“Some fell on rocky
places, where it did not have much soil. It sprang up quickly, because the soil
was shallow, but when the sun came up, the plants were scorched, withered and
died.” (Matthew 13: 5-6)
You’ve probably heard this passage before. Jesus walks onto
a boat, large crowd, parables galore! I was taught The Parable of the Sower in
Sunday school, heard sermons, and possibly did a liturgical- style pantomime of
it once or twice…
Recently, I experienced this story in the book our group is
studying, (Jesus for President) and saw it in a new light. During the
weekly discussion, which is made up of congregation members of Southside
Presbyterian, as well as our YAVs, the conversation moved towards call and
discernment. One of my housemates, Maddy, questioned her future, asking when she
would be able to share her new knowledge with the world. She made a very good
point that we are living in a very progressive (in some ways) city, we all bike
to work, we live in community, we eat locally, and live simply, but how does
that experience reach others? How do we share this life with others?
“You’ll just know.”
“You will feel pushed or pulled in a certain direction.”
To me, these are standard answers that bring so many more
questions. I stared down at my book, flipping pages, entering and retreating
from our discussion. Isolated, but wanting presence.
I found the Sower Parable. Familiar words brought comfort.
Then, suddenly, loss and confusion. The moment when something becomes so
familiar, it seems foreign.
First thoughts:
Am I a seed, or can I be the sower, planting seeds of
thoughts and ideas? Some may fail, some may take root but never grow, some may
fall among people who do not fully understand, and some will flourish under the
ideal conditions. If some of my plants fail, isn’t their anything I can do to
save them? Water them? Shade them? Fertilize them?
Everything I learn goes against leaving plants to wither and
die. Every day there is a new way to transplant, reduce pests, and save plants
from certain doom. Some crops in the desert do not need any help; they grow on
rocky soil and flourish with little water. What about plants who do not need
“good soil”? (If we try to help our native plants with fertilizer or compost,
they would actually whither and die.)
Is a plant that
flourished without “good soil” inherently evil?
Second thoughts:
If I am a seed, which seed am I? Is my future already known?
Am I a seed sown into ground I had no choice over? Right now, I am flourishing.
I feel it, I know it. But, am I growing in this life, in this place, only to
whither once I leave YAV? Is society waiting in the shadows, ready to spring
up, grasp my heart, and tear it out?
As a seed sown, how
can I help the seeds around me?
Third thoughts:
Where are the bees?
