Choices
Commentary
Object:
As parents, we want to influence our children. One pastor I know moved his family seven different times. During each of the last five moves, he left one or two children behind. Now, as he retires, he's trying to figure out what' become of his family, and what impact his life has had on his children. He mourns that the center is gone. They have no place to call home.
Parents make choices that affect the manner in which their children form their identities. Harry Chapin put it well in his song "Cat's in the Cradle." When he was a young father, he was too busy making a living to take time with his son. When he was finally old enough to enjoy time with the family, his son in turn had learned to be too busy for his dad.
Of course, parents can have a positive influence, too. Maurice Boyd remembers one incident that sealed the impact of his father on his life forever. His father worked in a shipyard in Belfast, Northern Ireland. During the Depression, work dried up. Times were tough, and for three years his father was out of a job.
Then one of his father's old bosses at the shipyard approached him. The important man would find work for Mr. Boyd. He would guarantee it, no matter how much worse things got. All Mr. Boyd would have to do would be to buy a life insurance policy from the man. It would work to their mutual benefit: the boss's income would increase, and Mr. Boyd's work income would be guaranteed!
It was a great deal except for one thing: it was illegal. Maurice Boyd remembers his father sitting at the kitchen table with the whole family surrounding him. There at the table his father counted the cost. He reviewed their desperate financial situation. He ticked off the outstanding bills and the money he would be making, ought to be making, if only he'd say yes to his boss.
His father wrote it all down on a sheet of paper: the gains and the losses, what he could make and what he could lose. Then he wrote down a category that Maurice Boyd will never forget: integrity. What did it matter if he gained the cash to pay the rent, but lost his ability to teach his children right from wrong? What did it matter if he gained the dignity of a job but lost it each morning when he looked at himself in the mirror and knew that the only one reason he could go off to work instead of someone else was because he cheated?
His father declined the job, and the family groveled through several more years of poverty. Yet, of his father, Maurice Boyd says, "He discovered that no one can make you feel inferior without your consent, and that one way you can keep your soul is by refusing to sell it. He realized that whatever else he lost... he didn't have to lose himself."
Today's passages are all about making choices, and the outcomes they bring. Already in the womb, Jacob was showing his hand as a conniver, cheat, and swindler; his choices would follow him through a lifetime of deceit, even though God would wrestle with him for higher purposes. God's wrestling with us is Paul's theme in his letter to the Romans -- Jesus makes choices that forever lock us in a grace we do not deserve, but mightily revel. And Jesus himself reminds us that we need to choose and choose and choose again in reference to him; that is the only way his seed will grow in our soil.
Genesis 25:19-34
Only a few details of Isaac's life are told on the pages of Genesis, and they occur in the transitional paragraphs from the Abraham Story Cycle (Genesis 12–25) to the Jacob Story Cycle (Genesis 26–37). Isaac is to have a wife from within Terah's larger family back in the old country, and this is accomplished through clear divine intervention and leading (chapter 24). To Isaac and Rebecca are born twins who are opposites in character, and always in competition with one another (chapter 25). Rather than emerging with an identity of his own, Isaac seems doomed to repeat his father's mistakes (chapter 26).
After those few notes, Jacob takes center stage. As our passage for today clearly indicates, he is a conniver from birth (Genesis 25:21–34). This bent of character is further developed in the following stories, where it is shown that he is favored by his mother (Genesis 25:28; 27:12; 8:9), cheats his family (father Isaac -- 27:1-39; brother Esau -- 25:29-34, 27:1-39; uncle Laban -- 30:25-43; daughter Dinah -- 34:1-31), works for his uncle Laban to earn wives Leah and Rachel (Genesis 29:15-30) and cattle (Genesis 30:25-43), is cheated by his uncle (Genesis 29:25-27), afraid of his brother (Genesis 32:3-21), a cowardly wrestler with God (Genesis 32:22-32), and finally receives the covenant blessing and mandate (Genesis 35:1-15).
While all of these stories are fascinating in themselves, there are two significant themes that emerge as dominant. First, in the character of Jacob the nation of Israel will always find herself reflected. After all, it is Jacob who bequeaths his special covenant name "Israel" to the community formed by his descendants. Hearing about Jacob and his exploits would be like reading a secret diary mapping Israel's psychological profile. Even before leaving Egypt the people were wrangling with Moses about burdens and responsibilities, seeking ways to shift workloads and blames elsewhere. Once the wilderness trek began, a variety of conniving subterfuges showed up, including complaints about who really had a right to lead. The spirit of Jacob remained with his namesakes.
Second, the meaning of the name "Israel" and the circumstances surrounding it became a defining moment in Israel's theology. Rarely does the text of Genesis crack open to reveal an origin outside of its narrative timeline, but as the tale of Jacob's night-long wrestling match concludes, there is indeed a note that identifies the organized nation of Israel as the audience reviewing these matters (Genesis 32:32). The story itself is more sordid than it appears at first glance. Jacob and his amassed company are heading back home to Canaan. Jacob hopes that his brother Esau has miraculously had a bout of amnesia and is excited to welcome him with no dark thoughts about Jacob's nasty subterfuge a few decades earlier. But Esau has a good memory, and the report quickly arrives that the maligned brother is racing toward Jacob's retinue at the center of an aggressive army seeking revenge.
Always the manipulator, Jacob strategizes ways to save his skin. First he splits the caravan in two, hoping Esau will target the wrong camp. Then large gifts are sent ahead in the expectation that Esau will be slowed by the herds offered, and his men distracted by the feasts of fresh roasted meat they take. Perhaps a little drunkenness might accompany the barbecue rituals, and because of these subterfuges, Jacob's groups will be able to slip past in the night.
But Jacob knows the depth of his guilt, and his manic attempts at self-preservation continue. He sends his wives and children and remaining possessions across the Jabok River while he remains behind. This is a sinister and cowardly move, for it exposes Jacob's family to the possible onslaught of Esau's army without the moderate natural moat of the river to make their position more defensible. Meantime, Jacob himself would be sitting in the protection of the rearward hills, and will have the advantage of hearing the screams of his children and wives while they are slaughtered as a warning order to escape, even if they do not. Jacob is always the conniver, and a master of self-preservation.
Yet it is here, in the quarters where he had taken such pains to make himself safe, that he becomes most vulnerable. "A man wrestled with him till daybreak" (Genesis 32:24). We know even less about this figure than the little that Jacob seems to know. Nevertheless both he and we are to infer that this was a divine engagement, and that God would not allow Jacob's hiding to keep him aloof from the court of heaven or a confrontation with himself and the tests of righteousness. At the same time, there is a graciousness in the story which reminds us that the divine messenger does not overpower or overwhelm Jacob, but continues to grapple with him, and even provides a blessing he does not deserve. This, then, is the meaning of "Israel" -- one who wrestles with God.
Looking back at Jacob, Israel at Mount Sinai would see herself. She carried the conniving DNA of her forebear in her social makeup. But here at Mount Sinai she also carried his divinely appointed name. In the Suzerain Vassal covenant Yahweh formulated with her, the wrestling continued. Yahweh and Israel were bound in an embrace that would change them both.
Romans 8:1-11
Somewhere around late 53 AD the social and economic impact of the Christian gospel began to be felt acutely in Ephesus. Among the many cultural and civic resources of that city was its shrine to Artemis (known among the Romans as Diana). This temple was considered to be one of the seven wonders of the world. In fact, a great portion of the economy of Ephesus was derived from the cultic activities surrounding the temple, along with the religious tourist trade it brought to the city. As Christian adherents multiplied in Ephesus, and numbers of participants in the religious and social services related to the temple decreased, the local business world felt deeply challenged.
In response, "a silversmith named Demetrius" called together other craftsmen, and incited a public riot that brought the city to a standstill (Acts 19:23-41). Local government officials eventually defused the situation, but Paul believed the time had come for him to move on. He traveled around the Aegean Sea, collecting the offerings that had been set aside in the churches for the large benevolence gift he was planning to bring to Jerusalem. Paul arrived in Corinth either late in 53 or early in 54, and stayed three months with his friend Gaius (Acts 19:1-3; Romans 16:23). When he found that another acquaintance (and a leader in the Christian congregation located in Cenchrea, one of Corinth's seaport suburbs) named Phoebe was making a trip to Rome (Romans 16:1), Paul quickly penned what has become the most orderly summary of early Christian theology.
Because Paul had not yet made a visit to Rome, this letter was less personal and more rationally organized than was often otherwise true. Paul intended this missive to be a working document; the congregation, already established in the capital city of the empire, would be able to read and discuss it together, in anticipation of Paul's arrival, which was planned for some months ahead (Romans 1:6-15). Paul summarized his working theme and emphasis up front: a new expression of the "righteousness of God" had been recently revealed, with great power, through the coming of Jesus Christ (Romans 1:17).
Paul moves directly from his brief declaration about the righteousness of God into an extended discourse on the wrath of God as revealed against wickedness (Romans 1:18). Because of this, many have interpreted Paul's understanding of God's righteousness as an unattainable standard, against which the whole human race is measured and fails miserably. Only then, in the context of this desperate human situation, would the grand salvation of Christ be appreciated and enjoyed.
But more scholars believe that Paul's assertions about the righteousness of God actually have a positive and missional thrust. In their understanding of what Paul says, it is precisely because of the obvious corruption and sinfulness in our world, which are demeaning and destroying humanity, that God needed again, as God did through Israel, to assert the divine will. In so doing, the focus of God's righteousness is not to heap judgment upon humankind; instead God's brilliant display of grace and power in Jesus ought to draw people back to the creational goodness God had originally intended for them. In other words, the Creator has never changed purpose or plan. The divine mission through Israel was to display the righteousness of God so that all nations might return to the goodness of Yahweh. Now again, in Jesus, the righteousness of God is revealed as a beacon of hope in a world ravaged by evil bullies. The power of God is our only sure bodyguard against the killing effects of sin and society and self.
Precisely in this context, says Paul, the power of the righteousness of God as our bodyguard is most clearly revealed Thankfully, God's righteousness grabs us and holds us, so that through Jesus and the Holy Spirit we are never separated from divine love (Romans 7:25--8:39). Hope floods through us because we know Jesus and what he has done for us (8:1-11). Hope whispers inside of us as the Holy Spirit reminds us who we truly are and whose we will always be (8:12-27). Hope thunders around us as God's faithfulness is shouted from the heavens right through the pages of history (8:28-39): "...we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height or depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord."
Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23
Within the body of Matthew's gospel, after the lengthy "Sermon on the Mount" (Matthew 5-7), Jesus' first extended teaching is the parable of the Sower and Seeds, today's lectionary reading. Its placing and expansive size, in comparison to the snippets of teaching that came earlier, highlight it as distinctive and important. As one reads these pages in continuous narrative, the pace suddenly slows, and Jesus demands that we reflect on what has happened so far. We have been watching the Jesus of power and action through the eyes of those around Jesus, experiencing his healings and commissionings. Now we are all called to respond to the person of Jesus. How will the sower's seed find perch in our own lives? What kind of soil are we? Both for Jesus' initial audience and for those who encounter Jesus through this gospel, the multiple-layered metaphor serves as a call to self-assessment and belief. Reaching behind the literary origins of the gospel, it is clear to see that Matthew's summary of Jesus' teachings and actions was not preaching merely to communicate information, nor was he recording Jesus' parables as a nice collection of spiritual writings. This was a document intended for volitional reaction. One must respond to Jesus, and the outcome of that engagement would be seen in direct changes of lifestyle and behavior.
Application
Robert Coles, child psychiatrist and Harvard University professor, tried at one time to figure out why we do the things we do. In his book The Call of Service, Cole reflects on people who try to make a difference in life. People who seek to reform themselves, even when sinful tendencies oozed like tentacles through their inner marrow. People who attempt to better society, in spite of the fact that it stubbornly refused the challenge.
Why do they do it? Cole asks. The people themselves often have a hard time defining what makes them tick. One young teacher in an urban school gets challenged all the time by street-smart students. Weary of self-righteous do-gooders, they ask, "What's in it for you?" And he really can't say.
But all these compassionate volunteers have one thing in common: earlier in their lives, each of them ran into a crisis situation that tested their identity and their willingness to do something about it. In that crisis situation, each of them encountered someone who put his or her life on the line and taught them the meaning of service. Someone who gave of themselves in a way that bucks the trend of selfishness and of self-preservation. And the influence of that someone else made it possible for the person they helped to be greater than each of them had previously thought they could be.
This is what Erik Erikson called "greatness finding itself." In a troubled world, where the safest bet is self-preservation, Jesus would put it this way: "Blessed are the peace-makers, for they will be called children of God." Do you see them around you? Do you know the names of some whose last name is Father, and Son, and Holy Spirit? Do you know any "children of God"? Then you've been touched by greatness itself, and have begun to make the choices of life that truly matter.
An Alternative Application
Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23. There is a powerful scene in Robert Bolt's play A Man for all Seasons. The story is about Sir Thomas More, loyal subject of the English crown. King Henry VIII wants to change things to suit his own devious plans, so he requires all his nobles to swear an oath of allegiance which violates the conscience of Sir Thomas More before his God. Since he will not swear the oath, More is put in jail. His daughter Margaret comes to visit him. Meg, he calls her, with affection. She's his pride and joy, the one who things his thoughts after him.
Meg comes to plead with her father in prison. "Take the oath, Father!" she urges him. "Take it with your mouth, if you can't take it with your heart! Take it and return to us! You can't do us any good in here! And you can't be there for us if the king should execute you!"
She's right is so many ways. Yet her father answers her this way. "Meg, when a man swears an oath, he holds himself in his hands like water, and if he opens his fingers, how can he hope to find himself again?"
You know what he means, don't you? When our lives begin to fragment, it's like holding our lives like water in our hands, and then letting our fingers come apart, just a little bit. The water of our very selves dribbles away. We may look like the same people, but who we are inside has begun to change.
This is why we need to consider every day how we receive the seed of the Sower, the Word of Jesus. What kind of soil are we? We only truly know when we chart the choices we make in a compromised world.
Parents make choices that affect the manner in which their children form their identities. Harry Chapin put it well in his song "Cat's in the Cradle." When he was a young father, he was too busy making a living to take time with his son. When he was finally old enough to enjoy time with the family, his son in turn had learned to be too busy for his dad.
Of course, parents can have a positive influence, too. Maurice Boyd remembers one incident that sealed the impact of his father on his life forever. His father worked in a shipyard in Belfast, Northern Ireland. During the Depression, work dried up. Times were tough, and for three years his father was out of a job.
Then one of his father's old bosses at the shipyard approached him. The important man would find work for Mr. Boyd. He would guarantee it, no matter how much worse things got. All Mr. Boyd would have to do would be to buy a life insurance policy from the man. It would work to their mutual benefit: the boss's income would increase, and Mr. Boyd's work income would be guaranteed!
It was a great deal except for one thing: it was illegal. Maurice Boyd remembers his father sitting at the kitchen table with the whole family surrounding him. There at the table his father counted the cost. He reviewed their desperate financial situation. He ticked off the outstanding bills and the money he would be making, ought to be making, if only he'd say yes to his boss.
His father wrote it all down on a sheet of paper: the gains and the losses, what he could make and what he could lose. Then he wrote down a category that Maurice Boyd will never forget: integrity. What did it matter if he gained the cash to pay the rent, but lost his ability to teach his children right from wrong? What did it matter if he gained the dignity of a job but lost it each morning when he looked at himself in the mirror and knew that the only one reason he could go off to work instead of someone else was because he cheated?
His father declined the job, and the family groveled through several more years of poverty. Yet, of his father, Maurice Boyd says, "He discovered that no one can make you feel inferior without your consent, and that one way you can keep your soul is by refusing to sell it. He realized that whatever else he lost... he didn't have to lose himself."
Today's passages are all about making choices, and the outcomes they bring. Already in the womb, Jacob was showing his hand as a conniver, cheat, and swindler; his choices would follow him through a lifetime of deceit, even though God would wrestle with him for higher purposes. God's wrestling with us is Paul's theme in his letter to the Romans -- Jesus makes choices that forever lock us in a grace we do not deserve, but mightily revel. And Jesus himself reminds us that we need to choose and choose and choose again in reference to him; that is the only way his seed will grow in our soil.
Genesis 25:19-34
Only a few details of Isaac's life are told on the pages of Genesis, and they occur in the transitional paragraphs from the Abraham Story Cycle (Genesis 12–25) to the Jacob Story Cycle (Genesis 26–37). Isaac is to have a wife from within Terah's larger family back in the old country, and this is accomplished through clear divine intervention and leading (chapter 24). To Isaac and Rebecca are born twins who are opposites in character, and always in competition with one another (chapter 25). Rather than emerging with an identity of his own, Isaac seems doomed to repeat his father's mistakes (chapter 26).
After those few notes, Jacob takes center stage. As our passage for today clearly indicates, he is a conniver from birth (Genesis 25:21–34). This bent of character is further developed in the following stories, where it is shown that he is favored by his mother (Genesis 25:28; 27:12; 8:9), cheats his family (father Isaac -- 27:1-39; brother Esau -- 25:29-34, 27:1-39; uncle Laban -- 30:25-43; daughter Dinah -- 34:1-31), works for his uncle Laban to earn wives Leah and Rachel (Genesis 29:15-30) and cattle (Genesis 30:25-43), is cheated by his uncle (Genesis 29:25-27), afraid of his brother (Genesis 32:3-21), a cowardly wrestler with God (Genesis 32:22-32), and finally receives the covenant blessing and mandate (Genesis 35:1-15).
While all of these stories are fascinating in themselves, there are two significant themes that emerge as dominant. First, in the character of Jacob the nation of Israel will always find herself reflected. After all, it is Jacob who bequeaths his special covenant name "Israel" to the community formed by his descendants. Hearing about Jacob and his exploits would be like reading a secret diary mapping Israel's psychological profile. Even before leaving Egypt the people were wrangling with Moses about burdens and responsibilities, seeking ways to shift workloads and blames elsewhere. Once the wilderness trek began, a variety of conniving subterfuges showed up, including complaints about who really had a right to lead. The spirit of Jacob remained with his namesakes.
Second, the meaning of the name "Israel" and the circumstances surrounding it became a defining moment in Israel's theology. Rarely does the text of Genesis crack open to reveal an origin outside of its narrative timeline, but as the tale of Jacob's night-long wrestling match concludes, there is indeed a note that identifies the organized nation of Israel as the audience reviewing these matters (Genesis 32:32). The story itself is more sordid than it appears at first glance. Jacob and his amassed company are heading back home to Canaan. Jacob hopes that his brother Esau has miraculously had a bout of amnesia and is excited to welcome him with no dark thoughts about Jacob's nasty subterfuge a few decades earlier. But Esau has a good memory, and the report quickly arrives that the maligned brother is racing toward Jacob's retinue at the center of an aggressive army seeking revenge.
Always the manipulator, Jacob strategizes ways to save his skin. First he splits the caravan in two, hoping Esau will target the wrong camp. Then large gifts are sent ahead in the expectation that Esau will be slowed by the herds offered, and his men distracted by the feasts of fresh roasted meat they take. Perhaps a little drunkenness might accompany the barbecue rituals, and because of these subterfuges, Jacob's groups will be able to slip past in the night.
But Jacob knows the depth of his guilt, and his manic attempts at self-preservation continue. He sends his wives and children and remaining possessions across the Jabok River while he remains behind. This is a sinister and cowardly move, for it exposes Jacob's family to the possible onslaught of Esau's army without the moderate natural moat of the river to make their position more defensible. Meantime, Jacob himself would be sitting in the protection of the rearward hills, and will have the advantage of hearing the screams of his children and wives while they are slaughtered as a warning order to escape, even if they do not. Jacob is always the conniver, and a master of self-preservation.
Yet it is here, in the quarters where he had taken such pains to make himself safe, that he becomes most vulnerable. "A man wrestled with him till daybreak" (Genesis 32:24). We know even less about this figure than the little that Jacob seems to know. Nevertheless both he and we are to infer that this was a divine engagement, and that God would not allow Jacob's hiding to keep him aloof from the court of heaven or a confrontation with himself and the tests of righteousness. At the same time, there is a graciousness in the story which reminds us that the divine messenger does not overpower or overwhelm Jacob, but continues to grapple with him, and even provides a blessing he does not deserve. This, then, is the meaning of "Israel" -- one who wrestles with God.
Looking back at Jacob, Israel at Mount Sinai would see herself. She carried the conniving DNA of her forebear in her social makeup. But here at Mount Sinai she also carried his divinely appointed name. In the Suzerain Vassal covenant Yahweh formulated with her, the wrestling continued. Yahweh and Israel were bound in an embrace that would change them both.
Romans 8:1-11
Somewhere around late 53 AD the social and economic impact of the Christian gospel began to be felt acutely in Ephesus. Among the many cultural and civic resources of that city was its shrine to Artemis (known among the Romans as Diana). This temple was considered to be one of the seven wonders of the world. In fact, a great portion of the economy of Ephesus was derived from the cultic activities surrounding the temple, along with the religious tourist trade it brought to the city. As Christian adherents multiplied in Ephesus, and numbers of participants in the religious and social services related to the temple decreased, the local business world felt deeply challenged.
In response, "a silversmith named Demetrius" called together other craftsmen, and incited a public riot that brought the city to a standstill (Acts 19:23-41). Local government officials eventually defused the situation, but Paul believed the time had come for him to move on. He traveled around the Aegean Sea, collecting the offerings that had been set aside in the churches for the large benevolence gift he was planning to bring to Jerusalem. Paul arrived in Corinth either late in 53 or early in 54, and stayed three months with his friend Gaius (Acts 19:1-3; Romans 16:23). When he found that another acquaintance (and a leader in the Christian congregation located in Cenchrea, one of Corinth's seaport suburbs) named Phoebe was making a trip to Rome (Romans 16:1), Paul quickly penned what has become the most orderly summary of early Christian theology.
Because Paul had not yet made a visit to Rome, this letter was less personal and more rationally organized than was often otherwise true. Paul intended this missive to be a working document; the congregation, already established in the capital city of the empire, would be able to read and discuss it together, in anticipation of Paul's arrival, which was planned for some months ahead (Romans 1:6-15). Paul summarized his working theme and emphasis up front: a new expression of the "righteousness of God" had been recently revealed, with great power, through the coming of Jesus Christ (Romans 1:17).
Paul moves directly from his brief declaration about the righteousness of God into an extended discourse on the wrath of God as revealed against wickedness (Romans 1:18). Because of this, many have interpreted Paul's understanding of God's righteousness as an unattainable standard, against which the whole human race is measured and fails miserably. Only then, in the context of this desperate human situation, would the grand salvation of Christ be appreciated and enjoyed.
But more scholars believe that Paul's assertions about the righteousness of God actually have a positive and missional thrust. In their understanding of what Paul says, it is precisely because of the obvious corruption and sinfulness in our world, which are demeaning and destroying humanity, that God needed again, as God did through Israel, to assert the divine will. In so doing, the focus of God's righteousness is not to heap judgment upon humankind; instead God's brilliant display of grace and power in Jesus ought to draw people back to the creational goodness God had originally intended for them. In other words, the Creator has never changed purpose or plan. The divine mission through Israel was to display the righteousness of God so that all nations might return to the goodness of Yahweh. Now again, in Jesus, the righteousness of God is revealed as a beacon of hope in a world ravaged by evil bullies. The power of God is our only sure bodyguard against the killing effects of sin and society and self.
Precisely in this context, says Paul, the power of the righteousness of God as our bodyguard is most clearly revealed Thankfully, God's righteousness grabs us and holds us, so that through Jesus and the Holy Spirit we are never separated from divine love (Romans 7:25--8:39). Hope floods through us because we know Jesus and what he has done for us (8:1-11). Hope whispers inside of us as the Holy Spirit reminds us who we truly are and whose we will always be (8:12-27). Hope thunders around us as God's faithfulness is shouted from the heavens right through the pages of history (8:28-39): "...we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height or depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord."
Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23
Within the body of Matthew's gospel, after the lengthy "Sermon on the Mount" (Matthew 5-7), Jesus' first extended teaching is the parable of the Sower and Seeds, today's lectionary reading. Its placing and expansive size, in comparison to the snippets of teaching that came earlier, highlight it as distinctive and important. As one reads these pages in continuous narrative, the pace suddenly slows, and Jesus demands that we reflect on what has happened so far. We have been watching the Jesus of power and action through the eyes of those around Jesus, experiencing his healings and commissionings. Now we are all called to respond to the person of Jesus. How will the sower's seed find perch in our own lives? What kind of soil are we? Both for Jesus' initial audience and for those who encounter Jesus through this gospel, the multiple-layered metaphor serves as a call to self-assessment and belief. Reaching behind the literary origins of the gospel, it is clear to see that Matthew's summary of Jesus' teachings and actions was not preaching merely to communicate information, nor was he recording Jesus' parables as a nice collection of spiritual writings. This was a document intended for volitional reaction. One must respond to Jesus, and the outcome of that engagement would be seen in direct changes of lifestyle and behavior.
Application
Robert Coles, child psychiatrist and Harvard University professor, tried at one time to figure out why we do the things we do. In his book The Call of Service, Cole reflects on people who try to make a difference in life. People who seek to reform themselves, even when sinful tendencies oozed like tentacles through their inner marrow. People who attempt to better society, in spite of the fact that it stubbornly refused the challenge.
Why do they do it? Cole asks. The people themselves often have a hard time defining what makes them tick. One young teacher in an urban school gets challenged all the time by street-smart students. Weary of self-righteous do-gooders, they ask, "What's in it for you?" And he really can't say.
But all these compassionate volunteers have one thing in common: earlier in their lives, each of them ran into a crisis situation that tested their identity and their willingness to do something about it. In that crisis situation, each of them encountered someone who put his or her life on the line and taught them the meaning of service. Someone who gave of themselves in a way that bucks the trend of selfishness and of self-preservation. And the influence of that someone else made it possible for the person they helped to be greater than each of them had previously thought they could be.
This is what Erik Erikson called "greatness finding itself." In a troubled world, where the safest bet is self-preservation, Jesus would put it this way: "Blessed are the peace-makers, for they will be called children of God." Do you see them around you? Do you know the names of some whose last name is Father, and Son, and Holy Spirit? Do you know any "children of God"? Then you've been touched by greatness itself, and have begun to make the choices of life that truly matter.
An Alternative Application
Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23. There is a powerful scene in Robert Bolt's play A Man for all Seasons. The story is about Sir Thomas More, loyal subject of the English crown. King Henry VIII wants to change things to suit his own devious plans, so he requires all his nobles to swear an oath of allegiance which violates the conscience of Sir Thomas More before his God. Since he will not swear the oath, More is put in jail. His daughter Margaret comes to visit him. Meg, he calls her, with affection. She's his pride and joy, the one who things his thoughts after him.
Meg comes to plead with her father in prison. "Take the oath, Father!" she urges him. "Take it with your mouth, if you can't take it with your heart! Take it and return to us! You can't do us any good in here! And you can't be there for us if the king should execute you!"
She's right is so many ways. Yet her father answers her this way. "Meg, when a man swears an oath, he holds himself in his hands like water, and if he opens his fingers, how can he hope to find himself again?"
You know what he means, don't you? When our lives begin to fragment, it's like holding our lives like water in our hands, and then letting our fingers come apart, just a little bit. The water of our very selves dribbles away. We may look like the same people, but who we are inside has begun to change.
This is why we need to consider every day how we receive the seed of the Sower, the Word of Jesus. What kind of soil are we? We only truly know when we chart the choices we make in a compromised world.
