Turning Dirt!
Stories
Object:
Contents
What's Up This Week
"Turning Dirt!" by Bryan Meadows
"The Snares of the Wicked" by John Sumwalt
"Taxicab Confessions" by Keith Hewitt
What's Up This Week
So many times, we feel like we have all the answers. Everything is under control; we don't need any help from anyone. We can handle things on our own. As much as we'd like to think we know everything, life inevitably teaches us that this is not the case. We may think we are on top of things spiritually, but as Bryan Meadows tells us in "Turning Dirt!" we all have a great deal of work to do when it comes to developing a productive walk with God. "The Snares of the Wicked" is a sobering reminder that we can easily let our egos get the best of us. In "Taxicab Confessions," we meet a young woman who, faced with a difficult decision, is forced to reconsider her plans when she has a chance encounter with a friendly stranger.
* * * * * * * * *
Turning Dirt!
By Bryan Meadows
Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23
Question: Is there anything more pure than taking a seed, planting it into fertile soil and watching it emerge as a seedling, developing into a crop and then harvesting the fruit of the vine? My answer is simple: You'd be hard pressed to find anything any purer.
I love to garden. Ironically, I am without a garden. I have been for several years now. We live in a parsonage with what I always believed was a nice backyard. For the first several years of my tenure at this residence, I had the whole backyard turned over into a garden.
Early in the spring of the year, I would start with Yukon Gold potatoes. If you've never tried them, you're missing out on one of the greatest potatoes ever! (No kidding!) Right beside them, I would drop in the broccoli and cauliflower plants.
Alert: I'm going to digress for a moment. If you're a fan of broccoli, good for you. It's one of the healthiest foods you could ever think about ingesting. Eat more of it! Okay, with that said, let me continue to digress. There is nothing like cutting a head of broccoli off the stem when the stalk is still stuck in the dirt. It's as fresh as it will ever get. You take that freshly cut head of broccoli straight from the garden to the sink for a quick rinse and get that veggie steaming. Friends, after you drop a pat of butter onto it with a dash of salt and pepper, and take that first bite... Well, that's a taste of heaven in my book. Of course you could enhance the broccoli by having a side item of say... a rib-eye steak.
Thank you for the moment of digression. Let's see, where was I? Ah, yes, my backyard. I had it all turned over into a super-garden. We had beets, half-runner green beans, bell peppers, jalapeno peppers, tomatoes, onions, along with cucumbers, zucchini, squash, and melons.
There is something very organic about working in a garden. There's something spiritual about digging in the dirt. There's a rewarding feeling when you sit down at the dinner table and see a bountiful harvest that you and God produced. It came directly from the good earth that God has given us to be stewards of. Yes, I have to admit that gardening was a labor of love.
Then came our children.
Don't get me wrong. A family was just what we wanted. But when the kids grew just a bit older, they needed a playground. I can remember it like yesterday. I had the garden tilled one last time and then I proceeded to cover the area with grass seed, fertilizer, and straw.
What was once a blooming garden is now a soccer field, football field, baseball diamond, golf-chipping area, and neighborhood-friendly playground. No regrets here, though. I wouldn't trade it for the world. I'm sure in due time I'll be back to gardening, wishing that somehow we could turn the garden back into a play area, and once again letting our children play with a sense of innocence that will surely be lost in the coming years.
For now the memories of the garden will suffice.
Truth be told, there's another type of garden that I still get to work in. It's God's garden. The soil in this garden consists of the hearts of every man, woman, and child under heaven. The question we must contend with is this: Are the seeds of God's love rooted and growing, or does that particular person have a mess of weeds choking out God's goodness? Any gardener worth their salt will tell you, "Keeping the weeds out is a never-ending job!"
Through the use of a parable, Jesus takes into the heart of gardening story. It involves seeds, soil types, and human hearts.
Jesus begins this parable by telling how a sower went out to sow seeds. Some seeds fell on a path and birds devoured the offering. Other seeds fell on rocky ground, whereby they didn't stand a chance of surviving due to a lack of soil to sink roots into. He continues the story by explaining how some seeds fell among the thorns and as they began to develop, they were simply choked out, meaning, they couldn't grow to fruition. Lastly, though, Jesus tells about how some seeds fell on "good" soil. There, in that place with "good" soil, these seeds flourished. They produced a yield of untold proportions! The harvest reached from thirtyfold to one hundredfold!
A bit confused by this, the disciples and others who heard the story wanted a full explanation. Jesus would not disappoint them. In laymen's terms, the seeds that are being scattered is actually the word of God, looking for a place to call home -- looking for a place to take root and produce a yield of great fruit. The different soil types are the hearts and souls of people who encounter God's divine truth known as the word!
For the believer and follower of Christ, it seems like a pretty foregone conclusion: Hear the word, plant it in your soul, and nurture it. It will, without fail, produce a harvest of God's righteousness. Enough said!
However, the same cannot be said for those who find themselves outside of a committed relationship with Jesus Christ. Jesus wastes no time explaining the plight and predicament of these people (or soil types) and why their seeds aren't making it to full fruition.
For the path where seeds are dropped but stolen away, that's the work of the evil one, Satan. Let's be honest with each other. Satan is constantly looking to keep others from joining the ranks of the kingdom of God. It's been my own experience that nothing is out of bounds for him. He doesn't play by anyone's rules except the ones he makes.
Seasoned believers as well as new followers of Christ can be just as vulnerable to the trappings of Satan. Regardless of where you're at on your "path," take care to guard your heart from the evil one.
Then we have the seeds that fell on rocky ground. It's interesting to note here that these folks gladly hear the word of truth, receive it, and mull it around... as long as things are going good. However, once some "rocky" times develop, watch out! Suddenly, it's all God's fault and the body of Christ has turned into a bunch of hypocrites.
I've seen this one at work over and over. Fresh, new believers start building this relationship with Christ. Their faith takes off at accelerated rates. They're climbing in heavenly altitudes, serving in ways that a majority of folks won't... until something bad happens in their life.
Maybe it's an illness. Maybe they lose a loved one. Maybe the church doesn't do exactly what they think the church should do. Maybe it's a relationship that's turned sour and hearts get broken. Anger, resentment, pain, and a whole host of other emotions take over.
At what might be considered "critical mass" in this person's life, they come to a crossroads. They can choose to lean into God and trust God's understandings, or they can allow their hearts to be rolled over by a flood of emotions and insecurities. As Jesus points out, these people trust their own emotional responses instead of the Word of life, Jesus Christ. The result: Seeds that struggle through yet another day getting scorched by the heat of the sun.
Interestingly enough, Jesus tells about another type of soil -- weedy soil. He says the seeds that fall here can take root, but as they grow, they get choked out by the weeds. Jesus explains that the weeds are actually the cares of the world and the desires for wealth.
Okay: Truth-telling moment here. Haven't we all been choked up and by these kinds of weeds? The number one competitor to our allegiance to God has been, is, and will be, money. Even the most faithful will have to wrestle this beast from time to time.
Let's not forget to mention how the cares of the world can sweep down upon us and keep us from growing into who God has fashioned us to be. Sometimes a person's opinion of us or our understanding of how things should be in this world can consume our vision. And just like that our eyes drift off of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, and in an instant we find ourselves standing neck high in the weed patch.
I have to tell you: If Jesus ended his story right here, I'd be sweating bullets. But he attaches one more segment to the parable. He talks about the "good soil." This is where the sower scatters seeds and the soil it lands on is nutrient rich, ready to produce a harvest upward of a hundredfold.
Isn't that what we desire to be? Don't we all want to be the good soil whereby the Word of God lands in our hearts and we're so obedient that the fruit of the Spirit just starts flowing out of us like water out of a tap. Yeah. We all want to be that way.
The mere fact that Jesus just explained different soil types that illustrate the conditions of our hearts should remind us that we're not always good soil ourselves. There's an art to being good soil. Furthermore, it takes a lot of work to be good soil. Generally speaking, only when you realize that the soil has grown a bit weak do you then begin the work to correct it.
Perhaps it would be helpful to employ a few items to keep the soil of our heart in top crop-producing form. Taking a page from our gardening skills, lets keep the following in mind.
Till the dirt. The seeds can't be planted until the soil has been turned over and prepared. That little seed needs room to sink its roots down. It won't happen as long as the soil is hard and unconditioned.
In the same way, our hearts can't receive the word of God's truth until we've done some work. Cold and calloused hearts can't produce spiritual fruit until they've been tilled up and prepared. One of the best places to get this dirt worked up is at the church. Every week, the plows are brought out and hands are placed on the handles. It may seem awkward at first, but just keep working the dirt. Soon a rhythm develops and you begin to feel a spiritual connection there. Trust it. Keep going to church. Keep turning the dirt. It's working.
Fertilizer. I've gardened with it and without it. Things turn out better with it. It stimulates growth and helps increase the yield of the harvest. It's worth the investment.
>In the same way, after you've turned the soil of the heart and allowed the seeds of faith to develop, kick it up a notch with the fertilization of a small-group Bible study. The best way to grow into maturity is to surround yourself with other Christ-followers who have more experience. By being in a small group, more time is spent learning, and there are more opportunities to step out in mission and plug that faith into action. Being a part of a group is very similar to fertilizer. Growth and yield happens!
Daily Maintenance. One last item here. On my lunch break, I used to walk through the garden and pick weeds every day. It was much easier to keep everything healthy and growing by staying active in the garden.
In the same way, treat yourself to daily doses of God's word. Find a good devotional book. Get a good "study" Bible and read a little bit every day. Spend time talking to God, just as if you were speaking to your best friend whom you could trust with anything. It keeps the soil and crop healthy and growing.
The fact of the matter is, we all want to be "good soil." It can happen. It's just going to take some work. But never forget, the day is coming when you will reap the harvest of your righteousness. With that in mind, lets get busy turning dirt!
Bryan Meadows has served as pastor of The Huntsville United Methodist Church since 1998, following his graduation from The Methodist Theological School. He and his wife, Alice, are the parents of three children: Caleb, Josie, and Hannah. Bryan enjoys photography, playing guitar, and bird hunting with his dogs.
The Snares of the Wicked
By John Sumwalt
Psalm 119:105-112
I received an anonymous letter today and it was not from an admirer. There was no return address and it was mailed yesterday from somewhere in Milwaukee County where Jo and I lived for fourteen years before moving to a new church, the next county over, just eight weeks ago.
Technically what I received, unsigned, was not really a letter; it was a copy of a newspaper column by Philip Chard, a psychotherapist who writes weekly for The Milwaukee Journal Sentinel. I know and admire Phil, and I have never read a column of his that I didn't appreciate. This one was no exception. Then how do I know this was an unkind gesture?
The title of the article is "An Unchecked Ego Can Lead To Dramatic Highs and Lows." Phil gives some of the standard definitions of the ego that I recognized from my undergraduate psychology classes: "... your ego is largely a mental construct, a made-up set of attitudes, beliefs, self-images and perceived needs created through years of social indoctrination.... Your ego provides a sense of personal identity and serves as a mechanism for interfacing the world." So far, so good.
Then Phil adds, referring to this functional and necessary social construct, "However, it can easily mutate from a social tool into a megalomaniac or a drama queen/king.... Like a spoiled brat, the ego can become obsessed with meeting its many demands -- power, attention, pleasure, pity, and the rest -- and to heck with everybody else." It gets worse. Chard writes: "You can readily spot people who are slaves to ego. They are full of themselves and their personal melodramas...."
Ouch! Is there a message for me here? Am I supposed to recognize myself in this mirror of psychobabble? What am I to conclude is the motive of this unnamed sender who thought my life would be improved by reading this? Who sends newspaper clippings without a note of explanation? Is this an act of tough love, something akin to the old Scope mouthwash commercials where a friend who presumably cares for you tries to gently inform you of your offensive breath?
If I am honest with myself, I must confess that I do recognize parts of my personality in these descriptions -- and I can think of a number of instances when my behavior was clearly egotistical. I know my family and friends could likely come up with a much longer list. Perhaps I owe this unknown friend a word of thanks.
The fact is, I knew immediately who sent the article. It is the same person, a member of my former congregation, who has been attacking me with some regularity for the past few years. It started when the church began to hold him accountable for inappropriate behavior. I recognize his style. He sent a similar anonymous note filled with nasty, vitriolic accusations just two weeks before we moved. If I purchased a finger printing kit, I am sure I could prove that he is the author of both letters. However, it might also prove that my ego is out of control and that he was right to be concerned about my tortured soul.
My first impulse was to address an envelope with my correspondent's name and return the clipping unsigned. Then he would know that I know it was him that did the deed. It would make me feel better, but it would also show, in accordance with Phil Chard's definition of the ego gone amok, that I am indeed "a vexing and sometimes dangerous demigod consumed with (my) own perceived self-importance."
From somewhere in the back of my mind came the voice of the late family systems guru, Ed Friedman, reminding me to cultivate a non-reactive, non-anxious presence. I wonder how Ed would have me do that in this circumstance?
Perhaps he would refer me to the words of the psalmist: "The wicked have laid a snare for me, but I do not stray from your precepts. Your decrees are my heritage forever; they are the joy of my heart. I incline my heart to perform your statutes to the end" (Psalm 119:110-112).
I think Ed might also agree with Phil Chard, who concludes: "The path for putting the ego in its proper place is a spiritual one...."
Dear God, help me to stay on that path.
John E. Sumwalt is the lead pastor of Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church in suburban Milwaukee and the author of nine books, to be released by CSS in 2007. John and his wife, Jo Perry-Sumwalt, served for three years as co-editors of StoryShare. A graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Madison and the University of Dubuque Theological Seminary (UDTS), Sumwalt received the Herbert Manning Jr. award for parish ministry from UDTS in 1997.
Taxicab Confessions
By Keith Hewitt
Genesis 25:19-34
She was standing at the corner when the cab pulled up. Young, with strawberry blond hair pulled back and stuffed under a cap, wearing an oversized sweatshirt and sweatpants -- an outfit no girl would choose to wear on a planet where there might be boys. Her eyes were red and puffy; in one hand was her purse, in the other a brochure that had been folded in half.
The driver sized her up through the window of her cab for a moment or two, then lowered it and leaned over and down, slightly, so she could look the girl in the eyes. "You called for a cab, Miss?"
The girl glanced down the row of houses, then back at her, pulled open the back door and slid in. "Yeah," she agreed, and closed the door with a decisive thud.
The driver raised the window, tripped the meter, checked her mirrors, and pulled out into traffic behind a bakery truck; the aroma of fresh bread snaked in through the open vents. "Where to?" she asked, looking into the rearview mirror.
"Tenth and Division."
"Tenth and Division," the driver repeated. "Doctor's appointment?" she guessed, looking in the mirror again.
"No."
"Right."
The girl lied; there was nothing there but doctors' offices, and the driver knew it. She drove quietly for a minute or two, taking in the smell from the truck, the sounds from the street, the sun flooding down and bouncing off other cars, painting the windshield with quick, sweeping swaths of glare. "Beautiful day, isn't it?" she ventured finally.
"Any chance I could just have quiet?" The girl's voice was tense.
"I guess there's always that chance."
They drove in silence for about a mile; occasionally the driver looked back at her passenger, sizing her up. Finally, she cleared her throat and said, "Summer used to be my favorite time of the year -- out of school, on my own. Summer's when I met Jimmy Ray. 'Course that was twenty years ago. Before you were even born, I'll bet."
"I'm sure it's a beautiful story."
"Not so much. It was all sunshine and flowers for the first couple weeks, but then...." She trailed off, drove in silence for a ways.
"But then?" her passenger asked after a long silence, in spite of herself.
"Sorry. Then things took kind of a bad turn, I guess. You know how it is, I was in l-o-v-e," she stretched it out melodically, turned for a moment to glance over her shoulder, a sardonic smile on her face. "Convinced myself it was a love like no other. Or let Jimmy Ray convince me, I should say."
"They can do that, can't they?" the girl asked in a small voice.
The driver smiled to herself. "He sure could. Fourth of July weekend -- he convinced me a couple of times, down by Red Arrow Park, and once up at the marina. On a boat." Her eyes caught her passenger's briefly, and she added, "Turned out, it wasn't his boat. And that wasn't the only thing he was -- uh -- less than truthful about."
She fell silent again, navigating through a knot of traffic around a pothole repair. "So what happened?" the girl asked after a minute or so.
"About what you'd expect when a kid old enough to know better sells herself cheap. By Labor Day I knew I was pregnant."
"Oh." She didn't say it, but it was the purse of her lips, the knowing look in her eyes.
"Yup. Took two of those tests and a visit to the doctor to convince me. I tried to get Jimmy Ray to come to the doctor with me, but all of a sudden, he wasn't calling me back. By the time I got up the courage to go over there, his phone was disconnected and he was gone."
"What did you do?"
"Well, I'd like to tell you that I went home, told my folks, and we sat down as a family to look at all the options."
"You did?"
"No. That's what I'd like to tell you. Truth was, I was scared spitless. Here I was, just starting school again, and all I could think of was how hard it was going to be. I looked ahead, and all I saw was ninety-nine miles of bad road. And my folks -- I couldn't tell my folks. I might as well have just gone ahead and told 'em I was going to vote Republican in the next election -- that would have killed 'em just as dead."
They were at a light; she fell silent again, for a heartbeat or two, closed her eyes and felt herself being tugged back there -- the fear, the hopelessness, the anger mixed with panic, they all flooded back to her. She opened her eyes, took a deep breath, then another. "Funny thing," she said, "sometimes to get what you think you want in the present, you end up giving away the future. And, Sweetheart, that's just way too expensive."
"I think I see what you mean," the girl said. Her eyes held the driver's now. "What happened?"
She shrugged. "I was young, I had plans. All I saw was my life being ruined. So I figured the only way I could get it back was to trade -- a life for a life. It just made sense." She started to slow, as they neared Tenth and Division. "And not a day goes by -- not a day -- when I wonder if I made the right decision."
"Do you have children now?" the girl asked, suddenly wanting to direct this woman away from her thoughts, the pain she saw in her eyes, and the way she gripped the wheel.
The driver nodded, relaxed a little as she slid the car into a spot in front of the Medical Arts Building and put it in park. She opened the glove compartment, pulled out a wallet and turned in her seat, unsnapping the wallet as she turned. It fell open, and she held it apart with one hand, flipped through the vinyl photo holder with the other. The first sleeve was empty, she folded it up and out of the way, tapped the second one with a fingertip. "My boys. Twins, eight years old." She flipped them up after the girl nodded, to the next sleeved. "My dog, Brutus. He's a Lab-Rotweiller mix. Dumb as a post, but all heart." The girl smiled, nodded, and she flipped to the next picture. "My husband -- forty-one going on twelve. He's great. They're all great."
"So it's worked out for you?"
"I guess it has," she agreed, and started to close the wallet.
"What about the first one?" the girl asked. "Picture fall out?"
"No," the driver said, pausing for a moment to look at the empty sleeve, then pulled the wallet back, laid it on the seat next to her. "That one's empty. It always will be."
The young girl looked puzzled for a moment, then her eyes fell. "Oh," she half-whispered.
As the girl paid, and slipped out of the car, the driver said nothing. Once she was out, and standing uncertainly on the sidewalk, the driver rolled the window down once again, and leaned over. "Good luck, Miss," she said earnestly. "God bless you."
"You too," the girl said, fingering the brochure in her hand.
"Oh, he does -- no matter how hard I make it for him, he does. He loves me, you know. And he loves you, too." The girl smiled uncertainly; the driver rolled up the window and pulled away slowly, one finger still rubbing softly over the empty picture sleeve.
As she looked in the mirror, the girl stepped down off the curb and raised her hand to hail a cab....
Keith Hewitt is the author of NaTiVity Dramas: Four Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages. He is a lay speaker, co-youth leader, and former Sunday school teacher at Wilmot United Methodist Church in Wilmot, Wisconsin. He lives in southeastern Wisconsin with his wife and two children, and works in the IT Department at a major public safety testing organization.
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StoryShare, July 13, 2008, issue.
Copyright 2008 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 517 South Main Street, Lima, Ohio 45804.
What's Up This Week
"Turning Dirt!" by Bryan Meadows
"The Snares of the Wicked" by John Sumwalt
"Taxicab Confessions" by Keith Hewitt
What's Up This Week
So many times, we feel like we have all the answers. Everything is under control; we don't need any help from anyone. We can handle things on our own. As much as we'd like to think we know everything, life inevitably teaches us that this is not the case. We may think we are on top of things spiritually, but as Bryan Meadows tells us in "Turning Dirt!" we all have a great deal of work to do when it comes to developing a productive walk with God. "The Snares of the Wicked" is a sobering reminder that we can easily let our egos get the best of us. In "Taxicab Confessions," we meet a young woman who, faced with a difficult decision, is forced to reconsider her plans when she has a chance encounter with a friendly stranger.
* * * * * * * * *
Turning Dirt!
By Bryan Meadows
Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23
Question: Is there anything more pure than taking a seed, planting it into fertile soil and watching it emerge as a seedling, developing into a crop and then harvesting the fruit of the vine? My answer is simple: You'd be hard pressed to find anything any purer.
I love to garden. Ironically, I am without a garden. I have been for several years now. We live in a parsonage with what I always believed was a nice backyard. For the first several years of my tenure at this residence, I had the whole backyard turned over into a garden.
Early in the spring of the year, I would start with Yukon Gold potatoes. If you've never tried them, you're missing out on one of the greatest potatoes ever! (No kidding!) Right beside them, I would drop in the broccoli and cauliflower plants.
Alert: I'm going to digress for a moment. If you're a fan of broccoli, good for you. It's one of the healthiest foods you could ever think about ingesting. Eat more of it! Okay, with that said, let me continue to digress. There is nothing like cutting a head of broccoli off the stem when the stalk is still stuck in the dirt. It's as fresh as it will ever get. You take that freshly cut head of broccoli straight from the garden to the sink for a quick rinse and get that veggie steaming. Friends, after you drop a pat of butter onto it with a dash of salt and pepper, and take that first bite... Well, that's a taste of heaven in my book. Of course you could enhance the broccoli by having a side item of say... a rib-eye steak.
Thank you for the moment of digression. Let's see, where was I? Ah, yes, my backyard. I had it all turned over into a super-garden. We had beets, half-runner green beans, bell peppers, jalapeno peppers, tomatoes, onions, along with cucumbers, zucchini, squash, and melons.
There is something very organic about working in a garden. There's something spiritual about digging in the dirt. There's a rewarding feeling when you sit down at the dinner table and see a bountiful harvest that you and God produced. It came directly from the good earth that God has given us to be stewards of. Yes, I have to admit that gardening was a labor of love.
Then came our children.
Don't get me wrong. A family was just what we wanted. But when the kids grew just a bit older, they needed a playground. I can remember it like yesterday. I had the garden tilled one last time and then I proceeded to cover the area with grass seed, fertilizer, and straw.
What was once a blooming garden is now a soccer field, football field, baseball diamond, golf-chipping area, and neighborhood-friendly playground. No regrets here, though. I wouldn't trade it for the world. I'm sure in due time I'll be back to gardening, wishing that somehow we could turn the garden back into a play area, and once again letting our children play with a sense of innocence that will surely be lost in the coming years.
For now the memories of the garden will suffice.
Truth be told, there's another type of garden that I still get to work in. It's God's garden. The soil in this garden consists of the hearts of every man, woman, and child under heaven. The question we must contend with is this: Are the seeds of God's love rooted and growing, or does that particular person have a mess of weeds choking out God's goodness? Any gardener worth their salt will tell you, "Keeping the weeds out is a never-ending job!"
Through the use of a parable, Jesus takes into the heart of gardening story. It involves seeds, soil types, and human hearts.
Jesus begins this parable by telling how a sower went out to sow seeds. Some seeds fell on a path and birds devoured the offering. Other seeds fell on rocky ground, whereby they didn't stand a chance of surviving due to a lack of soil to sink roots into. He continues the story by explaining how some seeds fell among the thorns and as they began to develop, they were simply choked out, meaning, they couldn't grow to fruition. Lastly, though, Jesus tells about how some seeds fell on "good" soil. There, in that place with "good" soil, these seeds flourished. They produced a yield of untold proportions! The harvest reached from thirtyfold to one hundredfold!
A bit confused by this, the disciples and others who heard the story wanted a full explanation. Jesus would not disappoint them. In laymen's terms, the seeds that are being scattered is actually the word of God, looking for a place to call home -- looking for a place to take root and produce a yield of great fruit. The different soil types are the hearts and souls of people who encounter God's divine truth known as the word!
For the believer and follower of Christ, it seems like a pretty foregone conclusion: Hear the word, plant it in your soul, and nurture it. It will, without fail, produce a harvest of God's righteousness. Enough said!
However, the same cannot be said for those who find themselves outside of a committed relationship with Jesus Christ. Jesus wastes no time explaining the plight and predicament of these people (or soil types) and why their seeds aren't making it to full fruition.
For the path where seeds are dropped but stolen away, that's the work of the evil one, Satan. Let's be honest with each other. Satan is constantly looking to keep others from joining the ranks of the kingdom of God. It's been my own experience that nothing is out of bounds for him. He doesn't play by anyone's rules except the ones he makes.
Seasoned believers as well as new followers of Christ can be just as vulnerable to the trappings of Satan. Regardless of where you're at on your "path," take care to guard your heart from the evil one.
Then we have the seeds that fell on rocky ground. It's interesting to note here that these folks gladly hear the word of truth, receive it, and mull it around... as long as things are going good. However, once some "rocky" times develop, watch out! Suddenly, it's all God's fault and the body of Christ has turned into a bunch of hypocrites.
I've seen this one at work over and over. Fresh, new believers start building this relationship with Christ. Their faith takes off at accelerated rates. They're climbing in heavenly altitudes, serving in ways that a majority of folks won't... until something bad happens in their life.
Maybe it's an illness. Maybe they lose a loved one. Maybe the church doesn't do exactly what they think the church should do. Maybe it's a relationship that's turned sour and hearts get broken. Anger, resentment, pain, and a whole host of other emotions take over.
At what might be considered "critical mass" in this person's life, they come to a crossroads. They can choose to lean into God and trust God's understandings, or they can allow their hearts to be rolled over by a flood of emotions and insecurities. As Jesus points out, these people trust their own emotional responses instead of the Word of life, Jesus Christ. The result: Seeds that struggle through yet another day getting scorched by the heat of the sun.
Interestingly enough, Jesus tells about another type of soil -- weedy soil. He says the seeds that fall here can take root, but as they grow, they get choked out by the weeds. Jesus explains that the weeds are actually the cares of the world and the desires for wealth.
Okay: Truth-telling moment here. Haven't we all been choked up and by these kinds of weeds? The number one competitor to our allegiance to God has been, is, and will be, money. Even the most faithful will have to wrestle this beast from time to time.
Let's not forget to mention how the cares of the world can sweep down upon us and keep us from growing into who God has fashioned us to be. Sometimes a person's opinion of us or our understanding of how things should be in this world can consume our vision. And just like that our eyes drift off of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, and in an instant we find ourselves standing neck high in the weed patch.
I have to tell you: If Jesus ended his story right here, I'd be sweating bullets. But he attaches one more segment to the parable. He talks about the "good soil." This is where the sower scatters seeds and the soil it lands on is nutrient rich, ready to produce a harvest upward of a hundredfold.
Isn't that what we desire to be? Don't we all want to be the good soil whereby the Word of God lands in our hearts and we're so obedient that the fruit of the Spirit just starts flowing out of us like water out of a tap. Yeah. We all want to be that way.
The mere fact that Jesus just explained different soil types that illustrate the conditions of our hearts should remind us that we're not always good soil ourselves. There's an art to being good soil. Furthermore, it takes a lot of work to be good soil. Generally speaking, only when you realize that the soil has grown a bit weak do you then begin the work to correct it.
Perhaps it would be helpful to employ a few items to keep the soil of our heart in top crop-producing form. Taking a page from our gardening skills, lets keep the following in mind.
Till the dirt. The seeds can't be planted until the soil has been turned over and prepared. That little seed needs room to sink its roots down. It won't happen as long as the soil is hard and unconditioned.
In the same way, our hearts can't receive the word of God's truth until we've done some work. Cold and calloused hearts can't produce spiritual fruit until they've been tilled up and prepared. One of the best places to get this dirt worked up is at the church. Every week, the plows are brought out and hands are placed on the handles. It may seem awkward at first, but just keep working the dirt. Soon a rhythm develops and you begin to feel a spiritual connection there. Trust it. Keep going to church. Keep turning the dirt. It's working.
Fertilizer. I've gardened with it and without it. Things turn out better with it. It stimulates growth and helps increase the yield of the harvest. It's worth the investment.
>In the same way, after you've turned the soil of the heart and allowed the seeds of faith to develop, kick it up a notch with the fertilization of a small-group Bible study. The best way to grow into maturity is to surround yourself with other Christ-followers who have more experience. By being in a small group, more time is spent learning, and there are more opportunities to step out in mission and plug that faith into action. Being a part of a group is very similar to fertilizer. Growth and yield happens!
Daily Maintenance. One last item here. On my lunch break, I used to walk through the garden and pick weeds every day. It was much easier to keep everything healthy and growing by staying active in the garden.
In the same way, treat yourself to daily doses of God's word. Find a good devotional book. Get a good "study" Bible and read a little bit every day. Spend time talking to God, just as if you were speaking to your best friend whom you could trust with anything. It keeps the soil and crop healthy and growing.
The fact of the matter is, we all want to be "good soil." It can happen. It's just going to take some work. But never forget, the day is coming when you will reap the harvest of your righteousness. With that in mind, lets get busy turning dirt!
Bryan Meadows has served as pastor of The Huntsville United Methodist Church since 1998, following his graduation from The Methodist Theological School. He and his wife, Alice, are the parents of three children: Caleb, Josie, and Hannah. Bryan enjoys photography, playing guitar, and bird hunting with his dogs.
The Snares of the Wicked
By John Sumwalt
Psalm 119:105-112
I received an anonymous letter today and it was not from an admirer. There was no return address and it was mailed yesterday from somewhere in Milwaukee County where Jo and I lived for fourteen years before moving to a new church, the next county over, just eight weeks ago.
Technically what I received, unsigned, was not really a letter; it was a copy of a newspaper column by Philip Chard, a psychotherapist who writes weekly for The Milwaukee Journal Sentinel. I know and admire Phil, and I have never read a column of his that I didn't appreciate. This one was no exception. Then how do I know this was an unkind gesture?
The title of the article is "An Unchecked Ego Can Lead To Dramatic Highs and Lows." Phil gives some of the standard definitions of the ego that I recognized from my undergraduate psychology classes: "... your ego is largely a mental construct, a made-up set of attitudes, beliefs, self-images and perceived needs created through years of social indoctrination.... Your ego provides a sense of personal identity and serves as a mechanism for interfacing the world." So far, so good.
Then Phil adds, referring to this functional and necessary social construct, "However, it can easily mutate from a social tool into a megalomaniac or a drama queen/king.... Like a spoiled brat, the ego can become obsessed with meeting its many demands -- power, attention, pleasure, pity, and the rest -- and to heck with everybody else." It gets worse. Chard writes: "You can readily spot people who are slaves to ego. They are full of themselves and their personal melodramas...."
Ouch! Is there a message for me here? Am I supposed to recognize myself in this mirror of psychobabble? What am I to conclude is the motive of this unnamed sender who thought my life would be improved by reading this? Who sends newspaper clippings without a note of explanation? Is this an act of tough love, something akin to the old Scope mouthwash commercials where a friend who presumably cares for you tries to gently inform you of your offensive breath?
If I am honest with myself, I must confess that I do recognize parts of my personality in these descriptions -- and I can think of a number of instances when my behavior was clearly egotistical. I know my family and friends could likely come up with a much longer list. Perhaps I owe this unknown friend a word of thanks.
The fact is, I knew immediately who sent the article. It is the same person, a member of my former congregation, who has been attacking me with some regularity for the past few years. It started when the church began to hold him accountable for inappropriate behavior. I recognize his style. He sent a similar anonymous note filled with nasty, vitriolic accusations just two weeks before we moved. If I purchased a finger printing kit, I am sure I could prove that he is the author of both letters. However, it might also prove that my ego is out of control and that he was right to be concerned about my tortured soul.
My first impulse was to address an envelope with my correspondent's name and return the clipping unsigned. Then he would know that I know it was him that did the deed. It would make me feel better, but it would also show, in accordance with Phil Chard's definition of the ego gone amok, that I am indeed "a vexing and sometimes dangerous demigod consumed with (my) own perceived self-importance."
From somewhere in the back of my mind came the voice of the late family systems guru, Ed Friedman, reminding me to cultivate a non-reactive, non-anxious presence. I wonder how Ed would have me do that in this circumstance?
Perhaps he would refer me to the words of the psalmist: "The wicked have laid a snare for me, but I do not stray from your precepts. Your decrees are my heritage forever; they are the joy of my heart. I incline my heart to perform your statutes to the end" (Psalm 119:110-112).
I think Ed might also agree with Phil Chard, who concludes: "The path for putting the ego in its proper place is a spiritual one...."
Dear God, help me to stay on that path.
John E. Sumwalt is the lead pastor of Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church in suburban Milwaukee and the author of nine books, to be released by CSS in 2007. John and his wife, Jo Perry-Sumwalt, served for three years as co-editors of StoryShare. A graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Madison and the University of Dubuque Theological Seminary (UDTS), Sumwalt received the Herbert Manning Jr. award for parish ministry from UDTS in 1997.
Taxicab Confessions
By Keith Hewitt
Genesis 25:19-34
She was standing at the corner when the cab pulled up. Young, with strawberry blond hair pulled back and stuffed under a cap, wearing an oversized sweatshirt and sweatpants -- an outfit no girl would choose to wear on a planet where there might be boys. Her eyes were red and puffy; in one hand was her purse, in the other a brochure that had been folded in half.
The driver sized her up through the window of her cab for a moment or two, then lowered it and leaned over and down, slightly, so she could look the girl in the eyes. "You called for a cab, Miss?"
The girl glanced down the row of houses, then back at her, pulled open the back door and slid in. "Yeah," she agreed, and closed the door with a decisive thud.
The driver raised the window, tripped the meter, checked her mirrors, and pulled out into traffic behind a bakery truck; the aroma of fresh bread snaked in through the open vents. "Where to?" she asked, looking into the rearview mirror.
"Tenth and Division."
"Tenth and Division," the driver repeated. "Doctor's appointment?" she guessed, looking in the mirror again.
"No."
"Right."
The girl lied; there was nothing there but doctors' offices, and the driver knew it. She drove quietly for a minute or two, taking in the smell from the truck, the sounds from the street, the sun flooding down and bouncing off other cars, painting the windshield with quick, sweeping swaths of glare. "Beautiful day, isn't it?" she ventured finally.
"Any chance I could just have quiet?" The girl's voice was tense.
"I guess there's always that chance."
They drove in silence for about a mile; occasionally the driver looked back at her passenger, sizing her up. Finally, she cleared her throat and said, "Summer used to be my favorite time of the year -- out of school, on my own. Summer's when I met Jimmy Ray. 'Course that was twenty years ago. Before you were even born, I'll bet."
"I'm sure it's a beautiful story."
"Not so much. It was all sunshine and flowers for the first couple weeks, but then...." She trailed off, drove in silence for a ways.
"But then?" her passenger asked after a long silence, in spite of herself.
"Sorry. Then things took kind of a bad turn, I guess. You know how it is, I was in l-o-v-e," she stretched it out melodically, turned for a moment to glance over her shoulder, a sardonic smile on her face. "Convinced myself it was a love like no other. Or let Jimmy Ray convince me, I should say."
"They can do that, can't they?" the girl asked in a small voice.
The driver smiled to herself. "He sure could. Fourth of July weekend -- he convinced me a couple of times, down by Red Arrow Park, and once up at the marina. On a boat." Her eyes caught her passenger's briefly, and she added, "Turned out, it wasn't his boat. And that wasn't the only thing he was -- uh -- less than truthful about."
She fell silent again, navigating through a knot of traffic around a pothole repair. "So what happened?" the girl asked after a minute or so.
"About what you'd expect when a kid old enough to know better sells herself cheap. By Labor Day I knew I was pregnant."
"Oh." She didn't say it, but it was the purse of her lips, the knowing look in her eyes.
"Yup. Took two of those tests and a visit to the doctor to convince me. I tried to get Jimmy Ray to come to the doctor with me, but all of a sudden, he wasn't calling me back. By the time I got up the courage to go over there, his phone was disconnected and he was gone."
"What did you do?"
"Well, I'd like to tell you that I went home, told my folks, and we sat down as a family to look at all the options."
"You did?"
"No. That's what I'd like to tell you. Truth was, I was scared spitless. Here I was, just starting school again, and all I could think of was how hard it was going to be. I looked ahead, and all I saw was ninety-nine miles of bad road. And my folks -- I couldn't tell my folks. I might as well have just gone ahead and told 'em I was going to vote Republican in the next election -- that would have killed 'em just as dead."
They were at a light; she fell silent again, for a heartbeat or two, closed her eyes and felt herself being tugged back there -- the fear, the hopelessness, the anger mixed with panic, they all flooded back to her. She opened her eyes, took a deep breath, then another. "Funny thing," she said, "sometimes to get what you think you want in the present, you end up giving away the future. And, Sweetheart, that's just way too expensive."
"I think I see what you mean," the girl said. Her eyes held the driver's now. "What happened?"
She shrugged. "I was young, I had plans. All I saw was my life being ruined. So I figured the only way I could get it back was to trade -- a life for a life. It just made sense." She started to slow, as they neared Tenth and Division. "And not a day goes by -- not a day -- when I wonder if I made the right decision."
"Do you have children now?" the girl asked, suddenly wanting to direct this woman away from her thoughts, the pain she saw in her eyes, and the way she gripped the wheel.
The driver nodded, relaxed a little as she slid the car into a spot in front of the Medical Arts Building and put it in park. She opened the glove compartment, pulled out a wallet and turned in her seat, unsnapping the wallet as she turned. It fell open, and she held it apart with one hand, flipped through the vinyl photo holder with the other. The first sleeve was empty, she folded it up and out of the way, tapped the second one with a fingertip. "My boys. Twins, eight years old." She flipped them up after the girl nodded, to the next sleeved. "My dog, Brutus. He's a Lab-Rotweiller mix. Dumb as a post, but all heart." The girl smiled, nodded, and she flipped to the next picture. "My husband -- forty-one going on twelve. He's great. They're all great."
"So it's worked out for you?"
"I guess it has," she agreed, and started to close the wallet.
"What about the first one?" the girl asked. "Picture fall out?"
"No," the driver said, pausing for a moment to look at the empty sleeve, then pulled the wallet back, laid it on the seat next to her. "That one's empty. It always will be."
The young girl looked puzzled for a moment, then her eyes fell. "Oh," she half-whispered.
As the girl paid, and slipped out of the car, the driver said nothing. Once she was out, and standing uncertainly on the sidewalk, the driver rolled the window down once again, and leaned over. "Good luck, Miss," she said earnestly. "God bless you."
"You too," the girl said, fingering the brochure in her hand.
"Oh, he does -- no matter how hard I make it for him, he does. He loves me, you know. And he loves you, too." The girl smiled uncertainly; the driver rolled up the window and pulled away slowly, one finger still rubbing softly over the empty picture sleeve.
As she looked in the mirror, the girl stepped down off the curb and raised her hand to hail a cab....
Keith Hewitt is the author of NaTiVity Dramas: Four Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages. He is a lay speaker, co-youth leader, and former Sunday school teacher at Wilmot United Methodist Church in Wilmot, Wisconsin. He lives in southeastern Wisconsin with his wife and two children, and works in the IT Department at a major public safety testing organization.
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StoryShare, July 13, 2008, issue.
Copyright 2008 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 517 South Main Street, Lima, Ohio 45804.
