We began our service this morning with a call to worship from Psalm 119. It starts out with
a memorable statement of confidence in God, and then alternates between acknowledging the hardships of life and
expressing certainty of deliverance through God's Word.
Without even knowing it, the Word of God falls upon my experience, in sermon, sacrament, spiritual reading, and
the everyday vision I am given of what we call "life." As it falls, it is filtered through the deep recesses
of my heart.
The Word falls like seed on the rocky places of my life hardened by the unwillingness to forgive, by past failures,
by a low sense of myself. Still other seed falls among thorns, those areas of my life that I must seek to control,
filled with both my occupation and my preoccupation. This soil basically cries out I don't have time to live the
life of a disciple. And still some of the seed falls on fertile soil and moves deeply into the soul giving life
and sustaining life even in the midst of refusal and denial.
The seed remains consistent in all cases, it is the quality of the field conditions that changes. John Wesley indicated
that the 4th soil was all that the first three were not -- soft, deep, and purged. What makes it so?
Appointments are made to parishes, not churches. If we assume that we are called to work the church only then we
are constantly working the same soil. Unless it is carefully re-nourished it will quickly become depleted. Unless
it is replanted there is no hope for a future, and a vision of the future is essential for any project that is
worth our time.
In the Old Testament lesson both Esau and Issac have short term goals in mind with no thought to the consequences
of their actions. Each was concerned only with today's needs and not tommorow's promise. The future anguish that
would result from both men's greed at that moment was never once a concern effecting their present respective behaviors.
In the parable however, the sower gives the farmer's notion of never ending work; work that includes the preparation,
sowing, cultivating, reaping, and even sorrow for the failed areas of production. Yet despite all of that, daily
efforts to "propagate" the word continue.
Certainly the Book of Genesis didn't corner the market on family dysfunction or personal greed. It's headline news
even today. Think of what's going on in Ted Williams family today, or the present focus on the need for better
controls in big business. It is the importance of paying attention to details…valuing the right things, and not
sacrificing what's truly worthwhile for the insignificant that we find throughout our lessons for today.
What do we as the church consider our "birthright," and what are we doing with it?
Although the common interpretation of this parable seems to focus on the state, or "attitude" of the
different soils, I think perhaps we should look at it from the perspective of "hearing, understanding, and
bearing fruit." How can we as followers of Christ help others to listen so that they can better hear, so that
they can better understand, and so that they may bear greater fruit?
The attitude of the Sower in Matthew is one of generosity and grace. The seeds are abundant and fall everywhere
in an all-inclusive manner. The harvest, despite the early pessimism due to the destroyed seeds, is at the end
still fantastically abundant. God's victory is sure! Promise and hope exist because of God's gift to the hearts
of those who hear, understand, and bear fruit, and even understanding is seen as a gift from God. That same emphasis
on God's persistent grace will continue next week when we will be reminded that even in the presence of extreme
evil, God will not be undone and the harvest will continue.
If one reads the whole gospel they find that Matthew presents a Jesus who is concerned about the completed picture.
The lessons do not find contentment in a present moment, but a final outcome. Hearing the word is not enough…the
final response is what counts. What one does with it. How one ultimately values the gift they have been given,
because of, or in spite of the circumstance of our lives.
Not one of us began as perfect soil. Life conditioned us all. Some for the better and some for the worse. Yet all
soil can be remediated. It takes work and it is often costly, but it can be done.
Someone once told me the best way to garden is put on a wide brimmed straw hat and some old clothes. And with a
hoe in one hand and a cold drink in the other,…tell somebody else where to dig. While that may work effectively
in one's own backyard…it has never been the game plan of the Kingdom of God.
Have you ever heard of Seeds of Peace? It's the summer camping program that brings kids from Israel and Palestine
(and other war-racked areas) together to meet and get to know one another? John Wallach, Founder and President
of Seeds of Peace, died on this past Wednesday, July 10th, of nonsmoker's lung cancer. There can't be any rockier
ground on which to sow the seeds of peace than the holy land at the current time, and the kind of personal investment
and ultimate risk taking involved in such efforts are almost unprecedented.
I want to share with you some excerpts from the letter his son sent to all who were involved in this important
program.
Dear Seeds family,
As many of you may now know, yesterday at 3pm, my father, John Wallach, died. He was the Founder and President
of Seeds of Peace. Most of you knew him personally. I am slightly overwhelmed right now, but I hope I can convey
to you how deeply he loved each one of you, and how passionately he believed in you. Each of you knows him from
camp in your own way, and in the way that we shared him -- as the inspirational leader, the man who insisted you
work harder, reach out more, and believe more deeply in yourself and in your friends. He felt this with his whole
being. He had no regrets after spending time with you, after speaking to you, after building this program. He knew
that you were his dreams come true.
My father was not always a peace activist. He was the son of Holocaust survivors, who had escaped from Europe only
by the smallest margin of luck. He used to share the story of my grandparents escape with me, always ending it
with the phrase "its amazing that we're even alive!" If you think deeply, you will recognize his voice
in that sentence for yourself.
My father used to tell me that when he was little, he would lay awake in bed, sneaking the radio under the covers.
Late at night, listening to jazz, he would wonder how amazing it was that he was here. He would think to himself
about all the people in the world who had died, about all the adults who had been killed before having children,
about all the children who had never grown up to be parents. He told me many times, how he wondered what he had
done to deserve his chance on this earth.
--Antiques, art collections, musicians, Carnegie Hall, summer camps in Maine--
As my dad got older, he grew to understand this idea more and more deeply. He repeated his idea to make one friend
a thousand times, because he knew that if you opened your heart to someone, then you would see life in a whole
new way. You would cherish your friend, you would cherish the grass, you would cherish the lake, the songs -- even
the food. Most of all, you would cherish the short time that you had with the people around you, whether at camp,
or at home, or anywhere you were in the world.
My dad told me, as he grew more reflective about his life, that he had always felt like he had a ticking clock
inside him, that time was running out. He had felt that way since he was a little boy. Perhaps thats why he fought
so hard to do so much. "Just give me two years," he kept saying, "just give me two years."
He died exactly two years from his diagnosis with cancer.
While the cancer grew in my dad, his sickness gave him an ever deeper understanding of what it meant to act with
heart. He said he always cherished watching the coexistence sessions, understanding that everyone needed to shout
and to yell and to cry and cry and cry. "Its a detox program," he wrote, "to get rid of all the
hatred that we have built up inside." If only he could have cried away his cancer.
He was only 59 years old…but he left a legacy that may well change the world. Some would say that is entirely too
young, and what a tragic loss. But who knows what seeds were sown in some young life that may one day offer peace
to the world? It is never about the length of time we are given, but what effect our lives have on the world. For
those who live according to the flesh set their minds on the things of the flesh, but those who live according
to the Spirit set their minds on the things of the spirit. |