Jesus seems to love agricultural metaphors, which are quite prominent in this section of Matthew. Today, we heard the parable of the sower; next week, we’ll hear another parable about sowing, the parable of the wheat and the tares, interspersed with other shorter descriptions like the reference to the kingdom as a mustard seed. All of these take their places in a larger series of images centered on the kingdom of God.
Lest we get lost in the weeds of metaphorical explanation, it’s worth keeping in mind the central claim of Jesus that stands over and above all of these images: he himself is the kingdom. So when he talks about the kingdom, and the word of God, he is always, in one way or another, referring to himself, and to the ways that we either accept him and follow him or the ways that we reject or ignore him.
Most of us have probably heard many homilies on the parable of the sower, starting with the Lord’s own homiletical interpretation, if I can put it that way, that sits in this latter part of the reading this morning. There’s a great richness here that we can only lightly tap into. With that in mind, I want to focus on two aspects of the parable that speak to me, and I hope to you, in this moment.
The first is the image of the seed falling among thorns. Here, remember, the seed of God’s word falls into good soil but is soon choked out and strangled by thorns, which represent, on the one hand, “worldly anxieties,” or the “cares of the world” (depending on your translation), and, on the other hand, the “lure of riches” or the “delight in riches.”
In both cases, anxiety or attraction, we allow ourselves to be distracted and misled by temporal matters—that is, by the things of this world that do not last. We worry about the things that will pass away rather than setting our gaze on the things that are eternal.
Attraction and anxiety are really two sides to the same coin here. Perhaps we do not think we are superficial—we don’t put a lot of stock into maintaining some perfect appearance; we don’t worry about the latest fads or trends—but we still find ourselves in a regular state of anxiety over the state of economy or the unending political assault on traditional values. In the end, the vice is much the same, for we are allowing ourselves to imagine that the things of this world are what ultimately matter. The kingdom of God is no more closely tied to the makeup of the Supreme Court than it is to the latest shade of makeup, and our attitude toward both of those things affects our witness to the truth of the gospel. The Christian who lives in a state of high anxiety, constantly outraged at the outrages of secular politics and media, is really not very different from the Christian who thinks discipleship consists in finding the exact right hip look to attract the youth. In both cases, the life of the kingdom is obscured and choked out.
None of this is to say that we have to ignore all temporal matters or act as though they don’t matter at all. When my basement flooded with sewage last week, I don’t think it would have been fitting to just smile and act as if everything had been fine. I don’t have a lot of patience for the version of Christianity—and I’ve heard it more than once from Catholic preachers—that reduces the Christian life to “smile and be happy.” But we cannot allow the cares of this life to have the final word.
That’s a real challenge, but ultimately crucial. We do have to worry about deficits, about building repairs, about personnel—as a new pastor, it is tempting for me to be consumed by these things. But the kingdom of God does not depend on us fixing things. And if we find ourselves at times stuck in day-to-day matters, we have to constantly reframe them, in our attitude, and in our presentation to the world, as just the necessary obstacles that we have to work through, with faith in God’s providence, in order to continue the growth in God’s kingdom to which we have been called.
The second aspect of the parable that I want to draw out today is the radical irresponsibility of the sower. It’s really striking for anyone who has spent much time in gardening. Who intentionally sows seeds on the path, on rocky soil, on soil filled with weeds and thorns? It seems like a recipe for disaster.
Again, the Lord is asking us to think beyond the normal categories of earthly success. The word of God, Scripture reminds us in Isaiah, is powerful. It is not about us or our power, but about the power of God. The seeds we sow for the kingdom cannot be hoarded for some perfect moment that is guaranteed to work. They have to be sown lavishly, without regard. Evangelism—sharing the good news about Jesus—is a crazy thing to do in worldly terms. Certainly, there are times for thoughtful strategy. But there are also times when I might say to myself, I’m going to invite this person to church, or ask him about his spiritual life, without any obvious provocation or promise of success.
It might be tempting to read the parable of the sower as a kind of deterministic sorting of people. Certainly, that is how some early heretics, like the Gnostics, read it: you are what you are, and some people are just incapable of true spirituality. But the Church has always seen this as a testament both to the practical difficulties that people have with the gospel and to the power of God to overcome them. It’s both a sober assessment of our difficulties and a hopeful reminder that the ultimate sower, God, loves us too much to write us off as bad soil.
So let us pray that we can be more fruitful by avoiding the anxieties of the world, and let us pray too that we can imitate our Lord in his generosity in sharing the good gifts of the kingdom.