Of Shepherds and Nervous Parents

aka The Shepherd Had S#!t on His Hands

Luke 2:1-20

Christmas Eve Year B

First Presbyterian Church Clarksville

Candlelight Service of Word and Sacrament

December 24, 2014

5:30 pm

The Reverend Dr. Robert Wm Lowry

            When you close your eyes and really concentrate, what do you see when you hear the story of the nativity of Christ?  What are the pictures that go with the words in your mind’s eye?

            Perhaps you see visions of the works of the great Renaissance masters with angels, shepherds and the holy family painted with elegant and graceful strokes of the brush.

            Perhaps you see the carved wood nativity that comes out each year to help decorate your home for the holiday; each piece wrapped in paper until the time for it to make its appearance in that special place of honor.

            Perhaps you see church Christmas pageants with angels fidgeting in their homemade gossamer wings, shepherds trying to walk without tripping over the hem of the bathrobe passing as a shepherd’s cloak, and everyone praying that the new born playing Jesus doesn’t get hungry and start to scream in the middle of the show.

            Whatever your picture of the nativity, whatever images come to mind, my guess is that yours is a lot like mine; it is pretty sterile- pretty tame.

            In truth, that starry-starry night so long ago was anything but sterile or tame in that stable in Bethlehem.

            That place was uncomfortable.

            It was inhospitable;

            it was dirty;

            it was smelly;

            it was pretty much the worst possible moment in the worst possible place for the events of that night to unfold.

            There were no elegant strokes of the painter’s brush or cute stumbling cherub faced children to take away the reality of that place that night when a young woman and her fiancé became parents for the very first time.

            When my niece was born, my sister and her husband were that perfect combination of terrified and elated.  Like all first-time parents, they were terrified that there was this little helpless person who was theirs to care for and they had no idea what they were doing.  They, like all other parents, had moments when they became the stuff of hospital legend, panicking at the first sneeze and becoming almost unraveled at the first need of a clean up on aisle 4!

            And, like most parents, they were happy to let the family hold that precious little girl as long as they held her with freshly washed hands.  We used to kid my sister that at first washed hands were not sufficient, she wanted us to have the full Karen Silkwood treatment and be decontaminated from head to toe!  It didn’t take long though until soap and water or a healthy dose of hand sanitizer was enough to earn a little baby time. 

            Mary and Joseph were those first time parents.  Whatever kind of heavenly insight the heavenly host gave to them, there is absolutely no evidence that how to put on a diaper or what to do about that first bout of the sniffles was part of the divine instruction manual.  On some level, Mary and Joseph were like all other new first time parents; they were making it up as they went panicking about the little things, worrying over the mundane, and wrapped up in the anxiety of being responsible for this tiny human.  Of course in their case, that tiny human was also God so my guess is that their anxiety was increased by a factor!

            Like so many maternity waiting rooms today, there were surely some hangers on at the stable that day waiting for Joseph to run out and shout “it’s a boy!” Waiting for a glimpse of the baby in the manger.

            The scriptures are silent on the question, but I bet there were at least a few family or friends who made it in time. 

            One group we know for sure that made it were those shepherds of song and lore.  The ones who were keeping their flock by night and who, at the angel’s invitation, went to Bethlehem to see.

            Despite how they appear in the cute and funny church Christmas pageants on Youtube, the shepherds who showed up that night probably matched their surroundings pretty well.  They were dirty, smelly, pretty much the worst possible candidates to be getting close to a newborn baby.

            At some point, after the baby was wrapped in swaddling cloth, after mother and father began to settle into their new reality, after the chaos of birth gave way to the miracle of new life, the inevitable almost certainly happened.  One of the shepherds asked Mary, “may I hold him?”

            I can only imagine Mary’s face when the dirty shepherd- the one who slept on the ground with the sheep- reached out his arms to hold the newborn baby.   This unwashed, unclean, unsanitary shepherd wanted to hold the Son of God in his unwashed, unclean, unsanitary arms? 

            Nothing in the story itself tells us if this really happened or, if it did, what Mary would have done.  This is one of those places where we read a very human moment between the lines of a holy story.

            My guess is that in the end, Mary did let the shepherd hold the baby.  Dirty as he was, because lets face it there was no soapy water much less any hand sanitizer sitting around, that shepherd got his turn to hold the newborn baby; the newborn king; the newborn prince of peace.  He got his turn because, with this baby, everyone gets a turn. 

            Everyone gets a turn to hold this baby because this baby was born for everyone; for all of us.  This baby was born not only for the cute second grade shepherd walking down the aisle of the church tripping over dad’s bathrobe, but for the unwashed, unclean, unsanitary shepherd straight in from the fields.

            If we really want to follow the advice of the bloviating pundits who fight the phony war on Christmas year after year, let’s really put the Christ back in Christmas and think about what the world would be like if we treated Jesus the way Mary and Joseph did; not as a weapon to be used against the people we don’t like or approve of or care for but as the one who came for us all; the one entrusted to us so that we might share him with the world; the one we all get to hold.

            What, I wonder, would the world look like if we really lived like each and every person we meet deserves the dignity and respect of one who holds the prince of peace in their arms?  What if we lived like we really believed that Jesus came, not for merely the popular, powerful, or even the well-washed, but for all?  What if we lived knowing that each and every pair of hands that reaches out to hold the infant in the manger are hands deserving of that dignity?

            What would it be like to live in a world where…

            Rich hands and poor hands;           

Powerful hands and powerless hands;

            Republican hands and democrat hands;

            Protestant hands and Catholic hands;

            Gay hands and straight hands;

            Joyful hands and sorrowful hands;

            Documented hands and undocumented hands;

            Clean hands and unclean hands all…ALL…get to hold the baby?!

            What kind of world would we create if each and every hand that reached out in wonder, love, hope, or awe got to hold the baby- got to hold the child of God- just for a moment?

            When the angel came to Mary to tell her what was to come to pass, one thing was abundantly clear; her child would not be hers alone.  Mary bore God into the world and God in the world cannot and should not be contained in any one life.  God in the world is God with US- all of US- saint and sinner alike, God came into the world to be known and to know and when we hold the prince of peace in our arms we cradle hope and we know grace.

            This holy night, friends, my we reach out our hands and hold the baby.  May we stand shoulder to shoulder with the holy family and the filthy shepherds and every one of God’s children who reach out to hold the child.  And may we find, in this night and the miracle it ushers in with the dawn of Christ, the courage to see the world like a scared young mother; as a world worthy of sharing the Son of God.

            Thanks be to God that hands even as dirty as ours may hold the baby and know the closeness of God.

            Amen.

Of Butterflies, Eyeglasses, and the Kingdom of God

Matthew 14:13-21

Ordinary 18A

August 3, 2014

First Presbyterian Church, Clarksville

and

Harmony Presbyterian Church

The Rev. Dr. Robert Wm Lowry

            A few years ago, I was up in the mountains in North Carolina camping with some friends.  After setting up camp, we walked to a little field nearby where there is an incredible view to the west into Tennessee.  There are few things in this world as beautiful as the sun setting over the Tennessee River Valley in the summer time. 

            This particular night creation did not disappoint.  I would tell you how many different shades of orange and red that sunset produced, but I am not sure I can count that high.  It was magnificent; something out of a National Geographic photo contest.

            Unbeknownst to me, while I was standing there watching the horizon, a butterfly landed on my eyeglasses; right on the corner of the frame.  A friend who was with me managed to take a picture of it before I disturbed it and it flew away.  In the moment, I didn’t notice my little visitor or the photo being taken either.

            A few weeks later he emailed me the picture; my ear, my eyeglasses, a tiny butterfly, and framing the whole thing, that perfect orange sky.  

            The story we have from Matthew’s gospel is like that perfect sunset.  Jesus, in an act of abundant and unending generosity, miraculously feeds and sates the appetites of a crowd of thousands using just a handful of bread and fish. 

            Just think about the magnitude of that miracle.

            The degree of Jesus’ generosity is on the magnitude of the degree of beauty in a perfect sunset.  It is almost beyond imagination and is entirely beyond sufficient explanation.

            In truth, there is not much new to say about this miracle of abundance.  It stands very well on its own two feet and needs no embellishment from yours truly.

            So rather than talk about the perfect beautiful sunset that this miracle is, let’s spend a few minutes exploring a couple of theological butterflies that alight on us while we are here.  They are subtle and in the face of the splendor of the miracle they are easily left unnoticed.  But even they have insight to offer into this story of the kingdom of God.  And after all, what is a miracle but a peek at the kingdom; a glimpse of the possibilities in store in the kingdom of God.

            To get a sense of what else is happening in this familiar miracle tale, we need to take a step back and see the bigger picture. 

            Our reading today began with the words, “when Jesus heard about John.” 

            This miracle story and the celebration that comes from Jesus’ show of generosity and abundance comes on the heels of a personal tragedy for him.  What Jesus has just heard about John is that Herod, manipulated by Herodias unable to refuse Salome, has had John the Baptist beheaded in prison and his head brought to Salome on a platter. 

            That is what Jesus has just heard about John. 

            Elizabeth’s miracle child, his cousin, the harbinger who proclaimed his coming, the man who baptized him in the River Jordan, has just been murdered and his head presented like a party favor to the spoiled step-daughter of the Roman governor. 

            Jesus hears the news and, Matthew tells us, “he withdrew in a boat to a deserted place.”

            Understandably, Jesus wants some time alone.  He leaves the ever present crowds and even the disciples in order to have some time by himself in this “deserted place.”

            His opportunity for mourning does not last long and his chance for quiet never has a chance to start.  The crowds, learning that he has left by boat, start out by foot from the cities. 

            The scripture is not specific about it but they must have been really hoofing it because two verses later Jesus arrives at the deserted place and finds there a teeming throng of people; the very people from whom he just excused himself for a little time of private mourning after learning about the murder of his friend have run to meet him!

            And when Jesus is rowing his boat and digesting this tragic news; when sees the crowd and discovers his deserted place is no longer deserted…

            …the first butterfly alights on our story.

            When we read this text, we often jump right to the miracle of the feeding, but the first miracle really happens right here. 

            Jesus sees the crowd, has compassion for them, and heals those among them who are sick.

            Before the first hunger pang is felt in this story, we get a glimpse of a miracle:

            He…does…not…row…away.

            Seeing the people he did not want to see, being surrounded by a crowd when all he wanted was to be alone, his deserted spot all of a sudden a muddy pit teeming with needy people, Jesus does not row away.

            In addition to being glimpses into the kingdom of God, miracles are also glimpses into the character of God and in this moment we get a beautiful and vivid reminder that ours is a God who does not row away.

            I missed that little theological butterfly the first few thousand times I read this story.

            Like so many of us, I get so caught up on the promise that God will provide, I missed the whole part of the story that reminds us that first, God will show up!

            Ted Wardlaw, before he became president of Austin Seminary, was pastor of Central Presbyterian Church in downtown Atlanta. 

            A friend who is a member of the church told me a story about Ted’s last Sunday.

            It seems that the church pulled out all the stops to bid farewell to their friend and pastor.  The pews were filled, the folding chairs got more than their usual Easter morning workout, the choir was in full form, and the children’s choir sang a special song during worship.

            Now Central is a big vibrant church so the children’s choir is pretty big.  In order to corral all the kids after their song was over, they had been given instructions to stay put until a parent came down to get them and lead them to children’s church. 

            One by one the parents came and the children scurried off until just one little girl was left.  It was obvious that she had listened to the instructions because she stood there waiting for her parent to come and take her to children’s church.

            And she waited.

            And the church waited.

            And waited some more.

            Unbeknownst to her, her father was in the very back of the sanctuary behind folding chairs and the standing room crowd and it was taking him a little while to get to the chancel.  Finally, her lip quivering a in a pre-cry panic, she saw him, threw open her arms and declared, “I knew you’d come!  I just knew you’d come!”

            Ted is one of the best preachers I have ever heard, but I am betting that more than one person would tell you he preached the second best sermon that Sunday.

            “I knew you’d come!  I just knew you’d come!”

            Something like that must have been going through the minds of the sick people in the crowd on whom Jesus had compassion and healed.  

            Before the bread, before the fish, before the miracle of the abundant feast they knew the miracle of the God who does not row away; the God who shows up.

            We could really stop right there.

            A big beautiful mountaintop sunset of a miracle in the feeding of the 5000 and an alighting butterfly of a miracle that makes the whole thing all the more amazing.

            Good stuff.

            But not all of it.

            Yes God shows up and yes, in showing up, God is compassionate and giving in abundance…

            …and…

            God does all of that in this world. 

            In a world where Jesus’ own cousin is beheaded in prison and his head served like a gag gift at a party, God does this kind of work.

            Just think about that for a minute.   

            This world of sinfulness and brokenness is the canvas on which God chooses to paint with grace and compassion.

            This may be where my butterfly metaphor falls apart because far from landing unnoticed, that should hit us all like a ton of bricks!

              In a world so broken, so sinful, so beyond contempt that a person is made to endure indignity even beyond death the way John did; into that world, God shows up, offers compassion, and gives with miraculous abundance. 

            There are echoes in this familiar miracle story of those often comforting and occasionally disquieting words of Paul to the Christians at Rome,

“for I am convinced that neither death nor life nor angels nor rulers nor things present nor things to come nor height nor depth nor any other thing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

            In addition to a God who shows up and does not row away from us, ours is a God whose compassion and grace are so relentless not even the deepest and most persistent brokenness and sin can keep God away. 

            The God of compassion who always shows up, shows up here- in this world- this messy broken world.

            So what do we do with all of this?  Having peeled back the familiar to seek out a little more of this story what is it we are called to do?

            In the face of a world where children are detained like criminals at our border; where bombs are lobbed back and forth across the increasingly scorched landscape of the Holy Land; where partisanship has replaced humanity as the guiding governing principle of our day; where greed is considered good and charity weakness; in the face of that world we are called to remember that ours is a God of hope and comfort; a savior of grace and compassion. 

            In the face of this world and in the wake of this miracle story we are called to be the body of Christ in the world; the hands and heart of the one who never rows away; who never tires of compassion; who relentlessly declares the promise of God’s tomorrow in the midst of the brokenness of the world’s today. 

            And perhaps the miracle of all miracles in this familiar tale is that when all is said and done; when we reach the end of the scene and every heart is stilled and every mouth is fed, there is plenty left over.  Twelve baskets full in fact.  And that, if my math is correct, is in fact more than the five loaves and two fish they started with. 

            So it is with the love of God and the grace of Christ we are called to share. 

            When all is said and done, there is plenty more where that came from and more than enough to go around.

            In the name of the God who never leaves.  Amen.

Unexpected Faces

Luke 10:25-37

July 27, 2014

Harmony Presbyterian Church

Dr. Robert Wm Lowry

This sermon was begun as an exercise in a seminar at the Engle Institute of Preaching.  I own a debt of thanks to the other participants for their insights and feedback. 

Jesus has a way with stories. It is like he reaches into a box of Legos and manages to build the Taj Mahal with whatever he finds there.  He takes our expectations and turns them upside down.  People do unexpected things, stories have unexpected endings, and what we think at the start is the moral of the story rarely is.

The story we have this morning is no different.  And like others of Jesus’ parables there are a lot of doors we can use to get inside.  One of those doors, the one I want to invite you into this morning, is right in the middle of the Samaritan’s face.  He is our way in this morning.

It is the Samaritan’s face that gives us a glimpse of what God is doing here.  That probably seems odd since it is the Samaritan’s acts we most often focus on. After all this is the parable of the Good Samaritan not the parable of the Samaritan’s face!  But bear with me.

So, there he is lying in a ditch beside the road.  Beaten and now penniless, this unnamed traveler has lost everything. After hearing footsteps come and footsteps go, someone finally stops to help!  He must have been incredibly relieved when he finally heard the sandals of one passerby start coming closer rather than just keeping on keeping on down the road. 

Help was at hand.

So he opens his eyes and what does he see?

A Samaritan.

A Samaritan!

It must have been disorienting because Samaritans don’t stop!  Samaritans don’t help!  Samaritans just don’t care!  Right?

Still, the face he sees, the face carried by the feet that did not walk on by, is the face of a Samaritan. 

Needless to say it was an unexpected face to see in that moment.

When it comes down to it, we all have Samaritans. People who have given us every reason to believe that they would keep on walking down the road. People who have given us absolutely no reason to expect anything but the worst from them.

Samaritans come in all shapes and sizes in our lives;

The guy who is fine with you making 70 cents on the dollar.

The person who crosses the street when they see you coming.

The person who would sooner tear you down than build you up.

We all know some Samaritans.

Can you picture yours?  Can you see the face of that person; the one you know will just pass you by?

Let’s go back to thar road for a minute.

Close your eyes and go back with me to that ditch. 

The robbers are gone and they have taken everything; your wallet, your dignity, your feeling of safety.

Lying there in the ditch naked you try to move your legs but they are just too sore.

You try to lift an arm, but the pain from the fists and the kicks keeps you down.

The pain in your ribs makes it hard to breathe and the pain in your head is building by the second.

Footsteps get closer and then drift away as passerby after passerby leaves you there.

Until finally, a pair of feet come closer and closer still.

A hand on your shoulder- a comforting word- your heart stops beating so fast because finally a friend is there to help or at least a friendly traveler.

You breathe a bit easier, you begin to calm down, and slowly you open your eyes to see the face of your savior…

…a Samaritan.

The face looking back at you is the face of your Samaritan who takes you in their arms, carries you to safety, tends to your wounds, ensures your well-being and defies every expectation you ever had.

Kind of like God does.

God works through unexpected faces in unexpected places.

That is one of the miracles and mysteries of the faith that keep it interesting!

It happens throughout the story of God’s work in the world; God using unexpected people to do God’s work and tell God’s story.

Joseph, despised by his brothers, tossed down a well, taken as a prisoner, and left for nothing eventually becomes the second in command and rescues his family from their suffering.  Joseph’s is the unexpected face of a hero.

Or what about Deborah?  In ancient Israelite history women rarely have names let alone good stories, but Deborah was a general.  And not just any general, but a general who manages to lead her people to victory when no one else could do it.  Deborah’s is the unexpected face of a leader.

Then there is Mary.  Young, just married, inexperienced in the ways of the world and wanting nothing but to set up housekeeping with her fiancé Joseph.  But an angel appears and tells Mary that she is carrying a child.  And not just any child, but God born into the world.  Mary’s is the unexpected face of the mother of God.

And there is the Samaritan.  The sole passerby who actually stops and tends to the wounded man.  He stopped when Samaritans don’t stop.  He helped whom Samaritans don’t help.  His was the unexpected face of a neighbor that day.

That is just how God works.  In unexpected places and unexpected faces. 

Sometimes those unexpected faces are worn by the Samaritans in our lives; those people whom we have given no reason to expect any better from us.  Sometimes God uses Samaritans to reach out and show us what it means to be a good neighbor.

We all have those Samaritans, don’t we?  We all have a face we least expect to see in our moment of need.

And if we are honest with ourselves; if we are really honest with ourselves and with God, I think we have to admit that along with the Samaritans we have in our lives, we are ourselves, sometimes, the Samaritans in other people’s lives.

Can you see that person?  The one you just can’t quite connect with?  Can you see that person?  That person whom you have disappointed or failed to quite see as your neighbor?  Can you see the face of the person who, looking up from a ditch after a robbery, would be at least a little surprised to see you lending a helping hand?

Let’s go back to the road that day; that dusty, lonely road.

Like so many in the ancient near east, this road feels like the hottest one you have ever walked. 

With every mile the air is drier, the dust is thicker, the journey seems longer than you expected.

The load you are carrying seemed light in the early predawn when you left home.  This wouldn’t be too bad a trip.

Of course that was before the noon day sun came up and started to bake the earth like your mother’s bread. 

As you trudge on, the load that seemed so light in the early morning has gained some heft with the noonday sun.

There is nothing in the world you want more than to stop and get a drink of water.  Or wine.  Or whatever will get your tongue from sticking to the roof of your dry dusty mouth.

This walk cannot end soon enough. 

Eventually you see a familiar landmark.  You’ve walked the road enough times to know that it is not too much further along the way.  Light at the end of the tunnel.

Then you hear it.  The faint groaning of…something.

A wounded animal you guess.  You feel sorry for the farmer whose livestock is injured but you have places to be.

As you get closer the groaning gets more familiar.  It isn’t a sheep or a goat.  It’s a man. 

You glance over at the side of the road and sure as the sun is in the sky, a man lies beaten in the ditch.

Now, this is really not your concern.  It is not your problem.  You are not the county ambulance service but something compels you to walk over and check on him. You are compelled by compassion the parable says.

You walk over and give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, tell him that he will be alright and begin to lift him off the ground. 

Just then his eyes open and he sees your face; a look of surprise in his eyes.

But…you’re a Samaritan.

Who’s Samaritan are you?  Who is it looking up at you from that ditch?  In whose life might God use YOU to be an unexpected face?

Sometimes part of being surprised by God’s use of unexpected faces in unexpected places is letting one of those faces be our own. 

Sometimes we are the man in the ditch and sometimes we are the Samaritan.

In all times, it is the God of love and grace and hope and friendship and promise who is working on and through us.

So be ready for the unexpected when God works in your life.

And be ready to be the unexpected when God calls you to work in the life of another.

Amen.

Something Worth Sharing

Something Worth Sharing    

Matthew 13:1-9, 15-23

5th Sunday after Pentecost Year A

July 13, 2014

First Presbyterian Church, Clarksville

and

Harmony Presbyterian Church

Dr. Robert Wm Lowry

            There are two common mistakes speakers at youth ministry events generally make.

            First, middle aged pastors who were never cool in high school cannot, under any circumstances or in any remotely reasonable way, act cool in adulthood.  There is not much in this life as sad as a staggeringly uncool preacher trying to pull off hipster glasses and pop music lyrics in an effort to connect with youth.

            Second, they fall into the trap of thinking that the only way to get through to a teenager is through the door marked “fear.”  This is the school of thought that says you had better scare them straight while they are still in the church or lose them forever.

            The speaker at the Jr. High youth event when I was in the 7^th grade managed to hit those and every other possible pot hole on the road.

            The theme of the weekend was the parable we heard this morning;  the parable of the sower from Matthew 13.

            After impressing us with his grasp of Michael Jackson and Men at Work lyrics which had nothing at all to do with the point he was trying to make, he began the stern warnings against drifting away from the life of the Christian faith. 

            For the most part his talk walked a pretty familiar interpretive path through this text.  The sower, God in the person of Jesus Christ, graciously spreads seed on the ground in the hopes that something will grow.  The seed, of course, is the word of God revealed, and the soil, our lives.  Some seed falls in good places other seed falls on less hospitable ground; the good soil representing faithfulness and rest of the soil varying degrees sinfulness.

After painting the ominous picture of what would happen to us if we failed to live up to our spiritual potential- bad grades, bad lives, bad futures, bad luck, even bad skin (I actually think he even blamed acne on sin!)-  he asked us the question he obviously hoped would spark in us a lifetime of faith in God or at least scare us away from lives of sin:

            What kind of soil are YOU?

            Now it is important to say here that I was a child of Second Presbyterian Church and the pastor there over most of my lifetime was J. Allen Smith.  Allen was known to be many things, fire and brimstone throwing was not one of them.  Allen was a great gentle preacher who managed week after week to take the words of scripture and paint a vivid picture with God’s word.  So when the keynote speaker up on the stage asked us “what kind of soil we were” in the most menacing tone he could manage, it was unusual and it did scare me a little. 

            What kind of soil are you?

            Well, I certainly didn’t want to be the soil on the path.  After generations of feet stomp along, that soil is compacted and as hard as concrete.  Jesus tells us in the parable that the seed that falls there is eaten up by the birds.  

            Didn’t want to be the rocky ground either.  Better than the bare road, but still shallow and rootless.  The seed that falls there fares better than the seed on the road, but it still burns up in the sun as soon as it sprouts.

            Not much more luck with the thorny plants.  The soil there is better and the seeds the sower throws are able to find some purchase, but so are the weeds and the thorny plants.  I guess that is the ancient near eastern version of kudzu growing up trees and over fields.  If you have ever tried to fight back that unholy weed, you know that the seeds cast on that soil don’t have a chance.

            When faced with the choice, there is really only one soil you would want to be in this story- the good soil.  That is the soil that managed to produce 30, 60, even 100 to 1 yield on the crops.  It bore fruit and then some.  That is good, rich, delta soil. 

            That is the soil I want to be.  I want to be the good soil- the soil that bears fruit and makes the story work.

            What kind of soil are you?

            Hopefully I am the good soil.

            I am pretty sure that is the answer the speaker at that youth retreat wanted to hear.

            It is the answer that this parable seems to point us toward giving.

            It is the answer that we long to give.

            And it is a good answer.

            Except for one thing.

            It misses the point of the parable.

            For whatever reason, this parable, which for centuries has been called the parable of the sower, has for centuries been interpreted as a parable about the soil.

            So we ask, what kind of soil are you?

            We worry that though we want to be the fertile soil we will be found wanting and trodden and packed down too hard like the soil of the path.

            We worry about being the right kind of soil, but the parable is not about the soil.

            It is a parable about the sower.

            And this is where our shared interpretive task gets tricky. 

            Making this parable about the soil is uncomfortable, after all we all have those days when our hearts are as hardened as the dirt of a well walked road, but in the end the soil is something that we can at least control.  Whether it means tilling up the hardened earth or throwing away the rocks that litter the ground or pulling the weeds that choke the fruits of the spirit seeking to grow in our hearts, we have some control over the state of the soil when the soil is our own hearts and spirits. 

            If this was the parable about the state of the soil in our hearts, it would be an easy parable.

            Then if it was an EASY parable, it would not be a parable of Jesus. 

            Jesus always has something extra for us; and added layer of complexity, an unexpected lesson, a spiritual word lurking, not in secret, but in plain sight among the parabolic images.

            Yes, the state of the soil in our souls is part of this parable, however what makes it a parable of Jesus worth the retelling is not the admonition to get your soil right nor is it the allegory of the seed as the word of God.  It is instead the word it has to speak about the sower. 

            This is the parable of the sower.

            It is a parable about God.

We may ask, what kind of soil are you, but the parable answers with a question if it's own…

What kind of sower is this?

It is a parable about God; a parable about the sower. 

            As I was working on this sermon, I stumbled upon a passage in Karl Barth’s Church Dogmatics that has been turning over in my head all week.  As a matter of fact, I was still mulling it last night around 11.

            Barth wrote about this parable from Matthew;

“For this Sower there are not four different fields in which to sow but only one...To the one field traversed by the Sower belong alike the path, the stony ground, the thorny ground, and the good ground. [Men] constitute a homogeneous community in relation to the Word of the kingdom addressed to them.”

While so many of us try to take this parable and navigate the twin rocky shoals of judgment and moral categorization, Barth points us back to the underlying reality that the sower is far less concerned with what kind of soil is under foot than that the seed- the word- falls on it all.

I wish that speaker so long ago had read this passage from Barth before he got up there on stage in front of that room full of impressionable middle schoolers.  Had he, he might have avoided the interpretive cul-de-sac that comes when we make the parable of the sower the parable of the soil.

If the soil is the point, we are left with two less than helpful choices in understanding the sower.  Either the sower is careless- constantly wasting precious seed on unfertile and useless ground- or the sower simply doesn’t care- and the seed, the word of God, can be wasted as long as some of it gets in the right places the rest can go ahead and be eaten, burned up in the sun or tangled in the thorns.

So is it the parable of the careless sower or the parable of the parable of the sower who just doesn’t care?

Neither, Barth reminds us.

This is the story of a sower who, owning the whole field, traverses it end to end and refuses to give up on one square inch. 

He traverses it all because he realizes that each of us wanders from beaten path to fertile soil.  God knows that none of us is ever always good fertile soil- we are all sinners and fall short of the glory of God, Paul reminds us.  The sower who shares the seed, the savior who shares the word, knows that the soil that is one day hardened by the stomping feet of experience or pocked by stones that prevent them taking root, may yet one day be rich and fertile and support new growth so the sower continues to plant it.

This is a parable about the relentless, hopeful, generous sower; the sower who deems each and every square inch of ground worthy of planting.

And that is where we find the good news in this story. 

Not in the adolescent scare tactic to be good soil or else, but in the truth that whether our hearts are as hard as a well-travelled road or as fertile and rich as good delta soil, God continues day after day and year after year to plant seeds of the spirit in us in the eternal knowledge that in God’s good time our soil- our souls- will be ready for that word to grow.

I suppose we could still ask the question, what kind of soil are you?  As long as we remember that this parable gives us only one answer:

We are God’s soil- the medium in which the word of God grows in this world. 

            And God is our sower- always and in every way planting seeds of the spirit in our hearts and lives- never deterred by one unsuccessful harvest, God comes back time and time again, sharing the seeds of the spirit, until each and every heart produces a harvest of 30, 60, even 100 to 1.

            And that, my friends, is good news!

            And in a world with plenty of beaten paths, rocky ground, and thorny fields, it is good news worth sharing.

            Sola deo Gloria!  To God alone be the glory! Amen