Homily for the 15th Sunday in Ordinary Time
July 14, 2014
Church of the Resurrection, Cincinnati
(based on Isaiah 55:10-11; Romans 8:18-23; Matthew 13:1-23)
The parables of Jesus have been compared to diamonds. You know, when you hold a
diamond a certain way you see a wonderful array of colors. Then turn it ever so
slightly and a whole different rainbow appears.
There is no one single ‘right’ way to interpret a parable. Each different angle
highlights different truths.
The most common focus is, of course, has been on the different places on which the
seed falls, and the different fruits that come from each. Look at it that way and it
answers the question: Why is it that, although we all hear the same word, some
disciples bring forth more fruit than others?
That approach makes us ask what kind of soil we represent. How receptive we are.
And what in us blocks the seed from its full fruition. What is our level of openness
and spiritual receptivity. And that’s something worth praying about.
But that’s not the only way to enter the story. Turn the diamond slightly and a whole
other vista opens up.
Some biblical scholars suggest that we need first to ask ourselves what Jesus was
really doing when he spoke in parables in the first place. He was attempting to reveal
the one he called ‘Father.’
Jesus lived in a level of intimacy with the Father that we could scarcely imagine. He
said, “I and the Father are one.” So if he was to reveal the Father he had to use
images the disciples might grasp from personal experience.
From that angle the parables are trying to answer a different question: What is the
Father really like? Sometimes the ‘Father’ is a woman who has lost a coin; or a
landowner paying his tenants; or someone throwing a wedding banquet. The
concern in the parable of the sower is, not with where the seed falls but rather what
kind of a sower is doing the sowing.
If we look at the diamond from that angle, the thing that jumps out at us is the sheer
extravagance of the sower. He’s lavish, even wasteful. He just flings the seed around
with reckless abandon.
He doesn’t seem to care that much about where the seed falls, he just wants the joy
of scattering it. And he certainly isn’t concerned that he will run out of seed!
As I was preparing my remarks I had a mini-vision. Suppose the sower had a
foreman or manager assisting him. This fellow knows his job; he’s an efficiency
expert. So he approaches the boss and says, “Why don’t you take a break? You’re
getting tired and your aim is off. You’re wasting the seed. It costs money!” In my
vision the owner hears that – and reaches into his bag and grabs three more
handfuls and throws them on the road and says, “You don’t have a clue about me.
Take that!”
So what if some of the seed falls on the black-top? The birds will enjoy it. And if it
falls among the brambles, eventually the worms and grubs will have a fine feast. And
even if falls on rock, we have all seen a single seed find a tiny crack and sprout so as
to split the rock.
Isaiah tells us of the power of God’s word. It comes down like rain and it will not
return empty. It will accomplish the purpose for which God sends it forth. That
extravagant power is all around us in creation. If we can allow ourselves to see.
I want to introduce you to someone who knows how to see.
She is a woman—a prophet, really—named Annie Dillard. She lives in a rural area in
Southwest Virginia. In 1974 she wrote a book called Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, about
the amazing life that she observes in that tiny corner of the earth. I can only share a
few instances of how she sees, but one of her summaries is that we live “on the
receiving end of beauty.”
Take a tree. Perhaps one in your backyard. I look and see a plain old tree. Annie
Dillard sees an amazing phenomenon. She describes a mighty pumping engine that
expands and contracts ceaselessly in tiny pulses. It can reach down to the deepest
root ten feet into the earth and suck up a tiny fragment of moisture and then pull it
up, up, and up, not stopping until it nourishes the last leaf 70, 80, or 100 feet above
her.
I can’t see a tree the same way now.
She tells of some scientists who wondered how long the roots grow beneath
ordinary rye grass. They let it grow in a greenhouse for four months, and then
delicately stripped away the dirt, down to the sub-microscopic level. In four months
it had set forth 378 miles of roots. And at the level of root hairs, 14 billion root hairs.
In a cubic inch of soil (the size of an ice cube) the length of the root hairs totaled
6000 miles. As she puts it, “the creator loves pizzazz. . . .”
When we read Scripture there is a danger that we make it all about us. When what
we need to do first is to put our moral development aside until we have our
understanding of God right. If that’s crooked, all our efforts will be askew. We need
to take a long time at the fact of creation and the mystery that all of this—and
especially ourselves—exist at all.
And if the extravagance of our God is revealed in nature, how much more in the
billions of human men and women made in God’s likeness? Made in every
imaginable shade and hue and shape and size. Each one absolutely unique, no two
alike even in the case of ‘identical’ twins. Our God’s imagination is inexhaustible. But
if we are really to see, we need first to allow our blinders, what prevents our seeing,,
to be pulled away.
Let me tell you of two such creations.
If I told you we are going to talk about a motorcycle gang I suspect we would each
see the image of a bunch of macho guys with their wrap-around shades and
bandannas revving up their powerful hogs. Rough dudes. Don’t want to mess with
them.
On public radio a few months back there was a story of such a gang out in California.
They are organized around a project, a mission.
What is that mission? They go to the courts and find the names of young women and
men who have been raped or abused and are going to court to place charges against
the one who violated them. It’s scary prospect. These guys know it from personal
experience. So they go to the victim’s house and befriend her or him. Then on the
day of the appearance they take the victim on their bikes to the court. They stand
next to the victim, supporting him or her through the direct confronting of the
violator. They escort the victim back home. And then they set up a regular rotation
over the coming weeks, so there is always one biker sitting outside the victim’s
home, assuring the victim that there is someone there for protection. . . .
And then, a small revelation, closer to home.
A couple of weeks ago as we were coming out of a Reds game with 20,000 other fans
there was a panhandler in front of us. A straggly, scruffy old white guy, all skin and
bones. He was holding a sign of course. And what did the sign say?
“High-maintenance girlfriend. . . .”
How creative can our God be?
You and I brush shoulders every day with holy men and women. Maybe it’s on the
bus; perhaps in the supermarket or in the chair next to us in the beauty parlor or
barbershop. Each one is a word of the Lord to us.
They’re not holy because they’re ‘good,’ because they live up to some moral
standard.
They’re not holy because they keep the commandments. Because they don’t.
They’re not holy because they don’t lie or steal or commit adultery. Because they do
all those things.
No, they are holy simply because they are made in the image and likeness of our
lavishly creative God.
Let’s just pray that our eyes may be opened. That we may see.
Amen?