"What Do I Owe You?" - Sermon for the Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost

What Do I Owe You?
Pentecost 20A
October 18, 2020
Grace Waseca, MN
Matthew 22.15-22

Back in the late 70s and early 80s, the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson featured a segment called, “Stump the Band.” Johnny would go into the audience to ask someone to name a song they thought would do just that. Doc Severinsen, the leader, and Ed McMahon, Johnny’s sidekick would improvise if they didn’t know the song in question, often quite humorously. It was a great way for Johnny to interact with the audience while providing some laughs.

Many of the religious leaders of the day have trying to play “Stump the Messiah” with Jesus. This has been going on since Jesus entered Jerusalem and cleansed the temple of the sellers and moneychangers. First it was the chief priests and scribes, then the Pharisees, and in today’s text it is the disciples of the Pharisees and the Herodians who have tried to nail him. It’s an unlikely but probably politically expedient alliance, for the Pharisees chafed under Roman rule, but were quietists and went along to get along, while the Herodians were most like supporters of Herod, the Roman puppet governor, and thereby collaborators with Rome. Today the issue is whether to pay taxes to the Roman Emperor Caesar, a brutal and oppressive occupying force.

Yet, the issue goes deeper than agreeing to pay taxes to an occupying nation. Jews were forbidden to handle anything that had “graven images” on it. It was considered idolatrous and blasphemous to do so. This was especially true with Roman coins, which not only carried the image of Caesar Augustus, but also had an inscription of him claiming to be god. Jesus unmasks their hypocrisy when he asks for a coin and they are able to produce one quickly; someone had to be carrying one in his purse. But he not only unmasks their malice, he unmasks their inability to see God working in, with and through Jesus.

At first glance, it seems that Jesus deftly evades their trap and removes himself from the horns of the dilemma by distinguishing between church and state. Indeed, Martin Luther and Lutherans after him are known for their “two kingdoms” or “two realms” teaching. The relationship between church and state is an important conversation, but too much for here. Besides, I don’t think Jesus is doing that here. You see, some people believe that Jesus was somehow apolitical and that politics don’t belong in the pulpit. But Jesus was very political, questioning the corrupt powers in both empire and the religious system. They forget that it was the political system, threatened by him, that ended up “nailing him” every bit as much as the religious system.

In his object lesson with the coin, Jesus is reminding us that we are in this world but not of it. As Luther Seminary professor Rolf Jacobson notes, Jesus in his words “at once free us to live with the emperor but to live for God.” [Emphasis mine.] It seems that Jesus wants us to figure out what it means to give to God the things that are God’s so that we can figure out how live in this world with faithfulness and integrity as his disciples. This past week I’ve thought deeply about what this means. Two thoughts came to mind. First are Jesus’ answer to the question about the greatest commandment: “Love the lord your God with all of your heart, soul, and mind, and the second is like it: love your neighbor as yourself.” Second, the well-known words of the prophet Micah: “What is required of you? Do justice, love kindness, walk humbly with your God.” Maybe you have some other ideas.

We live a transactional existence, meaning we do things to get things. We often say to someone, “What do I owe you?” But when we ask that question in our relationship with God, the answer is both “nothing” and “everything.” God gives us everything with no strings while at the same time we owe everything we have because of God. We love because God first loved us and we give our all because God has given us his all. Jesus is not an auditor for God’s “Spiritual IRS,” but rather one who invites us to give as he gave on the cross. In this charged political climate, God’s blessings as you navigate what it means to follow Jesus. That may stump you from time to time, but that’s okay; we’re called to be faithful, not perfect. Thanks be to God. Amen.

To watch the sermon on the worship video click here.

"Letting Go[d]" - Sermon for the 18th Sunday after Pentecost

 Letting Go[d]
Pentecost 18A
October 4, 2020
Grace, Waseca, MN
Matthew 21.33-46; Philippians 3.4b-14

When I was a boy, my Aunt Elaine and Uncle Vern had a dog. His official name was “Fritzie von Grensing,” but we call him Fritz or Fritzie. A Weimaraner, Fritzie was a big dog that we got to “dog-sit” occasionally, much to my delight. Whenever he came, Fritz always brought a beat-up rug with which he loved to play Tug-of-War with us (and we with him). Of course, Fritz could hang on to that rug, never letting go, until we got tired and gave up. That often happened when he’d work his way up the rug coming perilously close to our hands. When we gave up, then he’d drop the rug, look at us, and beg us to play again. But, as soon as we reached for it, he would snatch it up again, holding on for dear life.

In our Gospel reading from Matthew, Jesus tells a parable about tenants in a vineyard who couldn’t let go, of produce and of their position as temporary renters. Now, as a reminder of the story’s context, Jesus is in Jerusalem and has cleansed the temple. The tension between him and the religious leaders is palpable. Clearly, Jesus is not happy. He indicates that they’ve abused their God-given responsibilities. On their end, they’re not happy with him either and they are even afraid of his popularity with the crowds. Last week we heard how they’ve failed the pop quiz about John the Baptist and Jesus’ authority. They also got zinged by a parable about two sons: one son said he was going to work in the vineyard and didn’t; and the other son said he wouldn’t go but did. In today’s follow-up parable about the wicked tenants, they get snookered into condemning their own behavior.

I’ve been amazed at the various responses to this parable and its aftermath. Some readers wonder if the tenants revolted because of the landowner’s oppression. Some are appalled at the violence that seems to be promoted in the text. Other readers thought the landowner naïve, believing the wicked tenants could change their minds by sending his son. Still others want us to be cautious about being anti-Semitic, to remember Jesus is talking to the elites of the day and not all Jewish people. Of course, the religious leaders are furious, especially since they’re hooked by their own words.

Clearly the text operates on us differently and multiple levels as Bible stories often do. But (ironically), I have not been able to let go of the issue of letting go, like the monkey whose hand is trapped in a coconut. (Some hunters put bait in a hollowed-out coconut attached to a stake. The coconut has a hole just large enough for a monkey to put its hand through. When it grabs the bait, the monkey cannot remove its hand, not even to save its life.) The religious leaders have not been able let go of their favored position and status. More importantly, they’ve not been able to let go of their ideas about how God is working in the world through Jesus. For us, the text holds up what may be an uncomfortable mirror: it asks, “What are we holding onto, not letting go?”

This is an important question for us, both as individuals and as a community of faith. We need to acknowledge that there are things that we cling to that get in the way of our relationship with God through Jesus Christ. In the Second Reading from Philippians, the Apostle Paul tells how has had to let go of key pieces of his former identity. He reminds us that we are on a journey of faith that opens us up to what God is doing in us and there are things we cling to that may be holding us back. That’s also true for Grace Lutheran in discerning God’s mission and ministry as you seek a new senior pastor. What are you hanging onto that you need to let go?

Yet, even as we contemplate about letting go, we are always reminded that God never lets go of us. We need to acknowledge that the violent response offered by the religious leaders is not God’s response. For God keeps coming to us, inviting us into a life-giving relationship. We may be like monkeys with our hands trapped in a coconut, but God is like Fritz with his rug, never letting go. As the Apostle Paul notes, we press on in the journey because God has made us, his beloved, his own. In Jesus Christ, God wants us to know that he will never give up on us, no matter what. Thanks be to God! Amen.

To watch a video version of this sermon, click on here.

Winner, Winner Chicken Dinner - Sermon for the Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Winner, Winner Chicken Dinner
Pentecost 16A (Lectionary 25)
September 20, 2020
Grace, Waseca, MN
Matthew 20.1-16; Jonah 3.10-4.11

In the early 80s, while I was still in the business world, I was transferred to Northern Virginia considered to be part of the Washington, DC metro area. About a year later we moved from the condo we were renting to our first house a few miles away. To do so, we managed to scrape together some friends and co-workers to help us load up a moving truck. At the appropriate time, we took a lunch break and we provided fried chicken from Roy Rogers fast food restaurant. (They had good chicken!) As we stood around eating–there were no tables or chairs–it occurred to me we were living out Jesus’ parable of the workers in the vineyard. Some of our workers came right away at the beginning of the day, some came partway through, and others came at the end. Yet all were fed the same and they could have as much chicken as they wished.

It’s helpful to know that Jesus tells this parable to his disciples who wonder what will become of them. Jesus has just told a rich, young man to sell everything to enter the kingdom of heaven. Jesus’ disciples wonder about themselves who have left everything to follow him. At first Jesus’ reply sounds great: 12 thrones for them, a hundredfold and eternal life for the others. But there are two things to note. First, the crowds and religious leaders are in the background overhearing what Jesus is saying. Second, Jesus makes the same pronouncement after this good news that ends this parable: the last will be first and the first will be last. Jesus balances his good news to the disciples with this sobering news about God’s economics in his kingdom, which is markedly different from the human economics. You can see the hackles rising and feel the tension increasing, just as it’s probably happening with you as you heard this parable.

Mark Twain has said, “It ain't those parts of the Bible that I can't understand that bother me, it is the parts that I do understand.” Jonah, the “anti-prophet,” appears to be the Bible’s poster child for Twain’s quote. (Jonah has been called an anti-prophet because he does the opposite of what prophets usually do.) God wants to send him to Nineveh to give them one last chance to come around to God. But the Israelites hate the Ninevites and so Jonah flees in the opposite direction getting on a boat. He gets tossed overboard, swallowed by a great fish, and vomited onto the shore back where he started. Jonah then grudgingly goes to Nineveh and preaches arguably the worst sermon ever and lo and behold, the people of Nineveh repent. God changes his mind about punishment and Jonah sulks.

In what might be the most ironic statement in the Bible, Jonah says, “…I knew that you are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love, and ready to relent.” So, the reactions of Jonah and the workers in the vineyard caused me to wonder: why is it that Jonah, the workers, (and us, if we’re honest) have such a hard time with this? Why are our ideas about fairness and justice so entrenched in retribution and punishment? Certainly, our American DNA is rooted in the Protestant work ethic, that hard work equals rewards. But we also know that there are people who don’t get what they deserve. There are people who work their fingers to the bone for little pay and those who don’t work very hard and get paid handsomely.

I think we have a hard time with these stories because we’re afraid. What are we afraid about? We’re afraid that Jesus’ message is not true as much as we are afraid that it is true. We’re just as afraid that we aren’t worthy enough to belong to a community just as much as we’re afraid to admit that everyone belongs to the same community. We can’t possibly believe that God loves us in spite of our unlovable parts so it must be true that God can’t possibly love, cherish and welcome those who appear to be even less lovable than us. So, what do we do? We measure ourselves against others, hoping that we’re just better enough than the next person to earn God’s love.

But God’s love and grace and generosity don’t work that way. So, I think another reason we have trouble is that, like Jonah, we haven’t realized God’s grace and generosity. I believe God’s grace and generosity constantly flow in our lives, but for some reason it isn’t real to us. That’s why practicing generosity is a mark of discipleship: being generous helps us feel God’s generosity. We don’t practice generosity to earn God’s favor; we do it to help us see God’s favor in our lives. On the day of that move, it never occurred to me not to feed everyone chicken regardless of how much they worked. Yet, I realize now that it was an act of God’s grace to me to see God’s grace through me that day.

So, in order to realize God’s generosity, would you try something this week: practice a random act of generosity to someone, especially someone you might think not “deserving.” If that’s not possible, look for an act of generosity to you from somewhere you don’t expect. It doesn’t have to be a big deal; it could be a kind word or a small act of kindness. Then take some time to ponder that experience. Whatever happens, I guarantee it’s better than chicken. Amen.

To watch a video version of the message, click here.

"What about Me, What about You?" Sermon for the Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost

 What about Me, What about You?
Pentecost 12A
August 23, 2020
Grace, Waseca, MN
Matthew 16.13-20; Romans 12.1-8

A main principle I have for sermon writing is to ask how the text grabs me, what it says to me personally. I try to ask, “What do I need to hear today?” rather than “What do ‘they’ need to hear today?” That’s why my answer to “Good sermon, pastor,” is often, “I’m just preaching to myself. If you happen to overhear it and get something out of it, that’s great.” I do this not out of a false sense of humility but because I think there’s a danger in saying, “They need to hear this.” Thinking that way could result in at best a good scolding or at worst a guilt-inducing, shaming screed that is not good news.

That practice of reflection was at the forefront this week as I worked through the Gospel reading from Matthew 16. Jesus enters the district of Caesarea Philippi, an area that was famous for a temple dedicated to multiple gods. It’s an opportunity to ask his followers, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” (Son of Man is Jesus’ favorite designation for himself and has a backstory we don’t have time for here.) After some rather obvious responses about John the Baptist, Elijah, and the prophets, Jesus looks them square in the eyes and asks pointedly, “But who do you say that I am?” Jesus barely finishes his question when Peter blurts out, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the Living God.” It’s a response that surprises both him and Jesus.

Now, I have an inkling of Peter’s experience and how Jesus can proclaim Peter’s divine blessedness. During a seminar course for my doctorate, we were discussing a topic and Dr. Gary Simpson asked, “What section of systematic theology does this fall under?” Suddenly, really without thinking, the word, “Vocation” popped into my head and out of my mouth at the same time. Like Jesus and Peter, both Dr. Simpson and I were a bit surprised and he, too, affirmed my answer. Maybe you have had an “aha” moment like Peter and me, where an inspiration seems to come from nowhere.

Of course, Peter didn’t come into the question about Jesus cold, just like I didn’t come into my seminar without any background in systematic theology. Peter has been with Jesus for a long time, he has seen two feedings of the multitudes, witnessed multiple healings, and listened to Jesus’ teaching. But until this point he hadn’t been asked to pull it together, to really to make it personal. Yet, even with his experience of Jesus and this incredible confession, Peter’s knowledge of who Jesus is will continue to grow. It won’t be until Jesus’ death and resurrection that he’ll begin to understand who Jesus is and it will continue through the outpouring of the Spirit at Pentecost and beyond, all the way to Peter’s death as a martyr of the faith.

So, getting back to my sermon preparation question: what about me. Who do I say that Jesus is and what difference does it make what I believe? You may have noticed that I always say, “Jesus the Christ,” not “Jesus Christ.” I do that because, as Richard Rohr says, “Christ is not Jesus’ last name.” Christ is more like a title, but it’s even more than that. Christ says something significant about who Jesus is. (By the way, Christ is another translation of the Greek word translated at Messiah. It literally means, “Anointed One.”) For me, Jesus as the Christ is God’s presence of love in the world that has been present since the beginning of time, permeating all things and coming to expression in the person of Jesus. As we say in the Nicene Creed, “…true God from true God, begotten not made, of one being with the Father through whom all things are made.”

But even that understanding doesn’t go far enough because who we believe Jesus to be informs how we live. And the reverse is true as well: what we say and do says something about who we believe Jesus to be. There is a “So what?” So, believing that Jesus is God’s embodied love in the world has forced me to think deeply about what kinds of love are “permissible” in the world. As I go through life and my understanding of Jesus grows, I realize that the kinds of love that are permissible are far more than I once thought. In the language of binding and loosing for today’s reading, God’s love in Jesus the Christ makes for far more loosing and far less binding.

So, what about you, who do you say that Jesus is, and how does that confession inform your life? That’s not a guilt inducing or shaming question, but rather an invitation for reflection and action today. If that’s a bit too much and you need a starter question, you might want think about Paul’s appeal in the Romans 12 reading to be a “living sacrifice.” Meanwhile, I have one final thought: be gentle on yourself; even Peter messes up, as we will see in our Gospel reading next week. This is a life-long adventure on your faith journey living into and living out of Jesus the Christ. Amen.

For the video version of this sermon, go here.

"That Sinking Feeling" - Sermon for the Tenth Sunday after Pentecost

That Sinking Feeling
Pentecost 10A
August 9, 2020
Grace, Waseca, MN
Matthew 14.22-33

As many of you know, I had unexpected gall bladder surgery two weeks ago on Saturday evening July 25. It was certainly not where I wanted nor expected to be after a post-birthday round of golf Friday morning. Yet, I lay there hoping and praying the excruciating pain I had experienced on Friday and into Saturday was now past. However, I was going to experience another kind of pain when around midnight an alert appeared on my phone telling me the power was out at home.

Every hour, as I woke to use the restroom, I checked to see if the power was on, knowing that no power meant no sump pump and no sump pump meant trouble. I would find out later that we would get at least 6” of rain and the power remained out 15 hours. That 6” ended up in our basement. So, in addition to worrying about me, my wife Cindy had to deal with the flooding in our basement. I didn’t want to be in the hospital, but being at home would not have been any picnic. Because of the surgery I was helpless and almost hopeless.

In Matthew 14, Jesus made his followers get into a boat and go ahead to the other side of the sea of Gennesaret. He had just fed the 5,000 men plus women and children after healing many sick people. Understandably, Jesus needed some time alone to pray. We don’t know why Jesus pushed them off so quickly and forcefully, but we’re pretty sure they didn’t want to be in that boat to begin with and we know they certainly didn’t want to be there when the storm blew up, either. After a long day of crowd control and a longer night rowing, they must have felt exhausted.

Finally, Jesus comes to them over the water and justifiably, they think he is a ghost. The light was dim and the swirling wind and waves made seeing difficult. But in the midst of their fear, Jesus tells them to take heart and know that he is with them. Then for some unknown reason, Peter asks that he get out of the boat and join Jesus on the water. He does so, but when he feels the ferocity of the wind in his face and waves at his feet Peter panics, asking Jesus to save him.  Jesus immediately does so, bringing him back into the boat.

This story is full of depth and layers of meaning, but I think two things stand out for me today that I wonder about. First, the disciples are not where they want to be, but where Jesus was didn’t look very attractive to them either. The boat has been an ancient symbol of the church, typically a sign of safety and community. That morning it seemed anything but safe. But I wonder if Jesus is preparing them for the time when they needed to venture out into the unknown, where what has been safe may not be so anymore. That time is certainly going to come after his resurrection when he tells them to “go, make disciples of all nations, teaching all that I have commanded you, baptizing in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.”

The second thing that stands out to me is that Jesus is smack dab in the middle of that chaotic sea. The boat doesn’t look so great to the disciples and the tempestuous sea looks even worse, but that’s where Jesus is. So, I wonder if Jesus is reminding us that in the midst of the chaotic unknown future there is one thing that is known to us, the ending of the passage I just quoted: “lo I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” We do well to remember that in Matthew’s Gospel Jesus is Immanuel, “God with Us.”

We are currently in a storm not of our own making, and for some of us, several storms. The security of the “boat” we have found security in doesn’t look so strong now and the choppy, chaotic waters ahead even less so. We have no idea what is coming post-pandemic and I know some of you wonder about the future of Grace Lutheran Church. So, like Jesus’ followers, I wonder if God is preparing us for venturing into the unknown. That’s a scary place to be, but I think we all know that we won’t be able to go back to where we were before.

I did not want to be in that hospital room that Saturday and Sunday, and I sure didn’t know what lie ahead. But I did know that Jesus was with me throughout that time, even as chaotic as it was and is. That night and the next day, I mainly sensed Jesus’ presence through the kind and helpful people that walked alongside Cindy and me. Whether they knew it or not, they were Jesus to me, reaching out and saying, “Take heart, it is I.” People of Grace, know that God is with you in whatever chaotic places you are and is bringing you to wherever you need to be. Take heart, for Jesus the Christ is with you. Amen.

To view a video version of this sermon click here.

"Weeds or Wheat?" - Sermon for the Seventh Sunday after Pentecost

Weeds or Wheat?

Pentecost 7A

July 19, 2020

Grace, Waseca, MN

Matthew 13.24-30, 36-40

Today we have another parable, with its explanation, from Jesus’ third discourse in Matthew’s gospel. The five discourses, or bodies of teaching, show Jesus to be an authoritative teacher like Moses. As it turns out, the imagery in today’s parable is like last week’s when we heard about a sower (God) who spreads seed (Word/Jesus) with reckless abandon and invites us to do the same. This week, however, the dramatic tension is provided by an enemy (devil) who sews bad seed (children of the enemy) in a field along with the good seed (children of righteousness). Here, the surprise reversal is provided by a master (God) who refuses to pull them up, preferring to wait until the harvest (end of the age) lest he pull up what is “good” along with the “bad.”

Last week I reminded you that all of Jesus’ parables are kingdom parables. These are stories told to help us understand the reign of God here and now, not in some time in the future. It’s as we say in the Lord’s Prayer: “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” That may be hard to grasp since the explanation talks about the end of the age, but nevertheless, the thrust of the parable is in the here and now. But I also reminded you that parables are not puzzles to be solved but rather mysteries to be entered. They are not so much designed to be opened but rather to open us up.

So, how is our theological imagination stretched by this parable; how does it open us? A clue might be found in remembering that Jesus (and Matthew) are addressing a community of faith who were distressed and confused. They couldn’t understand why it looked like God’s word wasn’t taking root everywhere. Furthermore, it looked like the devil’s “plants” were stronger than God’s. Perhaps even worse, it wasn’t just “the world” that had them worried; it was their church as well.

The implications of this realization–for them and for us–are difficult: if evil seems to be winning, if not everyone is following Christ, then perhaps God’s word isn’t as strong as we think it is. And if we really want to confront or deepest fears, perhaps we’ve been snookered by Jesus. What if all this Jesus stuff about love, grace and a new way of life is just a con job? What if it’s not true? So, we react defensively. Instead or inspecting each other’s hearts like we were tempted to do last week, we want to “weed out the garden” of anything we deem suspicious.

I think the parable is not so gently reminding us that weed inspection and removal is not our job in this world, it’s God’s job. Although that might sound crazy, it is actually good news because weeding is exhausting work. Besides, Jesus is hinting strongly that we might not know wheat from weeds and vice versa. For me that is certainly true: I cannot tell a good plant from a bad one in my garden, let alone in the world. And I’ve seen enough cases of people who looked a bit “weedy” to me but turned out otherwise.

Like many of you, over the years I’ve wrestled with the place of LGBTQ people in the church. But also, over the years I’ve had the opportunity getting to know a number of them. There were those two older, professional women living together for many years. There was that younger woman who became a friend to me and my family. There was that Gustavus student who became a frat brother 40 years after I did. And there was that teenager transitioning to another gender enfolded in the love of the church. All of them seemed to love Jesus just as much as me, probably more. I just can’t see them as weeds. So, I’m going to let God sort it out.

I know that this issue and the vote of the ELCA caused a split in this congregation 10 years ago. I’m not trying to start another argument but I am saying that perhaps we can have a healthy conversation. Besides, instead of defining ourselves or being defined by what we are against, let’s talk about mission and what we stand for. Let’s ask ourselves what is it the God is up to at Grace Lutheran Church and in the Waseca community. Where is God calling us to join in God’s mission and ministry to love and bless the world?

God has blessed this congregation with talented, committed leaders and a unique place here in Waseca. Because of our history, maybe, just maybe, God is calling you to have this conversation again, but in different way. Grace is a leader in this community and can leverage that position in a healthy way. So, do not be afraid; God’s word of grace and love is powerful. If there is any sorting out to do, God will do it in the future. And those people who look a little weedy; perhaps they just need a bit of water and fertilizer. Meanwhile, Jesus reminds us to remember what our calling is and what God’s is. We are blessed to be a blessing. Thanks be to God. Amen.

To view the video of the worship service with the sermon click here.

"It’s Not about You" - Sermon for the Sixth Sunday after Pentecost

It’s Not about You

Pentecost 6A

July 12, 2020

Grace, Waseca, MN

Matthew 13.1-9, 18-23

A good song tells a good story, and the best songs not only tell a great story also stretches our imaginations. In 1972, Carly Simon released “You’re So Vain,” a great song telling a great story that stretches our imagination. “You’re So Vain” is supposedly about a self-absorbed famous person who is not identified. The first verse goes like this:

You walked into the party

Like you were walking on to a yacht

Your hat strategically dipped below one eye

Your scarf, it was apricot

You had one eye in the mirror

As you watched yourself Gavotte

And all the girls dreamed that they'd be your partner

They'd be your partner, and…

Simon stretches our imagination in the song in two ways. First, she refuses to reveal who the song describes and has steadfastly done for almost 50 years. As you can imagine, there has been a great deal of speculation. Second, she does a totally unexpected move in the refrain,

You're so vain

You probably think this song is about you

You're so vain (you're so vain)

I'll bet you think this song is about you

Don't you?

Don't you?

Throughout the song, relentlessly, Simon insists that this song is not about the apparent subject but about something else.

I see something similar in our gospel reading from Matthew. Instead of a song, Jesus tells a parable. It is the third of five large blocks of teaching in Matthew and this one contains almost all parables. The parable seems straightforward: a sower (God), sews seed (Jesus as the Word) onto different kinds of ground (the hearts of people) and only the “good soil” produces abundant, lasting fruit. But as he tells this parable to the crowds and explains it to his followers, I can almost hear him saying, “You’re so vain, you probably think this parable is about you, don’t you, you’re so vain.”

It’s understandable that we think this parable is about us. Our first reaction in hearing it is to wonder about the condition of our own hearts. Maybe we have our rocky, thorny times, but aren’t our hearts good soil most of the time? Then our next reaction is to wonder how we can make our hearts better soil so that God’s Word is more fruitful in our lives. In our weaker moments, we might look around and compare our “soil” with that of other people. Surely my heart is better than those others, we might think. Yet, I hear Jesus saying, “You’re so vain, you probably think this parable is about you, don’t you?”

It’s important to remember that when Jesus tells a parable it’s almost always a “kingdom parable,” what the kingdom of God is like. He often uses the words, “The kingdom of heaven is like…,” but not always. By kingdom of God, Jesus wants us to know that it’s not about some heavenly realm where we are going in the future, but God’s reign breaking in here and now. It’s helpful to remember that parables are not puzzles to be solved but mysteries to be entered. Parables are not to be opened as much as they are about Jesus opening us up to a new way of thinking and doing. The way that God does things, what God values, can be hard to grasp and run contrary to what this world values, so Jesus uses parables to help us be open kingdom living.

Now, it’s true that one reason Jesus (and Matthew) tell this parable is to explain to his followers why it is that not everyone receives the good news of Jesus’ presence in the world. It’s is to look around and see that the good news has not taken root everywhere. But even that’s not all; a clue to the parable’s invitation to us lies in the reckless abandon in which the sower (God) sows seed. Today’s farmers wouldn’t dream of doing this, but that’s the point: God is going to sow the word of mercy, grace and love anywhere and everywhere no matter what your or I think. And, as our Old Testament lesson from Isaiah reminds us, God’s word will accomplish what God purposes not matter the obstacles.

Having proclaimed this good kingdom news about God’s abundant word, we haven’t solved the parable. We’ve only entered the mystery and are left with some questions to further open us up. For example, what are the “soils” (hearts) that we have prejudged as not being worthy of attention? Are there ways we’ve been stingy with God’s word of grace? Have we succumbed to a scarcity mentality that says we don’t have enough? In a different vein, can we see places where God’s word has taken root that defy logic, just as we’ve seen plants growing in the most unlikely spots? Who hasn’t seen a plant growing out of a crack in concrete, a bush on the rocky side of a mountain, or a tree in a ditch with no other trees around it?

Okay, so maybe this parable is a bit about us and we’re not so vain as the person in Carly Simon’s song, but it’s about God first and foremost. God’s word, Jesus, has been scattered abroad in our hearts and God invites us to join in that work, with joyful and reckless abandon. Amen.

To watch a video version of this sermon click here.