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ,

A few minutes ago, we sung “Thy Word is a Lamp Unto my Feet.” I like that song – it’s catchy, rememberable, and in my toolbox of importance it possesses the most important feature: it quotes scripture in a sound way.

But when we think about it, do we really treat God’s word as a “lamp unto our feet, and a light unto our path”?

A couple of weeks ago, I shared the story of a friend of mine from my undergraduate days who believed that the Bible – the book itself – would tell him what to do in any situation. Luckily, he revised that idea before he met a bad end.

In the gospel today, Jesus tells his disciples about the kind of people they need to be: but in a puzzling way. Speaking to a group of fishermen, he uses a lot of farming analogies. That would be like me using a lot of trucking analogies to make points in my sermons – it wouldn’t make sense to most people here.

So the disciples are confused. Frankly, I can’t blame them – Jesus has a tradition of not explaining things very well, and then turning around and accusing the disciples of having hard hearts. Why?

It has to do with who Jesus is, not what he says.

Remember the parable: A sower went out to sow. As he sowed, some of the seed fell on the path – hard, packed soil where the birds could come and peck it all away.

Other seed fell on rocky ground. Lord, I spent many an afternoon as a teen picking rocks from a field as penance for some small insurrection. Well, the seed that fell on the rocky ground couldn’t take a deep root, and in the full glare of the sun – in brightest, purest day – the seeds scorched, and died.

Some seeds fell on the thorns, and like all weeds, those seeds were soon choked out by the thorns. They couldn’t survive the competition for light and nutrients and withered.

But other seeds fell on the good soil – and glory be, how they grew! What a harvest is recorded here: thirty, sixty, even a hundredfold!

How can anyone with ears not listen? This is like the greatest get-rich-quick scheme ever! If someone offered you a 100% return on an investment, what would you think? What about 60%? What about 30%?

But then think about the means the sower is using. He’s broadcasting seeds, yes, but think about where he’s throwing them: on the path, on the thorny bits, and on the rocky stuff.

In the climate that Jesus lived in, those seeds were a precious commodity. Why, then, is Jesus telling a story about wasting resources in the hope – solely based on the hope – that some will fall on good soil and have a good return?

But then there’s Jesus’ own explanation: anyone who hears the word of the kingdom and doesn’t understand is like the seed being sown onto the path – it’s easily picked up, picked apart, and taken away.

The person who first hears the word with joy – think of those incredible mass conversions we hear about, and that we read about in the Acts of the Apostles – but doesn’t persevere in the faith is like the seeds sown on the rocky ground. If you will, there’s no stamina in the faith.

As for the seed sown on the thorns, Jesus tells us that this person hears the word, but that “the cares of the world and the lure of wealth” choke the word and it yields absolutely nothing.

Then Jesus closes his parable: the good soil – people who receive the word and live it, understand it – those are the people who yield exponentially greater than we ever thought possible.

What I love is that the parable ends here like it’s so obvious. But is it?

If this parable was so obvious, then why are we all here? Why are there poor in society – because surely to hear Jesus’ words as recorded by Matthew is to hear about taking care of the poorest in society.

If these words are so obvious, why are there a few thousand Protestant denominations alone? Not to mention some 50 variations of the Eastern Catholic Church – Armenian, Russian, Greek Orthodox, Greek Catholic, Coptic, Roman Catholic?

So where are these people of the ‘good soil’ in society? Jean Cauvin wrote that the ‘elect’ – the true Christians – were easily visible in society because God would bless them for their virtue. Martin Luther thought that the ‘true believers’ could be entirely anonymous, and he even entertained the idea that some of these people might never actually go to a church or do anything that outrightly resembled righteousness or piety.

Let’s look at some soil samples.

The path: didn’t we just sing ‘thy word is a lamp unto my feet and light unto my path?’ and pray that in Psalm 119? Paths are good. We like being on paths, because they’re safe, we know where they go and where they come from. We’re on a path right now – sitting here in church, bringing our hopes and dreams into the presence of our God to worship.

There are lots of people, though, to whom the path itself matters more than anything else. More than who falls by its wayside. More than actually enjoying the journey, or allowing chance seeds to bear fruit. So Jesus warns us that the path, though comforting and useful, can also harm us.

The rocky soil: is the uber-Christian, the renewed spirit who embraces the gospel and pronounces a changed life. But in the light – the bright glare of all things persecutorial: political correctness, rationality – the seed withers and dies.

And of course the thorns: Being brutally honest, I feel the thorns. Most of you here, and, I daresay, most Christians in North America are far more familiar with the thorny ground than the path, or the rocks.

Because the thorns are those things that prick our wants more than our needs – the want for a better financial future that leads us to not look too closely at investments or mutual funds that might be a little sketchy. The thorns are those things that destroy right Christian relationships and make the fruit of eternal life wither, and die. The only problem is, most people here in North America are far happier in the thorns than in what Jesus calls the ‘good soil’.

The good soil, of course, are those people who hear the word, never question it, memorize every line and verse of Scripture, quote it often. They do the things they are supposed to do and don’t do the things they aren’t. They’re the perfect people, who lead congregations, and to whom Christians the world over turn to when they have questions of faith.

Right?

Nope.

Because the simple matter is that all those examples Jesus use have one thing in common: they’re all good soil. And the seed lands in them equally.

The path? Good soil. Beaten down a bit, but even the hardest surfaces crumble when drenched in living water.

The rocks? Good soil. Shallow, but even among those rocks, those seeds will grow.

The thorns? Good soil. Painful, and difficult to till, granted. But still good soil.

All the soil is sown by the sower. All the ground is farmed by the farmer.

All the ground receives light, and the living water. Really, that’s all that’s required to grow.

What I find interesting is the endless march of moralistic lessons that I’ve read about this text. “Remove the rocks from your life,” they say, “and you can accept God into your heart and let him sow you with good soil.”

Funny thing, thinking that the seed can do anything about the ground it’s cast into. A little light is what they need.

“Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.” So what does that mean, then? When our way is poorly lit, and people are telling stories about being ‘good soil’ and always trusting the ‘word of the Lord?”

We trust the Word.

Picture this. Jerusalem. About 80 A.D.

It’s Sunday, and we’re at church. The building is full, cool against the heat of day. We smell the animals that are in the stable underneath us. Earthy smells. We feel the press of people, hear the noise of proclamation and prophesy.

In the front, sitting on a small stools, is a little, old man. He’s stooped from years of labour, weathered from years of exile. He’s deeply respected in the congregation, and it’s rumoured that he may even have met Jesus, once or twice.

But nobody today cares about that. They want to hear about the new firebrand preacher. Fellow named Saul, from Tarsus, who people say actually saw the risen Christ and was appointed by him to go to the nations.

Now Saul (or Paul, as he now wants to be called) is bringing a radical approach. In fact, he’s saying that Jesus fulfilled the Law – what we read out in church – and justified us with God. And he’s preaching everywhere, and writing letters, and telling everyone that Jesus paved the way to everlasting life. People are starting to collect them, to read them out in the same way the Torah is read in worship. These letters are rapidly becoming “the word of the Lord.”

But now it’s time for worship to begin, and the elders quiet the congregation. A hymn is sung, and the old man at the front sings along quietly. Other times, he sits and sways to the music, lost in his own world, or he talks under his breath.

As the service progresses, the Reader brings out the scrolls, and the congregation sings a Psalm – “thy word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path” – and the old man perks up as the passage is read.

Then some people speak in tongues, and others interpret, and two or three people tell of the dreams that they had. “The word of the Lord came to me,” they declare, in the best prophetic style, “and told me what to say.”

Now the old man is agitated, but the congregation largely ignores him. It’s time for the meal, and since the old man can barely handle a small piece of boiled fish, they leave him in the company of a young orphan, a gifted lad who can write and read, and of whom the old man seems particularly fond.

On this day, though, the old man tells the lad to take up a quill and a small piece of parchment. As the congregation dines mere feet away, the Apostle John, the one ‘whom Jesus loved,’ tells a different story.

'En avrch/| h=n o` lo,goj( kai. o` lo,goj h=n pro.j to.n qeo,n( kai. qeo.j h=n o` lo,gojÅ

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

Kai. o` lo,goj sa.rx evge,neto kai. evskh,nwsen evn h`mi/n.

And the Word became flesh, and dwelt among us.

­­­­­­­­­­­­

Thy Word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.

Christ alone is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.

This is the miracle of the parable of the soils – that the seeds of faith, planted by the Holy Spirit in all people, can come to fruition through the grace of Jesus Christ.

Jesus wasn’t directing people to obey what he was saying. He was again directing their attention to the fact that the word, spoken so forcefully through prophets before, was now in fact standing right before them. That is the key to understanding; what makes hearts ‘good soil.’

Not that they follow a legalistic formula and fulfill certain requirements.

But that abundant life is to be found through him.

For the Word of God became flesh and dwells among us.

Blessed be the name of the Lord. Amen.