“RECKLESS FARMER, FICKLE SOIL”

Rev. Jeff Lehn | January 01, 2012 | Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

First a word of explanation. I’ve decided to veer from the Lectionary this morning because New Year’s Day falling on a Sunday presents a good opportunity for us to tackle this incisive parable from Matthew 13. It’s one of those head-scratcher parables, one of those helps-you-take-stock-of-your-faith-in-the-new-year type of parables. Listen for God’s Word to us today.

1 That day Jesus went out of the house and sat down beside the lake. 2 Such large crowds gathered around him that he climbed into a boat and sat down. The whole crowd was standing on the shore. 3 He said many things to them in parables: “A farmer went out to scatter seed. 4 As he was scattering seed, some fell on the path, and birds came and ate it. 5 Other seed fell on rocky ground where the soil was shallow. They sprouted immediately because the soil wasn’t deep. 6 But when the sun came up, it scorched the plants, and they dried up because they had no roots. 7 Other seed fell among thorny plants. The thorny plants grew and choked them. 8 Other seed fell on good soil and bore fruit, in one case a yield of one hundred to one, in another case a yield of sixty to one, and in another case a yield of thirty to one. 9 Everyone who has ears should pay attention.”
The first part of our reading is a public lecture. As we skip down a few verses, we have the privilege of eavesdropping on Jesus’ private teaching to his disciples where he explains the meaning of the parable.

18 “Consider then the parable of the farmer. 19 Whenever people hear the word about the kingdom and don’t understand it, the evil one comes and carries off what was planted in their hearts. This is the seed that was sown on the path. 20 As for the seed that was spread on rocky ground, this refers to people who hear the word and immediately receive it joyfully. 21 Because they have no roots, they last for only a little while. When they experience distress or abuse because of the word, they immediately fall away. 22 As for the seed that was spread among thorny plants, this refers to those who hear the word, but the worries of this life and the false appeal of wealth choke the word, and it bears no fruit. 23 As for what was planted on good soil, this refers to those who hear and understand, and bear fruit and produce—in one case a yield of one hundred to one, in another case a yield of sixty to one, and in another case a yield of thirty to one.”

Prayer: Holy and loving God, comfort and challenge us this morning as we explore your Word to us. In this new year, change and save us again and again, so that we and those we meet may experience your joy and peace. And now may the words of my mouth and meditations of all of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our Rock and our Redeemer. Amen.

I am not and never have been a farmer. Raised in cities and suburbs my entire life, I’ve seldom dug my hands into the soil of the earth, other than a few failed forays into growing tomatoes in my teenage years. But my great-grandfather, Abe Zimmerman, was a farmer, and a pretty good one at that. For five generations, his Swiss family grew potatoes—usually russetts and reds—along with wheat and soybeans once in a while. My Dad tells great stories of he and his brothers helping Grandpa with the harvest in the fall—washing, sorting and bagging literally truckloads of potatoes. Sadly, I never had a chance to set foot on the 80-acre farm. All that remains of it now is the lonely farmhouse, surrounded by a housing development in what would become the booming Minneapolis suburb of Coon Rapids.

I say all this because there are probably few pastors out there who are less capable than me of mining the riches of a parable all about farming. But thankfully Jesus keeps the agricultural details to a minimum, so even neophytes like me can stumble through. Jesus, who is knee-deep in the agrarian economy of first-century Palestine, speaks in accessible language that would be excellent sense to his largely peasant audience, for whom producing food from the land was a daily reality. It would be like speaking to our youth through the medium of Google and Facebook, or like speaking to our older adults with reference to the Korean War or “I Love Lucy.”

Jesus tells the parable to a huge crowd of thousands of people. He is sitting in an ordinary boat, perhaps a hundred feet offshore, creating a natural amphitheater so that the entire crowd can hear him. He has just skedaddled out of a nearby village where he managed to both upset the Pharisees and offend his own family. Now safely nestled by some unnamed lake in the Galilean wilderness, his followers are hungry for some substantive teaching. They are wondering why some have received his ministry with joy and why others have rejected it with judgment.

Remember parables were stories or allegories based on everyday life that taught a truth or truths about the kingdom of God. Think the “Parable of the Prodigal Son” or the “Parable of the Good Samaritan.” Jesus, a master teacher, used them all the time. The parable we just read from Matthew chapter 13 is most aptly titled, “The Parable of the Farmer.”

The narrative is uncomplicated: There is a farmer who goes out to scatter seed. But this farmer seems, upon closer examination, to be quite reckless and careless. Without regard for the quality of the soil, the farmer tosses seed everywhere with abandon. Some seed, Jesus says, falls along the path, soil that has been invaded by gravel or asphalt or overuse. Before the farmer knows it, hungry birds swoop down and snatch up the seed. Other seed, Jesus says, falls on rocky soil, soil that is shallow and impotent. Immediately the seeds sprout up and there is growth! But when the sun comes out, the weak sprouts wither and die. They have no roots. Still other seed, Jesus says, falls on soil with thorns all around. Just as the seeds are sprouting, the thorns attack and choke them. Yet other seed, Jesus says, falls on good soil, rich and soft and composted soil, the kind of soil every farmer dreams of having. This soil produces much, yields of thirty-to-one, sixty-to-one and a hundred-to-one, impressive hauls by any benchmark. At last, Jesus tells the sprawling crowd, everyone who hears this parable should pay attention.

Skipping down a few verses in the Gospel of Matthew, we then hear the private interpretation of this parable of the farmer, for the ears of Jesus’ disciples only. They want to know what in the world Jesus meant.

Jesus reveals that the parable of the farmer is about the different ways people respond to his message about the kingdom of God. Different people stand for the different kinds of soil. The first type of person is like the path where the seed was scatterered: they are the ones who hear the message of Jesus but don’t understand it. Soon enough, the word is snatched away from them by the evil one. The second type of person is like the rocky soil where the seed was spread: they are the ones who hear the message of Jesus and immediately receive it with joy. But, without the benefit of roots, they last for only a little while. The third type of person is like the thorny soil where seed was scattered: they are the ones who hear the message of Jesus but get distracted by the thorns of worry or wealth or self-promotion. Just as they are beginning to grow, these thorns attack and strangle them to death. And finally the fourth, fifth and sixth type of person are like the good soil where the seed was spread: they are the ones who hear the message of Jesus and truly understand it, really catch its significance in their bones, whose roots go down deep and who produce much fruit, thirtyfold, sixtyfold or hundredfold.

With good reason, this parable is often preached by driving home a central question: Which kind of soil are you? Are you the rocky soil? The thorny soil? Or the good soil, where God’s word dwells and grows?

If I were preaching that sermon today, on this first day of 2012, how would you answer the question? Which kind of soil are you?

Frankly, as much as I appreciate the value of such a sermon, I believe it’s too simplistic, too orderly and too clear-cut. Which kind of soil am I? More like, which kind of soil am I not? And what about the fact that different aspects of my life are different types of soil at the same time?

I see a slightly different word in this text for us this morning. Both a more challenging and a more comforting word. Both a harder and an easier word.

Here’s the word I see for us today: Our tendency is to compartmentalize our faith. We see ourselves as children of God, as followers of Jesus, when we come to worship on Sunday morning, when we serve on a committee or sing in the choir, when we serve a meal at the Rescue Mission, when we pray for our Deacon friend, or when we attend Sunday School. That’s what we think about when we wonder if we’re a faithful follower of Jesus, when we wonder which kind of soil we are. But this tendency, of which I am often guilty, is misguided.

God doesn’t just want us to give an hour on Sunday or an occasional evening during the week, but the entire glorious and ordinary span of our lives. God cares about the soil of every aspect of our lives, not just the churchy parts. God wants us to see ourselves as children of God, as followers of Jesus, at all times and in all places—when we gather at the table for a meal, when we make love in the bedroom, when we hammer out a deal in the boardroom, when we search Google or browse Facebook, when we meet friends for a playdate, when we balance our checkbook, when we lament the horrifying death of a nine-year-old girl in our own community, when we face religious difference or economic inequality, when we go to a Tincaps game or catch a movie or travel on vacation. God isn’t just scattering seed here and there, in a few corners of our lives, but everywhere, even in the messy and embarrassing and trivial places.

The hard part of this word is that it requires the painful work of integration. God wants us to be God’s children morning, noon and night, in and outside of the church, when we’re mad, glad, sad or scared. Jesus wants us to follow him and produce the fruit of his kingdom in the most sacred and the most mundane parts of our lives—in raising children, in sticking with a job we deplore until something better comes along, in dealing with the sting of rejection, in being a hospitable neighbor, in finding a way to be kind and generous no matter how bad it gets. If we must nurture the soil of all aspects of our lives—the good, the bad, and the ugly—then we are going to need compost pile after compost pile of God’s grace. For we are indeed fickle soil.

Which brings me to the easy part. The easy part of this word is that God is a relentless and reckless farmer who won’t stop throwing seed on every part of our lives, who won’t give up on us not matter how many times we give up on God, and yet who will not coerce our soil into doing what God wants it to do. No, God will simply scatter seed, send rain, provide sun and nurture the air around us. God scatters seed and waits for us to open our hand. God scatters seed and waits for us to turn away from behavior that harms others and ourselves. God scatters seed and waits for us to enlist as God’s co-workers. God, who loves us as we are and not as we are supposed to be, also loves us enough not to neglect those parts of our soil that are still rocky, thorny or ruined by gravel. God is not a God who gives up, not on any of us, not on any part of any of us.

May God, the reckless farmer, make us, the fickle soil, more faithful, more gracious, more imaginative children of God in 2012. Amen.

Jeff Lehn
First Presbyterian Church
January 1, 2012
Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

“Reckless Farmer, Fickle Soil”