Luke 8, 4–8

“Where God sows, new things can grow”

May the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with us all.

Dear congregation
I have brought you a piece of paper. I made it this week while I was thinking about the sermon text. At first glance, it looks quite ordinary, a little grey. When you hold it in your hand, you might think: it's just paper, nothing special. But it contains something that you cannot see immediately.

You can write on it, you can give it away, or you can put it away and forget about it. But if you put the paper in the soil, water it a little, and let the sun shine on it, then hopefully a flower will grow from it.

In his parable, Jesus tells of a farmer who goes out to his field and sows seeds. And because a field in Palestine in the 1st century is not as tidy as the ultra-efficient fields of today, some seeds end up on the path, on the rocks, among the weeds or are pecked at by birds. 

Since I have absolutely no green fingers, I thought about what this might look like today: 

Sketch
Scene 1: Person 1 wants to talk to Person 2, who is busy on their mobile phone.

Scene 2: Person 3 brushes off Person 1 because they have too much to do. 

Scene 3: Person 4 is frustrated because nothing has changed.

Jesus is not necessarily distinguishing between four different groups of people, the "good" and the "bad". 
Hopefully there is something else to be found among all the thorns, the path and the rocks. Aren't we all, depending on the situation, more of one thing and more of another? Let's look at the examples from the parable:

There were times when I let myself be trampled on like a path because I wasn't good at saying no. You don't want to disappoint anyone, you don't want to step on anyone's toes, you want it to work for everyone. Or you learn to deal with stress, you become firm and functional, stable, in order to withstand the pressure.
When I'm like that, my surface is like a closed door. I can hear or read something, but it has no chance of sinking in. The birds that peck away the seeds are the moments when what I want to take with me simply disappears again.

The thorns are there where everyday life is so easily overgrown, between the dishes that still need to be washed and the project that needs to be handed in. The weeds with thorns grow so long that I sometimes feel that the new has no chance because it would take time. And because it's quite prickly and uncomfortable. But sometimes they're also a convenient excuse. Because when there are thorns, you can always say, "I'd love to, but I don't have time." Which may even be true. But sometimes it's fear that holds us back, because new things not only take time, but also courage, and thorns are a good protection: you stick with what you know, you stick with what you have to do, and you don't have to dare.

The rock is the ground on which something sprouts quickly but then dries up again because it has no moisture. It lacks the water that gives life to the seed. The groundwater does not reach the rock.
Perhaps the rock was placed there myself. The negative thoughts I have about myself. The "Oh, it won't work anyway." 
The hopelessness. An inner rock that seals off the life within me.

And then Jesus speaks of good soil. And that is everywhere at first. The trampled path was once good soil, the thorns and bushes grow on it, and it is where the rocks lie. This means that good soil is not a rare special area for particularly faithful people. Good soil is not the perfect life where everything is sorted out. We all already have good soil.
There is a fertile area within us that is receptive.

And the good news is: where God sows, new things can grow. The sower sows everywhere. He is generous with the seed and scatters them over the entire field, wherever they happen to fall. God also sows where it does not appear that anything will come of it. God trusts that most of it will find good soil. Certainly, it cannot hurt to tidy up our inner field from time to time, to remove a rock here and there, to loosen up the hard-packed earth, to make ourselves receptive. 

But God's word does not only speak to us when we read the Bible in the morning, ready to listen. God's word, the seed, is also sown on us when we are trampled down, even when we are standing in front of a huge rock, even when our lives are overgrown.

Jesus tells this parable to his disciples to prepare them for the fact that God's word will not always fall on fertile ground immediately. He describes a human reality and at the same time says that God is not deterred by this and that the disciples should not be deterred by it either.

Where God sows, new things can grow. And they will grow particularly well. They will bear fruit a hundredfold, but you have to be patient. It doesn't happen overnight, and it also takes a little care.

And that brings us back to the seed paper I showed you at the beginning. You put it in the soil, you water it, and if you are patient, a seedling will sprout. If I continue to water it, put it in the light and take care of it a little, it will grow into a sunflower.

That's how I imagine God's Word to be. It's a sentence that sticks, sometimes without you even noticing. A verse that comes back to you later, an encouragement. And when this word finds space within me, when I keep it and let it work within me, then something new can grow from it, and it bears fruit that is not only visible within me, but also in my life outside. When I treat people differently, when I don't avoid someone who makes me uncomfortable, when I notice who is sitting next to me and take an interest in them, when I can share, when I can dare to stand up for someone who would otherwise be overlooked.

And when so many people come together as they do in our congregation, then I am certain: something new can grow and bear fruit.

May the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, guard our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.