Last night I received an e-mail asking me if I'd ever written about the Parable of the Sower, and asking if I might...
Well the answer is was no not yet, and then of course the thought would not leave me. As I began to ponder the parable I realised that every teaching/ commentary I had read concentrated upon the soil types that the seed (the word) was sown into, and each one likened them to our hearts/ lives. This of course is not wrong, Jesus himself explains his parable in that way. He encourages people beyond the deceitfulness of wealth, and the problems of persecution to become good soil, and yet as the sower he knows that some of the "seeds", sown by the lake that day would not reach their full potential, but that did not stop him sowing.
So here is my story- told from the perspective of a careful farmers wife listening to his story....
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The teacher is here, the teacher is here, the word had quickly spread around our community that morning, he was down by the lake, talking with his followers. We'd known he was in the village of course, rumours of his family coming to collect him had spread quickly the night before, rumours of how he'd snubbed them, snubbed even his mother in front of a crowd, refusing to go with her...
He'd challenged the Pharisees and teachers too, refusing their claim that he was possessed by demons. And then he had turned his eyes on the crowd, eyes full of compassion. My sister told me that it was as if he'd looked right into every eye, every soul in the place and called them his family: " Whoever does God’s will" he'd proclaimed "is my brother and sister and mother."
So you'll understand why we couldn't resist going to find him, Jonas and I, we left the crops to tend for themselves that morning and went looking for him, it was then that we heard the whispers, and began to make our way to the lake. Many others had heard too it seems for there was a huge crowd pressing forward when we got there. So huge in fact that we were pushing Jesus and his followers off the shore and into the water. They got into a boat and pushed out from the shore, and then to our relief they stopped and dropped an anchor, he turned and faced us and began to tell andextraordinary tale.
He told of a sower scattering seed over a field, but what kind of sower was this, seed fell generously on the path, amongst the weeds and even among stones. He sowed upon the good soil of course, but seemingly with no care when it came to the less fruitfil places. Now I know for myself that you cannot prevent seed from falling on these difficult areas, but Jonas and me, we do take care not to waste too much. we know where we are in the field, we make sure that the fruitful, well tilled soil gets special care...
Yet here was this sower in his story scattering seed, and knowing that some would come to nothing. I pondered this on my walk home, he wasn't talking about seed of course, nor was he talking about soil. His words, his wisdom were the seeds, and we were the field, that much I knew. Then I saw it in my minds eye, a picture of this sower with a sack so full of good seed that he had more than enough to spare, he did not need to be careful in his sowing, he knew that his seed would bear fruit, he knew that some of the good land would produce one hundred fold crops, and so he sowed with outrageous generosity...
It was not that he did not care for the seed, he knew that each grain held within it one hundred fold potential, and he knew the hearts before him, knew that some would not, and others could not recieve him...
And I pondered this, for I knew that this sower would reap a fine harvest and then set out the next season to sow again, that he would sow again with the same outrageous generosity, and as I pondered I realised something new, that unlike my seed, his seed, his word had the power to transform even the hard soil where it fell. That year after year that falling seed could bring about a change, if the soil were willing, if the hearer responded.
And I thought about the care that Jonas and me would lavish upon our little field, how we would nurture even the plants that sprung from rocky ground, and tend even the plants that fell amongst weeds. And I knew that even they could produce fruit, not a hundred fold perhaps, but they still had potential. I also knew that year after year that we worked to clear the rocks, and remove the weeds. And I knew too that just now and then a seed soen onto the hardened paths around the edge and across the centre of our field would sprout, and grow, and though they would not produce substantial crops we would step gently around them, for each one was an unexpected miracle, and that was something to celebrate.
I continued to ponder this sower through the day, as I watched my children playing I considered them, they were so different, Eli was bright, we knew he'd go far, but Samuel was frail, a whisp of a boy we lavished special care on him. Suddenly the outrageous generosity of this lakeside sower made sense, he had the heart of a mother for her children, he sowed not for the crop- though he would celebrate that, no he sowed because he loved, loved with an outrageous love, and gave with outrageous generosity, outrageous grace...
