"Don't Be Afraid. There Is Enough." A Sermon on the Widow's Mite from Littlefield Presbyterian Church.

"Don't Be Afraid. There is Enough."

Mark 12:38-44; 1 Kings 17:7-16

            We don’t know this woman’s name.  We really don’t know anything about her, other than that she is an impoverished widow in first century Palestine, living on the margins of her society, with no safety net. No husband to protect or advocate for her.  No pension.  She’s part of a poor and vulnerable class of society. 

            So, don’t you wonder what it means to point to a destitute woman who gives her last two cents to the Temple?  Should we applaud her self sacrifice—or see her as naïve and impractical?

            Mark only uses this word for “widow” twice in his gospel, both times in the passage we just heard.  Unlike Luke, Mark doesn’t emphasize a mission to “the poor” in his narrative.

             The first time Mark mentions the poor is when a wealthy man comes to Jesus asking how he can inherit eternal life.[1]  Jesus responds: “Sell what you own and give the money to the poor.”  The man couldn’t do it.

            But this poor widow does just that. She gives it all.

            What do we do with this?  What does it mean?   Why would this poor widow give everything she had to live on?  Surely her small gift couldn’t make any difference to the Temple.   In ancient Israel, the “poor” were not required to give to the Temple.[2]  If they did give, they might have done so out of a sense of obligation… or a sense of hope.   We just don’t know.     

            Our gospel lesson today is framed by verses that show what Jesus thinks about what was going on in the Temple.  Jesus has visited the temple and cleansed it by driving out those who were selling   and tossing the tables of the moneychangers.  He quoted the prophets Isaiah and Jeremiah to explain his prophetic action: “Is it not written, ‘My house shall be called a house of prayer for all the nations’” But you have made it a den of robbers.”[3] 

            In today’s lesson, we heard Jesus teaching his disciples to “Beware of the scribes,” those religious leaders who like to walk around in their long robes.  Jesus said, “They like to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets! They devour widows’ houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers.”                           

            In the two parts of today’s lectionary passage, Mark offers us contrasting examples of discipleship.   These are teaching moments for Jesus as he calls his disciples to pay attention to the scribes, who “will receive the greater condemnation.”   Then Jesus points to the widow’s giving.

            This is one of the widows Jesus had just accused the scribes of abusing—offering her copper coins amidst the grand displays of generosity from the rest of the temple crowd.        

            The widow gives sacrificially—all she has to live on.  Her sacrifice is complete—so complete that Jesus wants his disciples to witness it.   “Truly,” Jesus says, “this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury.  For all of them have contributed out of their abundance, but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”

            That is why we know about her today, this nameless woman—because she gave all the little she had, holding nothing back.

            But don’t you wonder?  Are we really supposed to admire a poor woman who gave her last cent to a religious institution?   Was it right for her to surrender her living to those who lived better than she did?   By ordinary human standards, what this widow did makes no sense.  Is Jesus saying we should all follow her example?  What does Jesus want us to learn from her?      

            Did you notice?  Nowhere in this passage does Jesus praise the widow for what she is doing.  Nowhere in this story does he say, “Go, thou, all of you, and do likewise.”   He simply invites the disciples to contemplate the disparity between abundance and poverty, between large sums and two copper coins, between grand donations--and real sacrifice.   He doesn’t dismiss the gifts of the rich.  He simply points out that the poor widow turns out to be the major donor in the story.

            In Mark’s gospel, this is the last of Jesus’ lessons in the upside-down kingdom of God, where the last shall be first, and the great shall be the servants of all.   When Jesus leaves the Temple that day, his public ministry is over.  In four days, he will be dead, giving up the two copper coins of his life.  The widow withheld nothing from God. Neither did Jesus.    

            In the scriptures, there are recurring themes of abundance and of trusting in God to provide what we need.

            In the Exodus story, the people begin to complain, afraid that they won’t have enough provisions for the journey ahead of them.  God responds by sending them manna—white flakes of bread falling from heaven—just enough manna for today.  The people aren’t willing to trust that God would continue to provide, so they try to hoard their food for tomorrow.  But when they wake up the next morning, they find that the left-over manna has rotted overnight.  God was trying to teach them that hoarding and lack of trust deny God’s daily providing…and the predictable and faithful grace of God.

            In today’s lesson from the Hebrew scriptures, God tells Elijah to go to Zarephath, and that a widow there will feed him.  The widow is preparing to bake the last little bit of meal and oil into a last supper for her and her son—everything she had—and then they would die.  Elijah says to her, “Don’t be afraid.  Make me a little cake, and then make some for yourself and your son.  God promises you won’t run out of meal and oil as long as the drought lasts.”  And it was so.  There was enough.

           

            Jesus, the one who gave his all for the sake of the world, for the sake of all of us, calls us to follow him… and learn from him.  The gospel gives us clues about how to live joyful lives of freedom and trust. 

            Like the angels who keep showing up in the Bible, saying, “Don’t be afraid,” so Jesus uncovers our motives, those habits of the heart that keep us holding on tightly to things, to money, clinging to the things we think might keep us safe.  Then he invites us to care for the poor, and he offers us a new life of freedom from fear-- an abundant life of gratitude and trust.

           

            So how are we to love God?  With trust, instead of fear.  With gratitude, instead of demands.  With hope instead of despair. 

           

            How do we comprehend the poor widow’s offering in the Temple?  I think we can see it as a statement of radical trust.  She chooses not to play it safe.  Instead, she gives her love gift first, trusting in God to provide what she needs. 

            But how does this happen?  How could she give everything?

I wonder if she somehow has come to feel that she has enough, and that she will have enough.  I wonder if she has allowed herself to experience life as a blessing.  I wonder how this poor widow has come to trust in God as the one who blesses and provides—abundantly, predictably, faithfully. 

            I wonder if she has discovered something about the ultimate meaning of life-- that when we give, we are most like God.  Could it be that she has come to see that-- when we are lavish and gracious and generous-- we are most like our lavish and gracious and generous God. 

             

            How much do we love God?  How much do we trust God?  These are ongoing questions that we encounter on our journey of faith.  I don’t have any easy, pat anoswers for you today.  But not to keep asking the questions is to shut God out of some of the most intimate details of your living.

            Like many of you, I enjoy supporting charitable and social causes I think are important, causes that help me to live out the Christian values that shape my life.  But my main giving is focused on the church, in this local congregation, as well as some church-related missions. 

            There is something about putting a check into the offering plate as part of worship that gives focus to my life and to my faith.  It’s part of my spiritual discipline to write the check each week.  It’s part of my spiritual growth to increase my giving each year. 

            I believe that my giving is a witness to the gratitude I have for life…and the joy and freedom that I experience when I give my money to the church and to the causes that express my faith values.

            You and I have received commitment cards in the mail.  Sometime between now and next Sunday morning, I hope you will hold it and pray over it…and consider what level of commitment will help you to grow in your faith and trust in God… and then fill it out with joy and gratitude.  Then, I hope you will offer it with great joy during worship next Sunday.   

            How do we love God?  Let us count the ways.  And then let us respond with the offering of our very lives.

            Amen.

Rev. Fran Hayes, Pastor

Littlefield Presbyterian Church

Dearborn, Michigan

November 11, 2018

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[1] Mark 10:17-24

[2] Emerson Powerey, Commentary on Mark 12:38-44 at www.workingpreacher.org

[3] Mark 11:17

"Faith and Fear." A Sermon from Littlefield Presbyterian Church. Mark 9:30-37.

"Fear and Faith"

Mark 9:30-37

In last week’s gospel lesson, Jesus traveled to the region of Tyre and then to the Decapolis.[1]  In today’s text, he’s back in his home territory of Galilee, but “he did not want anyone to know it.”  The reason he didn’t want anyone to know he was there? He had some important teaching to do with his disciples.

            Some very important things have happened in the meantime.  In Caesarea Philippi, Jesus had asked his disciples, “Who are people saying that I am? Who do you say I am?” Then he began teaching the disciples about what awaits him in Jerusalem and about the cost of following him. Peter, James, and John had seen Jesus transfigured on a mountain.[2]  Later, Jesus cast a demon out of a boy.

            Now, as they’re passing through Galilee, Jesus is trying again to avoid being noticed while he continues to teach his disciples, saying, “The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again.”  But the disciples didn’t understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him. Maybe they don’t want to understand. This is a hard teaching about a Messiah who suffers and dies.

            I wonder what the disciples might have asked if they had not been afraid.  Are we really very different?

            I agree with David Lose that it’s important to ask good questions. But our fears can get in the way. What fears pursue you during the day and haunt you at night? What worries weigh you down so that it’s difficult to move forward in faith?”[3] Our fears have a way of sneaking into our very being, and robbing us of the abundant life Jesus came both to announce and to share.

            Did you notice? The disciples don’t ask Jesus any questions in response to his prediction of his crucifixion because they’re afraid. And the next thing you know they’re talking about who was the greatest, who was going to have a place of privilege and power in the coming kingdom.

            Fear can do that. It can paralyze you. It can motivate you to look out only for yourself.

            This isn’t the only time Mark contrasts and faith and fear. In the fourth chapter of Mark, after Jesus stills the storm that had terrified the disciples, Jesus asks them, “Why are you afraid? Have you no faith?” As he was restoring Jairus’ daughter, he tells the distraught father, “Don’t be afraid. Only believe.”[4]

            The opposite of faith is not doubt--but fear.  The kind of fear that can paralyze you… distort how you perceive reality… and drive you to despair.

            The disciples didn’t understand what Jesus was saying and were afraid to ask him.

            In the house in Capernaum, Jesus asked them, “What were you arguing about on the way? But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another who was the greatest.

            He called the twelve and said to them, “whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.  Then he took a little child and put it among them, and taking it in his arms, and he said to them, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”

             

            Now, in ancient times, a child was regarded as a non-person, or a not-yet-person, the possession of the father in the household.   When Jesus held up a child as an emblem of living in God’s household, and perhaps even as a stand-in for Jesus himself, he was challenging the social norms of the day.

            This child was as important to Jesus as the vision on the mountain. Jesus wanted his disciples to see the child…and welcome the child.  Not because the child is innocent or pure or perfect or cute.  No. Jesus wanted them to welcome the child because the child was at the bottom of the social heap.  In Mark’s gospel, children aren’t symbols of innocence or holiness. More often, they are the victims of poverty and disease. Jesus brings the child from the margins into the very center.

            But, surely, we want to think, we are different.  We value children in our churches and in society. And yet…

            In the United States of America--one of the richest countries in the world-- children remain the poorest age group. According to the Children’s Defense Fund, nearly one in five children--12.8 million in total-- were poor in 2017. Over 45 percent of these children lived in extreme poverty at less than half the poverty level.  Nearly 70 percent of poor children were children of color.  The youngest children are most likely to be poor, with 1 in 5 children under 5 living in poverty during the years of rapid brain development.

            Child poverty hurts children. Child poverty hurts our nation’s future. It creates gaps in cognitive skills for very young children, puts children at greater risk of hunger and homelessness, jeopardizes their health and ability to learn, and fuels the inter-generational cycle of poverty.

            Ponder this: 3 million children in the U.S. live in families surviving on $2 a day per person.[5]  I hope you’ll take that statistic home with you and consider what $2 a day per person would buy and what it wouldn’t.

            Something else to ponder:  More than 400 children who were separated from their families at the southern border are still separated from their families.

            These are moral issues that reflect how we are living our values in our society. When we look at the federal and state budgets and see actions to limit access to medical services for lower income Americans including children, or cut-backs in nutrition programs for children, we need to see how these actions affect children’s lives.

            Do we see the children? Do we welcome them?

           

            Joyce Ann Mercer suggests that Jesus’ treatment of children shows his “struggle and resistance to the purposes of empire.” The politics of empire favors relationships of power and privilege, while the politics embodied of the kingdom of God lifts up the lowly, and those with no power or privilege. [6]

            Jesus came to live among us, full of grace and truth.[7]  He proclaimed the reign of God, preaching good news to the poor and release to the poor and release to the captives…teaching by word and deed and blessing the children.[8]

            Do we see them? Do we welcome them?  If we don’t, what are the fears that hold us back from fully welcoming them?

           

            Jesus called his followers to live out gospel values. He calls us to extending hospitality to those who were considered little more than property.  He healed when he wasn’t supposed to, touched people he shouldn’t have touched.  He taught that all our ideas about greatness mean nothing if we don’t stoop down low enough to see the little ones in our midst.

            That day in Capernaum, Jesus held a little child in his arms and brought the words of heaven down to earth. I imagine Jesus whispering in the child’s ear, “You are God’s beloved child.”[9]

           

            The good news is that God has named us all as beloved children and calls us to welcome children in Christ’s name. This isn’t as simple or limited as it might seem. It means caring for children-- not only our own children and grandchildren, but children of migrant workers and asylum-seekers, children of poverty in our cities and impoverished rural areas.

            The good news is that Jesus has promised to be with us always and has given us the Holy Spirit to lead and empower us.  In this broken and fearful world, the Spirit gives us courage to pray without ceasing, to witness among all peoples to Christ as Lord and Savior, to unmask idolatries in Church and culture, to hear the voices of peoples long silenced, and to work with others for justice, freedom, and peace.[10]

           

            Thanks be to God, through Jesus Christ our Lord!  Amen!

Rev. Fran Hayes, Pastor

Littlefield Presbyterian Church

Dearborn, Michigan

September 16, 2018
 

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[1] Mark 7:24-37

[2] Mark 9:2-8

[3] David Lose, “Faith and Fear,” at his blog In the Meantime. https://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=1619

[4] Mark 4:40; Mark 5:36

:

[5] Child Poverty, at Children’s Defense Fund website:  https://www.childrensdefense.org/policy/policy-priorities/child-poverty/

[6] Martha L. Moore-Keish, Theological Perspective, in Feasting on the Word: Year B, Volume 4: Season after Pentecost 2. Location 3408.

[7] John 1:14.

[8] “A Brief Statement of Faith” of the Presbyterian Church (USA), 1991.

[9] I’m grateful to the Rev. Dr. Barbara K. Lundblad for this image in “A Hopeful Fanatic.” http://day1.org/4049-a_hopeful_fanatic

    

[10] “Brief Statement of Faith.”

"Saying Yes to God." A Sermon from Littlefield Presbyterian Church on the Fourth Sunday of Advent.

"Saying Yes to God"

Luke 1

Angels don’t show up very often in the Scriptures.  But when they do appear, usually something BIG... strange...  and wonderful is about to happen.

            The angel Gabriel came to tell Mary that she had been chosen by God to help change the world, by bearing the Christ.

Though Gabriel called Mary "favored one,” she apparently didn't feel favored-- at least not at first.  She felt perplexed.  “How can this be?”

            And yet Mary responded to Gabriel by saying, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord.  Let it be with me according to your word."

            In other words, Mary says, “I'm not sure what all of this means.  but nevertheless, here I am, ready to be of service in God's work.  Whatever you say, God."

            What a wonderful, faithful thing for Mary to say!   It couldn't have been an easy decision for her.  Change never is.

            There was a lot at stake for Mary.  She was a young peasant girl from a small village.  Her marriage to Joseph had been arranged. 

Mary was poor...  and vulnerable.   As a female, her economic survival depended on marriage.  Her security depended on her attractiveness as a wife and mother.         So-- what did it mean for a girl like Mary to say yes to God’s plan?

            It meant risking all that she had hoped for...   all her plans for her life.    It meant risking her security.  And it meant risking her very lir3.  The penalty for a woman caught in adultery in her day could be public stoning.  If Joseph believed that her pregnancy was a result of an illicit affair, then-- by law-- Mary could be taken to the edge of town and stoned to death. At the very least, she will be disgraced in the eyes of the people of the village. She’ll be damaged goods.

            Mary's story reminds us that to be God's servant in the world means risking radical changes in our priorities.  It means placing our very lives into God's hands.   It means trusting in God to care for us—even through dangerous times.

            Yet Mary responded in obedience and trust and courage.   "Here I am, Lord."  I'll be your servant." 

            If Mary's decision was extraordinary, her response to the decision was even more extraordinary. 

            Luke tells us-that, after the angel left, Mary hurried to visit her elderly cousin Elizabeth, who had been unable to bear children all her life.  As proof that nothing is impossible with God, the angel Gabriel had told Mary that Elizabeth was six months pregnant in her old age.

            When Elizabeth hears Mary's voice, the child leaps in her womb, and she knows that she has been especially touched by God.  Filled with the Holy Spirit, Elizabeth calls out:  "You are BLESSED among women.  Blessed is she who believed that God's promise would be fulfilled!"

            By declaring both Mary and the fruit of her womb “blessed,” Elizabeth begins a series of blessings that weave through Luke’s birth narrative and intensify its tone of joy and praise.  Mary, Zechariah, and Simeon will all add their blessings, praising God for what God is doing at this moment in history   and recognizing that those who are privileged to be instruments of God’s saving work have been richly blessed.  

            Mary starts singing a song the church is still singing today-- a song we might think of as the first Christmas carol.  Her song is a song of joy and praise.  "My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant.  Surely, from now on, all generations will call me blessed."

            Mary sings about the God who saves not just souls, but embodied people. The God she celebrates isn’t content merely to point people toward heaven. God’s redemptive work begins here on earth. God fills the hungry not only with hope, but with food.  God isn’t satisfied with comforting the lowly, but lifts them up, giving them dignity. This is a merciful and subversive song, that sings of how God shows strength by disrupting the world’s power structures, bringing down the powerful from their thrones, and lifting up the lowly.

            Through the centuries, Mary has been a model of faith.   God needed Mary's freely given "YES” to God's gracious invitation to become the Mother of Jesus.  The mystery of INCARNATION could not have taken place without Mary's wholehearted "YES".  And that "YES” couldn’t have taken place without Mary's unbounded trust in God.

            Do you wonder?  How was such radical obedience and openness on Mary's part made possible?  How did she get from saying, “How can this be?”—to “Let it be, according to God’s word”?

            I think it grew out of the sense of trust that had developed in her as she heard the stories of the God of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob...  and how God had always dealt with her people.  That long history had taught her two things about God-- that God was utterly mysterious...  and yet always good.   God's ways are almost never obvious...  but they inevitably work out better than we could imagine.   And that's some of the GOOD NEWS of God. 

            The old King James Version puts part of Mary’s song of praise this way: “He hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts.”  I think that’s an especially apt translation, for it is by our imagining, by what our hearts picture in fear or desire, that we humans are pushed and pulled in our many directions.

            Imagination can be a channel for our destruction—especially when fear and resentment prevail.  But it can also serve to gather and bless and inspire us.   

            We live in a society in which the gap between the rich and poor keeps widening…  a society in which many people of goodwill are finding it important and necessary to declare that black lives matter… where it’s important and necessary to stand in solidarity with our Muslim neighbors and with refugees.    We live in a time of fear and suspicion of people who are different… and a growing number of people believe they need guns to protect themselves against all the terrible things they imagine.   

            We live in a world in which many people lack adequate food or safe water or shelter or sanitation.   The ways of the world seem to have taken over, and mercy is in short supply.  But it doesn’t have to be that way.  Mary models for us a way of joyful, hopeful obedience, working with God to change the world, hoping in God’s promises.

            If you read through the first few chapters of Luke, you’ll notice that several songs.   Mary sings the “Magnificat” in today’s story.  Zechariah sings when his son John is born and his tongue is finally loosened.  The angels sing of peace and goodwill when they share their “good news of great joy” with the shepherds.  And Simeon sings his song of farewell when he has seen God’s promises fulfilled. 

            Why all these songs?  I think David Lose is right when he suggests that singing can be an act of resistance.   African slaves knew this.  When they sang their spirituals, they were praising God and also protesting the injustices of their lives and pointing the way to freedom. 

            The civil rights leaders in our nation knew this, too, as they sang their freedom songs.  

            The protesters in Leipzig in 1989 knew this as well.  For several months before the fall of the Berlin wall, the citizens of Leipzig gathered on Monday evenings by candlelight around St. Nikolai Church—the church where Bach composed so many of his cantatas—to sing.  Over two months, their numbers grew from a little more than a thousand people to more than three hundred thousand—over half the citizens of the city.  They sang songs of hope and protest and justice, until their song shook the powers of their nation and changed the world. 

            Later, when someone asked one of the officers of the Stasi, the East German secret police, why they didn’t crush this protest like they had so many others, the officer replied, “We had no contingency plan for song.”[1]

            Today, I hope we will sing Mary’s song of praise with her...  and watch for signs of how “the world is about to turn.”

            A lot of what we do when we come together in worship is practicing this imagination of the heart, by the gift and command of God.  In the liturgy, we imagine that love rules already, that the lowly are lifted up, that death is conquered, sin cleansed away... peace triumphant...and Christ touched and seen and tasted.  On the verge of Christmas, we imagine and sing with Mary.

            Imagine with the Magnificat its dream of a justice that re-distributes wealth and privilege and power, so that everyone has what they need.   Imagine a world where the lion and the lamb can be together in peace… where those who have been proud and rich can be in solidarity with those who yearn for a turning of the socio-economic tables… imagine discovering that there can be enough for everyone in God’s realm.          

            And remember that we're invited to participate more fully in God's saving work in the world. 

            Mary was invited to bear Christ.  And so, my friends, are we. 

            We can choose to say YES to God, and open ourselves to let God use us as instruments of love and grace and mercy and justice and peace.

Today’s gospel story is about Mary.  But it’s your story and mine as well.  God has chosen each of us, favored each of us, graced each of us, and spoken God’s Word to, over, and in each of us.

By the power of God’s Spirit, God has descended upon us and conceived Christ in us.   We are called to be God-bearers, a calling that can bring with it extraordinary blessings, as well as significant hardships.  But the promise remains the same: nothing is impossible for the One we serve and bear.

We are called to bear the love of Christ out into the world...  and let it transform the world, as it transforms us.  

            " Let it be with me, according to your word.” 

            Let it be with us, according to your Word.”

            Let it be!

Rev. Fran Hayes, Pastor

Littlefield Presbyterian Church

Dearborn, Michigan

December 24, 2017     

                                                     

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[1] David Lose, “Singing as An Act of Resistance, at davidlose.net, December 14, 2015.

"Planting as an Act of Faith:" A Sermon from Littlefield Presbyterian Church

Purple Coneflower in my neighbor's yard. The photo will make sense to you if you read the sermon.

"Planting as an Act of Faith"

Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

      

         Those of us who are gardeners plant our gardens in the spring and wait eagerly for what we planted to produce flowers or vegetables. 

            For a few weeks, I had an abundance of black raspberries.  But not too much else in my garden is ripe yet.  A little lettuce. Some chard.  But no ripe cucumbers or peppers-- yet.  Growing plants need time.

This is a good time of year to think about what the Parable of the Sower can teach us. 

Jesus has come out of the house and is sitting beside the sea. Such great crowds gather around him that he gets into a boat and sits there, while the crowd stands on the beach. And he tells them many things in parables, beginning with the parable we heard today.

            "A sower went out to sow.  And as he sowed, some seeds fell on the path, and the birds came and ate them up.  Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and they sprang up quickly, since they had no depth of soil.  But when the sun rose, they were scorched; and since they had no root, they withered away. 

            Other seeds fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked them.  Other seeds fell on good soil and brought forth grain, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty...."        

            This is rich...  deep...  mysterious stuff!   “Those who have ears to hear-- listen!”

            So-- what do we hear in the parable?  I think we get some clues from the context.  Chapter 13 begins with the words "the same day," which connects it to what has happened before. 

The parables of chapter 13 are Jesus' response to the rejection he has experienced in the preceding two chapters.   He’s trying to help people understand why a lot of people aren't responding positively to what Jesus is saying and doing.

Those of us who are gardeners know what we do to try to produce a good harvest.  We prepare the soil. We buy good seed and plant it. We water when necessary. Then comes the time of waiting-- the time between planting and harvest.          

            But we are well aware of how many things are out of our control.

Things can happen that we don’t control. Heat waves.  Drought.  Torrential rain or hail storms.  Hungry rabbits. We're not in charge of any of this.

Even in good soil, the increase differs.  “Other seeds fell on good soil and brought forth grain, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty.”

Jesus tells the crowds that they won’t always be successful when they sow the seeds of the kingdom. Did you figure out the statistics from what he says?  Sowing the seeds of the kingdom results in failure three out of four times.  Seventy-five percent of the time, the work you do related to the kingdom of heaven will not yield anything.  Nothing.

The Rev. Jill Duffield suggests we imagine that stat on a college recruitment postcard or an annual financial report or the list of best jobs or a guide to happiness, health, and wealth. “Come join us and fail--often, repeatedly, spectacularly, totally!  See your efforts result in nothing!  Not exactly the top 10 ways to wealth or three easy steps to happiness or 30 days to a thinner you.”[1]

When Jesus tells this parable to the crowds and to the disciples he’s mentoring, he knows that the road ahead will become increasingly risky and harrowing. If we’re going to follow Jesus and sow seeds of the kingdom of heaven, we’re going to get plenty of opportunities to learn from failure. 

Jesus has already warned the disciples of persecutions to come. In the very next chapter, John the Baptist will be beheaded. God’s present and coming kingdom will not come without great resistance, and Jesus doesn’t try to hide that truth. Failure is certain. Sometimes our best efforts won’t bear any fruit-- or at least not the kind or amount of fruit we hope for.

            We are living in anxious times.  Some of us find ourselves having moments of despair at the state of the world.  When we look around, there are more problems than we can possibly solve. And sometimes we worry and wonder: “What’s this about, God?  Have we been planting enough seed? Are we doing something wrong?

            In agricultural terms, we live between the time of planting and the harvest, and it is a time of uncertainty.  We want to trust that we will see the planting bear fruit.  We want to believe that what God has begun will come to fruition.

              

            Barbara Brown Taylor calls the process of how seed sprouts and grows "agricultural grace."^[2]   We're not in control.  As much as we'd like to keep digging up the seed to check and see if it's sprouted yet, we need to plant and then wait in faith. 

            I'm continually amazed and surprised by the plants that appear in places where I didn't plant them.  Under my blue spruce trees, in the shade garden, beside the hostas and lily of the valley, I have a couple of Rose of Sharon shrubs. One grows up against the trunk of one of the spruces—so close I couldn’t dig it out if I tried.  

            My next-door neighbors on one side don’t seem to care about anything in their yard except the required mowing, yet this year I see some Purple Coneflowers growing next to their street tree, apparently from seeds from my plants.  

            I find Black-Eyed Susan’s and Purple Coneflowers and Feverfew Chrysanthemums and Toadflax and Cornflowers and Rose Campion growing in places I know I didn't plant them.  Over the years, my neighbors have seedlings from my flowers and tomatoes growing on their side of the fence-- things that they didn't plant.  Sometimes a dill plant grows in the expansion joints of my driveway. I've planted lots of flowers and herbs.  But the wind and the birds have a part in the planting too.

            Sometimes I’ve thought the White Columbine I brought from Pennsylvania is gone, crowded out by more aggressive plants.  Then a season or two later it shows up again and blooms--a reminder of Helen, the woman who gave me the plant as a parting gift when I moved to Michigan.  

            I’ve never planted any common milkweed in my garden, but I have an abundance of it in my garden to provide a good habitat for Monarch butterflies. The seeds just came-- carried by birds or the wind.

           

            A sower went out to sow….    

            In the church, we're not in control of the harvest.  That's up to God.  What we are responsible for is sowing gospel seeds.  If we let our anxiety take over, we might keep the seeds in our pocket, or plant them in safe little pots where we can keep a close eye on them or try to control them…  or dig them up every day or two to see if they've sprouted. 

            Here at Littlefield, we've been planted in a neighborhood where we don't get to see dramatic results, in terms of the church growing a lot bigger.  Sometimes it's really hard to trust God for the harvest.  But planting is an act of faith.  We've been planted, here as a result of seeds that were planted earlier, and we're responsible for sowing seeds in faith and hope.

            The seeds I'm talking about sowing have to do with embodying Jesus Christ in our actions and words.  I'm talking about reaching out in respect and friendship, honoring each person we meet, caring enough about them to take the time to get to know them...  finding out what they value… and need… and believe.

            I'm talking about being so filled with the love and peace and joy of Jesus Christ that some people will want to know how we got that way.

           

The parable of the sower and the soils reminds us that we are not in charge of the harvest.  We are called to be faithful disciples of Jesus Christ and to work as co-gardeners with God to sow the seeds of love and righteousness and justice.

            The seeds will land where they land.  Some of the seeds will feed the birds...  and they may end up being planted in some unlikely places!  Some of the seeds fall into the ground.  There in the dark earth, where you can't see and don't know how, they will push up through layers of dirt-- sometimes even through stone or cracks in concrete-- through whatever is in their way. 

            "Some seeds fell on good soil and brought forth grain..."

            The good news is that God the gracious gardener is in charge of the growth.  The harvest will come in God’s time.

            Many of us have heard the story of Johnny Appleseed—that legendary frontiersman who walked across Ohio and other states giving out seeds for fruit trees.  Many generations benefitted from Johnny Appleseed’s passion for planting. 

            How different would things have been if Johnny Appleseed was worried about seeing the results of his efforts?  Suppose he didn’t trust the power of the seeds to grow?  Suppose he felt personally responsible for hovering over each and every tree until it was producing fruit?  How many trees would he have been able to plant in his lifetime?

            So it is with our sharing the good news of God’s love.  The resistance to God’s reign of justice, mercy and grace is real and strong. But our faith teaches us that, ultimately, goodness is stronger than evil, life is stronger than death. There will be discouraging times when we don’t see the yield from the seeds we plant. But there will be bursts of amazing, life-giving, abundant growth.

            Our job is to work with God in planting the seed, and then trust that grace happens beyond, through, and despite our efforts to control it or keep it in our back yard.    God can use our efforts to bring forth an abundant harvest—in God’s good time.  The Kingdom will come, on earth as it is in heaven, and we will have the joy of being part of it!              

            Thanks be to God!

Amen!

                                   

The Rev. Fran Hayes, Pastor

Littlefield Presbyterian Church

Dearborn, Michigan

July 16, 2017

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[1] https://pres-outlook.org/2017/07/6th-sunday-pentecost-july-16-2017/

^[2]Barbara Brown Taylor, Mixed Blessings.  (Susan Hunter Publications, Atlanta, Georgia, 1986), p. 68.