In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.
In today’s Gospel, we have what is called the parable of the sower. In it, Jesus speaks to us of four kinds of soil: There is the hard, well-beaten path upon which the seeds cannot take root. There is the shallow, rocky ground, where they can begin to grow, but quickly die because there is not enough moisture to sustain them. There is the thorn-infested ground, where seeds can grow, but where there are competing plants that win out in the contest for survival. Finally, there is the good ground – soil that is deep and cleared of rocks and weeds so that the seeds can flourish.
I would like to suggest that each of these kinds of soil speaks both of particular kinds of people – which is the interpretation that Jesus gives his disciples – and of various aspects of each of us personally. In a very real sense, each of us is a microcosm of all of us; in other words, in every person, the whole of humanity to some extent is reflected. There are hardened, shallow, care-ridden, and open places in the souls of most of us, and God works to improve and clear all of them in the interests of our fully possessing his abundant life.
I would like to go a bit further still and suggest that the same is true of all of us considered collectively as the
There are well-worn paths within any institution, including the Church. Most of these are there because they have worked well in the past, and many still do, though others may no longer do much more than make the members merely feel secure. There is a real risk of forgetting that the real purpose of the path is to get the workers to the field efficiently so they can do the work of nurturing and bringing in the fruit. The preservation of the path does not do that work, it only assists in it, so its preservation and maintenance cannot be an end in itself, only a means to that end. At times it may be necessary to repair or re-route the path, and that may involve some messy roadwork and uncomfortable detours.
Collectively we may have areas where a thin layer of niceness covers rock-hard self-will, where a veneer of outward piety and obedience hides a determination on the part of the community to work out its own salvation, not in fear and trembling, but according to its own tastes and desires. An attitude of clubby, near-cultic exclusivity can develop in which the group adopts the notion that of those whom God sends it, it will accept only a certain type of its own choosing. In such a case, the taproot of the community is blocked from reaching to the depth at which enough sustaining nourishment may be taken to immunize it from the scorching heat of a hostile environment. It stands on the edge of irrelevant uselessness.
The interior landscape of a community of Christians may have areas that are choked by the weeds of anxiety and busy-ness, where there is none of the tranquility and quietness of the spirit that is so necessary for the growth within it of the seed sown by the divine Sower. As a result, its members are inclined to pray together only in emergencies or when they feel like it or when they haven’t anything better to do. There exists a likelihood of attending worship only on days that are special to individuals, or when something that is deemed more urgent does not get in the way or our being there or when we are in what we fancy is the right frame of mind to do so. There is an aptness to attempt something that the Lord himself says we cannot do, which is to serve both God and Mammon – to be both of the world and not of the world – to try to find a compromise between public virtue and private vice – and in the pinch to follow the path of least resistance because the means of spiritual fortification that will enable us to have the victory in the spiritual combat have been neglected. There is an ostensible gladness to hear the word, but a real reluctance to be cleansed of that which chokes its growth.
What can be done about this? Strictly speaking, there is nothing we can do, any more than the path can break itself, or the field can remove its own rocks or weed itself. However, unlike the path and the field, we can consent to have this done to us by him who is not only the Sower, but the owner of the field.
To be sure, there is a virtual certainty that the process will be distinctly uncomfortable. As the good farmer will break the hardened soil with plow and harrow, wrench out – even dynamite – the rocks, and pull up the thorns by the roots, so will God break hardened pride, wrench out secret sins and ungodly attitudes, and uproot the spiritual weeds which deprive all and each of us of our sustenance. While it is going on, it is not comfortable, which means that it is vital to remember that he does it for the purpose of our being able, not only to receive, but to keep the word, and in patience to bear fruit for him.
In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.
Saint Stephen’s Church,
15 February 2009
