I've always loved this parable of the seed, perhaps because there are so many possible ways to read it. For years I thought Jesus was surely describing us as the seed, and I listened for how I could be productive seed. I checked my soil and did what gardening I could. Now, that helped a little, as I developed spiritual disciplines, but sometimes I was so busy checking my soil I couldn't rest and take root.
Then I heard someone say that we are the sower, not the seed. Now, that opened up a whole new path for me! As someone called to preach the Gospel I liked that. I was to scatter seed everywhere I could. Perhaps I was to be more selective than the sower in the parable, who wasted seed by throwing it every which way? Surely many books and articles on ministry advised me how to "target my message" and bring in a rich harvest. Once again I had something to do, something that might produce visible results.
I didn't even notice, in these reflections, that I was leaving God out of the picture. I was acting as though I was the agent, whether seed or sower. Where was God? That's still unclear to me when I look back. Perhaps God was the provider of the seed, the agent awaiting results like a judge at the county fair.
Then last Friday we had a great discussion at coffee table communion, begun when someone said she hated this parable for all the anxiety it caused the people at her church. Someone else went through the parable line by line and pointed out that what happens to the seed in each case is not their fault: the seed that landed on rocky ground didn't plan that, the seed that got eaten didn't plan that, the seed that landed among thorns didn't plan that. Even the happy luxurious seed didn't plan to be planted in good soil, and deserves no credit!
We talked about being faithful, doing our best wherever we land, and trying not to judge the results. I thought about how none of the seed is wasted. The seed that is eaten nourishes the birds, who excrete it and create more soil; the seed that burns up also creates a first layer of soil for later seeds; the seed that dies among thorns likewise creates soil. It may not bear in one generation, but it enriches the earth nonetheless. It's not the job of the seed to decide where it appears in the cycle of life.
Then, as I kept thinking I wondered: what if we are not only the sower, not only the seed, but also the soil in which the seeds land? Is it then our responsibility to make ourselves fertile ground? That too seems a heavy burden. If we've been turned to stone through abuse or other trauma, that calls for compassion. If we are burdened with family or health or job worries, that calls for compassion and gentleness, not judging. If we are enthusiastic but lack stamina, that may call for curiosity - and compassion. For who wants a life of flitting from enthusiasm to enthusiasm, without real nourishment? Such a life is sad, and likely under it is some rocky ground that can't be faced.
So how do we hear Jesus here in a way that doesn't deprive us of choice and agency, but eases the burden of guilt so deeply etched into Western Christianity? I think we can start by reintroducing God into the story. Remember God, source of grace?
In the first letter to the Corinthians Paul discusses his ministry and says, "I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth. So neither the one who plants nor the one what waters is anything, but only God who gives the growth" (3:6-7). God is the sower, scattering the grain more abundantly than we can ask or imagine. And God is the seed, the Word of life that sprouts wherever it finds room. And God is the soil, the ground of all that is. God is.
Yes, there is a part for me in this. My part is to worship God, to point at God, to do my best to receive God's love. What will grow will grow, because God's love does that. All God needs from me is an open heart. That means not diagnosing the state of my heart; that's God's business. I just open as well as I can. That sounds like enough for a lifetime.
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