So, when I was a kid, my grandparents moved off their farm into the big city of Red Bank, Tennessee, outside Chattanooga. And my granddaddy had a huge garden. I mean, in my mind, at least it was big, but then again, I was little. Everything was big. It wasn't so big that he needed a tractor or other fancy equipment, just a tiller. But it was big enough that, because he didn't have that fancy equipment, planting time could be a big deal.
Occasionally, while my mom was at work, I would be dragooned into helping plant seeds. We would slowly walk down the rows, dropping the seeds, one at a time, in the furrows, the right amount of distance apart. And then we'd go back over each row, making sure all the seeds hit their mark.
If they didn't, we'd have to bend down and move them. Only then would we cover the row up and move on.
It was long, tedious work. But no seed was wasted. And I was probably less help and more hinderance. But here's the funny part. When it was done, the part of my body that hurt the most was my hands, because I’d squeeze those seeds tight in my little fist, worried that I’d do something wrong.
Hands are these amazing things, really. Most of us don't always think about them unless they are hurting or gone. But on a day-to-day basis, we don't really think about them at all.
And yet they are intimately involved in nearly everything we do. When we read, the hands hold the book, or nowadays, click on the mouse.
When we eat, hands hold the food. Hands move the steering wheel, hold the phone, swat at flies, caress a cheek, throw a punch, pull a trigger, drop a coin into a bucket.
These things we spend most of our day NOT thinking about, are so crucial to who we are and how we make our way through our world.
Now, I know that we are cold, standoffish Anglicans, so I'm not going to make you actually do this, but think of what you do to your hand, to grasp or clutch. Think of the actions you do with your hand. It closes; it holds; muscles constrict, the hand tenses.
Hands can be relaxed lightly so that we can caress or rub or pet a dog. They can be nimble and delicate so that we can knit or sew or draw or paint.
And, hands can be squeezed tight to hammer against someone or pound the table in anger, to throw a punch, the tip of the spear of violence.
It’s sad to think of such delicate, sensitive parts of the body as something that can be negative. But so often when we use hand-related words like clutching, grasping, seizing, we are using them negatively, because they give us the image of a hand closing in around itself.
And a hand that does that is making a fist. And a hand that is making a fist is usually about to cause pain.
Just like my hand all those years ago in my grandfather's garden, causing me pain, as I clutched that seed, fearful that it might slip through my fingers and be wasted.
We grasp and seize things all the time in our lives, especially when we see our lives threatened with change. When we seize things like power and prestige, or honor and reputations, or money and property, or relationships, we so often do it out of fear.
We are so worried that if we loosen our grip, all those things that mean so much to us will trickle out between our fingers, like water – or fly away like a bird finally freed to be on its own – or in my case, fall in the wrong place like wasted seed, causing extra work as I round it up to be used properly.
I can understand these feelings of, what? Is it regret? My grandfather was right. Wasting seed was just that – wasted. We try to put the seed where it will do the most good, and to do that we have to hold the seed in our hands tightly, releasing it one grain at a time in the proper place, in the proper spot, at the proper time.
If we do this, we increase the chances that our harvest will be plentiful, that nothing was wasted. We will be efficient!
So how come Jesus tells us this weird story? Because this doesn’t seem to be how planting should done at all.
We have this farmer, this sower, who is casting seed about. Some of it falls on fertile ground, but some falls on rocks and some is eaten by birds.
And we sit here, time after time, knowing what we’ve always been taught about this parable: some of us will hear the Gospel and ignore it, and some of us will hear the Gospel and get all fired up, but then it will peter out.
And then some of us – well, US, sitting here, the really good people – will hear the Gospel and it will grow in our hearts and make us good Christian souls. Worthy people. Good people reared in good, fertile soil, yielding a harvest for the feeding of the kingdom of God.
And I suppose that's a pretty good way to interpret this parable. It makes sense. We've seen all these reactions when people hear the Gospel. We know people who are, quite frankly, bad seeds. And we know people who get all fired up and then wither away.
But the weird thing, to me, is the sower. This just doesn’t seem like how you should sow seed. He's out there in the field, just throwing seed all over the place. He's flinging it up in the sky, attracting those birds.
He's scattering it, not just in fertile soil, but on the hard asphalt of the ancient Judean Wal-mart parking lot, where the seed is trampled on by hundreds of feet, ground into dust by wagon wheels.
This farmer does not seem to understand that grain is hard to come by, and you have to keep it safe, and you have to use it properly, and only then will you grow enough to save some to live on, save some to give away in taxes, and save enough to use to plant all over again next year.
He's acting like every time he reaches into his seed pouch he will have an unlimited supply. This farmer is nuts.
But stop a minute and think about his hands. There is only one way to spread seed this way. The farmer has to open his hands, flinging them up in the air, making wild crazy patterns in the wind with wide open hands.
We've seen this act before, we recognize how this happens. Throwing seed this way is a sign, not of clutched fear, but of wide-open, no-holds-barred, pure utter joy.
Again, if we weren't such cool Anglicans, I'd ask you all to do this. Act like you are sowing seed in this crazy, joyous way. Flinging what you have up into the sky and watching it as the winds of God take those seeds to places you've never even thought of.
And consider this: maybe that sower ISN'T God at all. Maybe the sower is US. In this age, Christ appoints us to sow the seed, not sit around and wait for God to do it. It's our job. And Christ is telling us to do it with wild abandon.
Don't look around for only that soil that is fertile, only those people you know are receptive.
FLING IT! Throw that seed everywhere you can. Throw the seeds of love and compassion out there, knowing that they may get picked apart by birds. That's ok. There will be more.
Throw the seeds of salvation out there, knowing they may land on deaf ears. That's ok. There will be more.
Throw the seeds of mercy and justice out there, knowing they may be derided that the wealthy and powerful, who only pay lip service to the commands to love God and love your neighbor. That’s ok. There will be more
God blesses a farmer like this beyond anyone’s wildest dreams.
This foolish farmer who, in a world of scarcity, casting his seed on soil that everyone knows is worthless, is blessed by God in shocking abundance: a harvest of thirty, sixty, and a hundred times what he sowed.
So, open your hands, throw what you have on the winds. Be carried along. Watch your love land in those hard places, changing them; watch your gifts and talents be taken to places you never dreamed about. Watch your soul fly up into the sky, swirling along joyously on the winds of God.
Dancing with God. Letting God lead the dance. Holding on to God’s lead… but don't hold to tightly.
Because sometimes God wants you to let go and soar!
Amen.