Text: Matthew 13:1-23
Why doesn’t everyone believe in Jesus? And why does believing in Jesus not seem to make much of a difference in how some folks live their lives?
For that matter, why does believing in Jesus—sometimes at least—not make much of a difference in how any of us live of our lives?
Why is it that Christianity can flip one person’s life on its head for the good, but another person’s life on its head for the bad?
Why do the failures of the church drive one person completely away from God, but another person more deeply into his arms?
Why is the fact that someone is a pastor or a priest no guarantee they’ll reflect Jesus?
Why don’t I reflect Jesus all that often myself?
In our passage this morning, Jesus speaks to the crowd in a parable. “A farmer went out to sow his seed,” he begins. In ancient near eastern fashion, the farmer in Jesus’ story simply walks through his field casting seed. Some of the seed falls on the pathway. Some of it falls on unprepared land. Some of it falls among rocks. And some of it lands in the soil that’s been tilled and made ready. The farmer in the story doesn’t seem very careful. He’s tossing the seed hither and yon. And unremarkably, perhaps—given the lack of care with which the farmer appears to be doing his job—not all the seed gives the farmer what he’s after…
The seed that lands on the pathway is eaten by birds.
The seed that falls among the rocks does spout, but the dirt is dry and shallow. The plants don’t survive.
The seed that falls in the unprepared soil—in soil that hasn’t been tilled-up and cleared of its weeds—does sprout up, but ultimately doesn’t make it, either. The weeds are heartier, it seems, than what the farmer is planting. Though the plants grow, they ultimately lose.
But the seed that lands on prepared soil—on soil that’s been tilled up and cleared of stones and weeds—takes root and grows. In proper time, a crop sprouts up. The plants bear fruit. The farmer is able to collect seed for next year’s planting and food for his family. Some of the crop is so abundant he’ll be able to store it for winter, and even (presumably) sell some at market.
“Whoever has ears to hear, let them hear,” Jesus concludes, and his sermon is over. The crowds disperse. Jesus is left alone with his disciples. There is silence for a few moments. And then…
“Ummmm…what was the point of that?,” one of the disciples finally works up the nerve to ask. “Why are you telling stories instead of preaching the word? Why are you talking about farming?”
“Because the knowledge of the secrets of the kingdom of heaven have been given to you,” Jesus tells the disciples, “but it has not been given to them.”
We often assume that Jesus spoke in parables so he’d be easier to understand. “These people were farmers,” we reason, “so Jesus is using farming metaphors to help them understand the gospel.” We say this, in part, because we understand the gospel (or hope we do), and so we are able to see all kinds of meanings in Jesus’ parables. As metaphors and similes, they are rich. Together with the love Jesus has for the crowds, and his desire for people to enter the kingdom of God, we assume Jesus is telling stories to be better understood. What else could he be up to?
But we forget that, when Jesus spoke in parables, people really couldn’t understand what he was saying—not without some explanation (like he gives the disciples in our text), or without some prior understanding (like we have, or hope we have, ourselves). Sure, the crowds around Jesus knew about farming. They’d all seen it, and many of them had probably done it. But what does growing barley have to do with the kingdom of God? They honestly couldn’t have a clue. Jesus was controversial, fascinating, and wonderful. He could heal people. The crowds loved him. And sometimes he taught them plainly, especially early on. But many of the things Jesus said, particularly in the parables, didn’t really make sense. We see people misunderstanding Jesus all the time in our Gospels. And when the disciples point out this problem to Jesus, what does he say in our text? “Oh, yeah. I’m doing that on purpose.”:
Because, says Jesus, people are like the soils in his story.
Some people aren’t ready for the gospel at all. They are like the path. Sidewalks and barley crops have nothing to do with each other. Similarly, for some people, all talk about the God and salvation is meaningless. It’s like tossing seeds onto a path. The gospel just bounces off. They don’t see the point. The words mean nothing. You may as well be talking about Star Trek.
Other people, Jesus says, are like rocky soil. There’s something in them that has space for the gospel. There’s a little bit of soil down in there. But there’s also a bunch of rocks. They are kind of like the farmland, and they are also kind of like the sidewalk. Similar to good soil, there is something in them that is willing to give God a listen. But like the pathway, there is also an incomprehension for what the gospel costs. “Salvation is free,” after all, “but it will cost you your life.” If believing in Jesus meant getting all the benefits of a life with God, but none of the difficulties, these folks would be in. They may even try the gospel out for a bit. But as soon as being a Christian means losing something they love—losing their reputation because of their faith, having to say no to sinning with their friends—it’s the gospel that gets shown the door.
And then there are those in whom things can really grow. They are rich and vibrant soil. They are full of nutrients and minerals. All kinds of things can grow in them. These might be people who are willing to add Christianity to an otherwise already fruitful life. These might be people who are believers, but for whom worries about bills, or beauty, or finding a girlfriend means a lot more. These might be people who even become pastors or Christian leaders, but who see ministry as a way of having influence, respect, and success. These are the folks in whom all kinds of things can grow, and do grow, but who aren’t willing to give some of those things up for the gospel to bear its fruit. God’s word is present and taken root, but it doesn’t wind up feeding anyone.
And last of all is the “good soil,” the people in whom God’s word finds a home and bears fruit. These are the people we hope to be. These are the people among whom we, perhaps, even count ourselves. We’re the “good soil,” or at least hope we are. But what makes the good soil good? Does it mean we are better than others? No. What makes the good soil good is that it’s empty. That it’s been tilled and broken up. That the weeds and rocks are pulled out. These are the people who, often enough, have been through life’s ringer. Not always, perhaps. But how many of us voluntarily renounce distractions (the rocks) and the appeal of comfort and stability (the weeds)? Most of us need our addiction to those things beaten out of us by the hard facts of life.
The good soil doesn’t have to be folks who are poor, of course. Plenty of poor people are as obsessed with the things of this life as anyone else. Rather, these are people—rich or poor, healthy or sick—who have become disillusioned enough with the things of this world to really give God their lives. Their lives may or may not be that hard. Their families may or may not be broken. But they are people who have come to believe that the promises of God are better than anything else, and that anything can be willingly lost (painful though it is) for the sake of God and the gospel.
And that is, it seems, why Jesus speaks to the crowd in parables. He wants to see what they’ll do. Will they be like the multitude in John 6, who walked away when Jesus started talking about eating his flesh and drinking his blood? Then the mystery of the kingdom isn’t for them. Or will they be like the Canaanite woman in Matthew 15, to whom Jesus said he would not heal her daughter, but who kept pressing into him until he said yes?
Because that is the difference between the good soil and the bad. It’s not the difference between good people and bad. It’s the difference between those who keep pressing into Jesus even when they don’t understand—who will worship when life is hard, who will bow their hearts to Scripture even when they don’t like what it says—and those who won’t.
Because we are all the rocky soil sometimes.
We are all the soil filled with weeds.
We can all be the people who are distracted, to whom the gospel does not seem real or relevant at all. And so sometimes God lets it be hard, just to see what we will do. Sometimes Jesus makes no sense, and gives us the opportunity to stay or to go.
But for those who, like Peter in John chapter 6, say, “Where else can we go?,” Jesus will take his opaque and mysterious words and make them the words of eternal life.
Let’s Pray
Mikael Ivaska 