In the book of Genesis,
after Adam and Eve have
eaten from the forbidden tree,
God pronounces a number of “curses”
upon the human race—
conditions that will prevail
as human history moves forward,
signs of our fallen state.
Among these is what God says to Adam:
“Cursed is the ground because of you!...
Thorns and thistles it shall bear for you,
and you shall eat the grass of the field.
By the sweat of your brow
you shall eat bread,
until you return to the ground,
from which you were taken;
for you are dust,
and to dust you shall return” (Gen 3:17-19).
after Adam and Eve have
eaten from the forbidden tree,
God pronounces a number of “curses”
upon the human race—
conditions that will prevail
as human history moves forward,
signs of our fallen state.
Among these is what God says to Adam:
“Cursed is the ground because of you!...
Thorns and thistles it shall bear for you,
and you shall eat the grass of the field.
By the sweat of your brow
you shall eat bread,
until you return to the ground,
from which you were taken;
for you are dust,
and to dust you shall return” (Gen 3:17-19).
This forms the background
of Jesus’ parable of the sower.
The soil in which the sower sows
is stony, thorny, shallow,
subject to scorching sun
and ravenous birds.
Farming such land was difficult, unrewarding work.
A peasant farmer in Jesus’ day could expect at best
a four or fivefold return on the seed he sowed.
The world in which the parable unfolds
is a world marked by the effect of human sin,
a world marked by the curse of Adam.
of Jesus’ parable of the sower.
The soil in which the sower sows
is stony, thorny, shallow,
subject to scorching sun
and ravenous birds.
Farming such land was difficult, unrewarding work.
A peasant farmer in Jesus’ day could expect at best
a four or fivefold return on the seed he sowed.
The world in which the parable unfolds
is a world marked by the effect of human sin,
a world marked by the curse of Adam.
In our second reading,
Paul describes the same world:
a creation, “made subject to futility”
and “groaning in labor pains
even until now.”
We not only see the curse of creation
in the inhospitable earth
from which we wrest our living;
we feel it in ourselves:
“we also groan within ourselves
as we wait for adoption,
the redemption of our bodies,”
the bodies of dust
that will to dust return.
The hopes and aspirations
on which we live
bear meager fruit,
if they bear any fruit at all.
Even we who have put our faith in Christ
and have been joined to him through grace
share in this universal groaning.
Our lives are not immune
to the frustrations of living
in a world of stony, thorny, shallow soil.
We who have been joined
to Christ the new Adam
still live amidst the devastation
wrought by the old Adam.
Paul describes the same world:
a creation, “made subject to futility”
and “groaning in labor pains
even until now.”
We not only see the curse of creation
in the inhospitable earth
from which we wrest our living;
we feel it in ourselves:
“we also groan within ourselves
as we wait for adoption,
the redemption of our bodies,”
the bodies of dust
that will to dust return.
The hopes and aspirations
on which we live
bear meager fruit,
if they bear any fruit at all.
Even we who have put our faith in Christ
and have been joined to him through grace
share in this universal groaning.
Our lives are not immune
to the frustrations of living
in a world of stony, thorny, shallow soil.
We who have been joined
to Christ the new Adam
still live amidst the devastation
wrought by the old Adam.
In the context of the parable of the sower,
which Jesus goes on to explain as an allegory
of the scattering of God’s word in the world
and the mixed response it receives,
we might think of the frustrations found
in our own attempts to spread God’s word.
which Jesus goes on to explain as an allegory
of the scattering of God’s word in the world
and the mixed response it receives,
we might think of the frustrations found
in our own attempts to spread God’s word.
On a large, societal scale,
there seems to be in our own country
an increasing indifference,
and in some quarters outright hostility,
to the Gospel that the Church proclaims.
Some of this the Church has brought on herself,
through failing to live out the Gospel,
whether from laziness and lukewarmness,
or from preferring to protect our institutions
rather than embracing the radical call of the Gospel
to faith, hope, and love.
Some of it, however,
is because the soil in which we sow
has become stony with cynicism,
thorny with self-indulgence,
and shallow with false ideologies
that promise salvation
but cannot save us from ourselves.
there seems to be in our own country
an increasing indifference,
and in some quarters outright hostility,
to the Gospel that the Church proclaims.
Some of this the Church has brought on herself,
through failing to live out the Gospel,
whether from laziness and lukewarmness,
or from preferring to protect our institutions
rather than embracing the radical call of the Gospel
to faith, hope, and love.
Some of it, however,
is because the soil in which we sow
has become stony with cynicism,
thorny with self-indulgence,
and shallow with false ideologies
that promise salvation
but cannot save us from ourselves.
On a smaller, more personal scale,
we look around us and notice
that there are people missing—
friends and acquaintances who once joined us in worship
but who must have found something that they think
is more rewarding to do with their Sunday mornings.
I am mindful especially of those of us
who are parents with adult children,
and who sometimes dutifully, sometimes joyfully,
sowed the seed of the word in our children
by bringing them to religious formation,
making sure that they received the sacraments,
praying for them and with them,
even discussing the faith with them
and engaging in works of charity with them,
only to see them gradually drift away,
or even angrily and dramatically depart,
and join the ranks of those
whom sociologists call “nones”—
those who are religiously unaffiliated,
and often claim to be religiously indifferent.
Parents can find themselves asking,
“Could I have done more?”
and groan in pain
at a sense of having failed
to produce a rich harvest of faith
within their children.
But the parable of the sower
is not about the failure of the sower,
but about his success.
Despite the curse of Adam,
despite the devastated earth,
despite the groaning of creation,
the sower’s labors bring forth
not the usual four or fivefold harvest,
but thirty or sixty or a hundredfold.
Our psalm today speaks not
of a cursed, devastated, groaning world
but of fields that “shout and sing for joy.”
God promises through the prophet Isaiah,
“my word shall not return to me void,
but shall do my will,
achieving the end for which I sent it.”
Threaded throughout the rather bleak assessment
of the world’s condition that our scriptures offer us
is a persistent note of joy and abundance,
a constant reminder that though the world is,
as the poet Gerard Manley Hopkins puts it,
“seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil”
still, by the grace of God and the gift of the Spirit,
“there lives the dearest freshness deep down things.”
we look around us and notice
that there are people missing—
friends and acquaintances who once joined us in worship
but who must have found something that they think
is more rewarding to do with their Sunday mornings.
I am mindful especially of those of us
who are parents with adult children,
and who sometimes dutifully, sometimes joyfully,
sowed the seed of the word in our children
by bringing them to religious formation,
making sure that they received the sacraments,
praying for them and with them,
even discussing the faith with them
and engaging in works of charity with them,
only to see them gradually drift away,
or even angrily and dramatically depart,
and join the ranks of those
whom sociologists call “nones”—
those who are religiously unaffiliated,
and often claim to be religiously indifferent.
Parents can find themselves asking,
“Could I have done more?”
and groan in pain
at a sense of having failed
to produce a rich harvest of faith
within their children.
But the parable of the sower
is not about the failure of the sower,
but about his success.
Despite the curse of Adam,
despite the devastated earth,
despite the groaning of creation,
the sower’s labors bring forth
not the usual four or fivefold harvest,
but thirty or sixty or a hundredfold.
Our psalm today speaks not
of a cursed, devastated, groaning world
but of fields that “shout and sing for joy.”
God promises through the prophet Isaiah,
“my word shall not return to me void,
but shall do my will,
achieving the end for which I sent it.”
Threaded throughout the rather bleak assessment
of the world’s condition that our scriptures offer us
is a persistent note of joy and abundance,
a constant reminder that though the world is,
as the poet Gerard Manley Hopkins puts it,
“seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil”
still, by the grace of God and the gift of the Spirit,
“there lives the dearest freshness deep down things.”
Our ability to believe in the freshness
of these deep down things
even amid the world’s devastation
depends on seeing two things.
of these deep down things
even amid the world’s devastation
depends on seeing two things.
First, the sower in the parable is God, not us.
Of course, we all have our role to play
in sowing God’s word,
in giving an account of the hope that is in us
and bearing witness with our lives.
But were our hopes only in our own efforts,
then our groaning would be the whole story.
The point of the parable, however,
is that it is Christ
who sows the word in us
and in the world,
Christ the new Adam
who can bring forth an abundant harvest
even amid the curse wrought by the old Adam.
Of course, we all have our role to play
in sowing God’s word,
in giving an account of the hope that is in us
and bearing witness with our lives.
But were our hopes only in our own efforts,
then our groaning would be the whole story.
The point of the parable, however,
is that it is Christ
who sows the word in us
and in the world,
Christ the new Adam
who can bring forth an abundant harvest
even amid the curse wrought by the old Adam.
Second, we are still in the middle of the process;
we are not yet at the end of the parable.
Though no doubt there is unwelcoming soil,
we should not presume that we know where that is;
we should not presume that what we can see
reveals to us the still hidden work of the Spirit.
The time of harvest has not yet come
and the thirty, sixty, hundredfold yield
still remains in the future.
We do not yet know
where the seeds of the word
will take root and grow.
We do not yet know who will prove
to have been good or bad soil.
we are not yet at the end of the parable.
Though no doubt there is unwelcoming soil,
we should not presume that we know where that is;
we should not presume that what we can see
reveals to us the still hidden work of the Spirit.
The time of harvest has not yet come
and the thirty, sixty, hundredfold yield
still remains in the future.
We do not yet know
where the seeds of the word
will take root and grow.
We do not yet know who will prove
to have been good or bad soil.
So when we look around us
and lament the absence
of those who once were here,
of those who might be here but are not,
we should, even as we seek
with patient persistence
to sow the word,
take heart from our faith
that the sufferings of this present time
are as nothing
compared with the glory of God’s mercy
still to be revealed for us,
in thirty, sixty,
and hundredfold abundance.
and lament the absence
of those who once were here,
of those who might be here but are not,
we should, even as we seek
with patient persistence
to sow the word,
take heart from our faith
that the sufferings of this present time
are as nothing
compared with the glory of God’s mercy
still to be revealed for us,
in thirty, sixty,
and hundredfold abundance.
