The
Gospel passage set for this Sunday is Matthew 13.1-9, 18-23, see below. [We are
not following the Lectionary at St Nicholas at the moment—we are in the middle
of a summer sermon series on the Psalms—but I am covering at another church
this weekend.]
In
this passage, Jesus tells a parable about a sower. If we are familiar with the
parable, we most likely view it through the lens of individualism, and a
culture that promotes polarisation. We are invited—tempted—to view ourselves as
‘good soil,’ and label others as compacted, stony, or thorny soil. Or, we
compare ourselves unfavourably with others, lamenting the poor quality of the
soil of our life in contrast to their greater worthiness.
But,
in common with the majority of human experience, Jesus lived in a society that
was more communal, where neighbours lived in greater interdependence.
Most
lived in villages we would consider hamlets. While families owned land—and if
you found yourself needing to sell it, you did so to the nearest possible
relative, and with a return clause—each village also had its common field. This
field was divided into strips that different families took responsibility to
care for, alongside their primary role in the community (e.g. building,
fishing).
The
Holy Land is hilly, and cultivated land is terraced. Agriculture requires
certain features. Places where the bedrock is close to the surface are
necessary, providing the foundation for the stone walls that create the
terracing. The perimeter of the cultivated land was surrounded by thorny
plants, necessary to keep wild animals away from food intended for humans. The
field also required paths, allowing access to each strip without trampling the
entire field.
A
sower scattering seed on the ground would inevitably send some seed into those
areas. But in the parable, the field produces a one-hundred-and-ninety-fold
return. The compacted, stony, and thorny ground contribute their part in that,
as does the good soil they encompass and bisect.
As
well as the common field, the village also had a common granary. The harvest
was pooled, and distributed according to need, not according to the yield of
the strip your family had tended. The family whose strip included thorny ground
received what they needed, as much as the family who had only good soil to
tend. And from the common granary, next year’s seed for sowing also came.
(And
yes, there were privately owned fields and granaries too; and elsewhere Jesus
tells another parable about a man who seeks to increase the size of his private
granary.)
So
this is a parable about a common field—think, the community listening to Jesus.
We might call that common field a church congregation. Within that
congregation, there are different kinds of ground, necessary for its survival.
Note that nowhere does Jesus say, break up the stony ground, or root out the
weeds. (How tempting it is, for those of us who scatter seed, to believe we
must break every hard ground, without discernment.) This is, in fact, the
ecology of community—of any kind of community.
In
our congregations there are those whose service, over time, has enabled us to
live together in relative harmony, not trampling over one another’s lives. Who
have created, and maintain, habitual paths, or ways of doing things. Think
governance. Yes, there may be times when they get stuck in their ways—when the
path becomes the most important thing, where paths become barriers, where
way-makers become toll-keepers unhelpfully restricting access. But the paths
themselves, and those who tend them, play an essential part in the whole, even
if it doesn’t look directly fruitful. Even if they miss out on the opportunity
to produce a harvest, they don’t miss out on being fed.
In
our congregations there are those who respond to everything with enthusiasm,
that does not last. They may be ADHD, needing a different structure, but also
bringing a different—and needful—gift or perspective. They—we—may be looking at
the wrong metric, for what being part of the village, the field, the community
looks like. They may be shoring up a defense against the odds in their personal
lives. They may be discouraged that their presence in the community is taken
for granted, or not valued as highly as that of others. They may have a valid
point. They certainly have pastoral needs. They, too, should not miss out on
being fed.
In
our congregations there are those whose lives contain many cares, including
financial worries. The elderly, whose bodies have begun to betray them. Their
adult children, simultaneously being there for aging parents and their own
children. The parent who is concerned about the bad actors who have influenced
their children for harm. The one who is struggling to pay the bills, to keep
food on the table and a roof over their head. These are legitimate concerns—and
we rightly look to maintain both safeguarding and practical pastoral care, as a
framework within which all can flourish. But it is hard work. This is one
reason why in some places the strip within the common field that each family
tended would be reallocated year on year, so no one had to maintain the wall or
the hedge for too long. It can be disheartening work. Those who have many cares
deserve special attention and care; and to not have additional burdens of
judgement placed upon them. Jesus does not identify them for our censure but
for our compassion.
Within
our congregations, everyone has a part to play; everyone has a gift to bring;
and, yes, no one is uniformly receptive to the word of the kingdom. And yet,
overall, the field and the seed together produce a harvest.
So,
where do you find yourself today, in relation to the common field? (Which could
be, entirely outside of it.)
Whatever
your answer, you are part of a village.
Where
there are well-worn paths, boundaries, defence mechanisms, and a good harvest
in our personal lives, may all be offered and shared to the common good.
