Sunday Prayers
for the sixth Sunday after Pentecost (July 12, 2020)
On this Sixth Sunday after Pentecost, we invite you to set aside some time tonight at 5 pm to pray and worship at home.
Rooted in simplicity and practiced in community,
even if separated by space and circumstance,
we celebrate Christ’s gentle and loving rule.
The readings for today are:
- Genesis 25:19-34
- Psalm 119:105-112
- Romans 8:1-11
- Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23
Transcript
Written in Hebrew, the term that is usually translated The LORD (in all caps) or Yahweh is actually a collection of characters called the tetragrammaton (which sounds like a great name for a Bond villain, or death-metal band). In Hebrew tradition, the tetragrammaton (isn’t it fun to say?) is mysterious and unpronounceable. But, of course, that hasn’t stopped us from speculating. My favourite theory is that the characters – yodh, heh, vav, heh – actually mimic the sound of breathing. The idea is that the name of God is unknowingly echoed by every living thing in beautiful, constant rhythm whether we know it or not. For, as the psalms say, even the fields and everything in them have the capacity for jubilance, and the trees to sing for joy.
Of course, it’s all speculation. But what a marvellous thought. And how fitting to think that all of creation is saturated with the goodness of God, whether we know it or not.
Written in Hebrew, the term that is usually translated The LORD (in all caps) or Yahweh is actually a collection of characters called the tetragrammaton (which sounds like a great name for a Bond villain, or death-metal band). In Hebrew tradition, the tetragrammaton (isn’t it fun to say?) is mysterious and unpronounceable. But, of course, that hasn’t stopped us from speculating. My favourite theory is that the characters – yodh, heh, vav, heh – actually mimic the sound of breathing. The idea is that the name of God is unknowingly echoed by every living thing in beautiful, constant rhythm whether we know it or not. For, as the psalms say, even the fields and everything in them have the capacity for jubilance, and the trees to sing for joy.
Of course, it’s all speculation. But what a marvellous thought. And how fitting to think that all of creation is saturated with the goodness of God, whether we know it or not.
Our gospel reading today takes us to the Parable of the Sower – a vitally important parable that is recorded in all of the synoptic Gospels, and which seems to set the tone for all of the other parables. It’s sort of the gateway to understanding what Jesus is doing with this particular way of teaching.
There may be a temptation to think that this familiar old parable is simple, that the disciples didn’t really need Jesus to explain it. Or, even worse, a temptation to focus on what Jesus has to say about different kinds of soil, and become preoccupied and worried about our own spiritual fertility.
But, this isn’t the parable of the different types of ground. This is the Parable of the Sower.
The ground matters, to be sure, and we ought to give some thought to our own trust, receptiveness, and faith. But to focus there is to miss much of the point.
Because the point is the extravagance, the jubilance, the foolishness of the sower. Tossing precious seed here and there with no concern for waste, as if there’s always more than enough to go around. As if the capacity for any kind of growth is far more important than conservation efforts.
And if we are to imagine that the seed in this parable is the Word of God – the same Word that breathes life into all things in the beginning of creation, the same Word that is Jesus himself – then the parable becomes even deeper. An image emerges of a world saturated with God.
Which is, above all else, cause for joy. What an extraordinary thought – that God inhabits and animates and deeply loves all of our spaces.
But it’s also challenging and profoundly mysterious. Which is why the fact that the disciples are puzzled by this parable isn’t strange, or a mark of their ineptness. They’re puzzled because Jesus launches into this kind of teaching without any introduction or useful preamble, and he presents an image so strange and extravagant that it’s hard to make heads or tails of it.
And it still is. Even with the benefit of 2000 years of Christian reflection and speculation, this parable remains deeply mysterious. It seems to suggest that the seed of the Word, the very stuff of the Kingdom of God, is literally everywhere. Which suggests that we in the church might not have any exclusive claim to own the Kingdom. Joy, hope, growth and wholeness of being seem to animate this whole ecosystem, without concern for wasted efforts, or any particular need for a team of highly educated experts to prepare the terrain. All the same, different outcomes result from the seed being sown all over the place, and all of these outcomes seem to have to do with the extent to which the seed is left alone. It is when it is the least interfered with that it is the most productive, although even then the fruit that it yields is unpredictable and variable in its outcome – consistent only in the continued multiplication of abundance.
So where does that leave us, other than firmly in the realm of speculation?
I think we’re called to let the parable work on us. To marvel at it, and to let our imaginations wander down mysterious paths.
And I think we’re called to trust. These parables of Jesus are descriptive, not prescriptive. They don’t so much demand things of us as they invite us to trust in a mysterious, joyful, abundant ecosystem that is held within the hand of the God who loves us.
So breathe deep. It may just be that, even without knowing it, you’re playing a small part in an endlessly complex symphony of creatures proclaiming the glory of God, who scatters seed in every nook and cranny.