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CHILDREN'S EDUCATION |
SERMONS The
Eighth Sunday after Pentecost By David Christian I recently read an interview with a teacher of teachers. This woman runs a continuing education program for teachers at a large university. She spends her time giving teachers new tools and new energy to continue the important and difficult task of teaching. The interviewer asked her what she had learned about teaching in her long career of dealing with teachers. She replied, "Good teachers are in love with the task of sowing. They are enthralled with the task of teaching itself. They are content to leave the harvesting to someone else. Their lives are spent in sowing the seed, but they rarely get to be present for the harvest." The subject of the parable in today's gospel is such a person. Much of the reading is taken up with an explanation of the parable. The explanation focuses on the seed and the various types of soil into which it falls. Parallels are drawn between the types of soil and the responses of types of people on hearing the news of the kingdom. But the parable is known as the parable of the sower, and that is who I would like for us to spend some time thinking about. Just as a good teacher is in love with the task of teaching, this sower is in love with the task of sowing. He takes his bucket of seed and he heads out, sowing as he goes. He enjoys sowing so much that he doesn't spend much time worrying about where the seed will fall. He doesn't do soil testing; he doesn't look at a cost-benefit analysis. He just sows seed. He sows because sowing is what he likes to do. He sows because that is who he is. He is a sower. He sows indiscriminately. He sows on the good earth, he sows on the path, he sows on the rocky ground, he sows among the thorns. Some of the seed will grow up and produce fruit. Much of the seed will not. That is not his concern. He is the sower. But if he doesn't sow, there will be no fruit. That is the way nature works. The oak trees around the Chapel produce hundreds of acorns every year. If all of those acorns grew, the new trees would crowd each other out. There would not be room to walk among them. Not one in a hundred of the acorns will actually germinate, and most of the ones that do will be mowed down or be eaten or be crowded out by other plants. But that is not the concern of the oak tree. The oak tree's job is to produce acorns. That is also the way God works. God is love. That is what God is and that is what God does. God sows this love everywhere, indiscriminately. Jesus says, "[God] makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous." God sows this love-this grace-on the evil and on the good, on the righteous and on the unrighteous. And God calls us to do the same. I saw a poster once that said, "Perform random acts of kindness." God calls us to sow our love randomly, indiscriminately. God calls us to sow our love without calculating where it will do the most good. To sow our love everywhere for the sheer joy of loving. Every day we feast on the fruits of the love sown by those who have come before us. Much of the fruit of the love that we sow will be harvested by others. We cannot tell which of our acts of love will produce fruit and which will fall on barren ground. Such is the way of life, and such is the way of the God we follow. The preacher William Willimon tells the story of a trip back to his old college for a speaking engagement. After the speech a young man came up and said, "Dr. Willimon, remember me?" Although he looked familiar Willimon could not immediately place him. Then the man said, "I'm Rob." And Willimon remembered. He remembered a young, rambunctious, unruly child whose mother had gone through a difficult divorce in a parish he had pastored many years before. Now that child was a poised, fine-looking college student. "I'm doing great here," he said. "And I am here because of you." "Me?" Willimon asked. "Yes," he said. "You had such an influence on my life. And I heard you say that this had been your college, so I wanted to come here, too." "How did I influence your life?," Willimon asked. Perhaps the boy had been influenced by his preaching, even at such an early age. Or through the Day Camp that he had conducted during the summer. What could have caused such a profound influence? "You always remembered my name," the young man replied. "I remembered your name," Willimon asked. "That's all?" "Yep, you always knew my name. I never forgot what a good pastor you were." Perform random acts of kindness and love indiscriminately. Who knows where it may lead? And anyway, it's good for your soul. David
Christian
Proper 10A
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Chapel
of the Cross · 674 Mannsdale Road · Madison, Mississippi
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