What Kind of Soil Are You?
based on Matthew 13:1-30, 36-43
by Rev. Karen A. Goltz

            What more can I say?  Jesus told a parable, and then he explained what it meant.  We’re supposed to hear the Word, understand it, not be lured away by wealth or the cares of the world, and not fall away when trouble or persecution comes our way on account of our faith.  End of story.

            Show of hands.  How many of you are confident in your ability to be that good soil?  How many of you are confident that you do understand the Word, aren’t lured away by other concerns, and will stand strong in your faith come what may?  Yeah, me neither.

            It’s really rather an anxiety-provoking text.  It’s clear from Jesus’ explanation that we’re supposed to be the soil in this metaphor, but can soil control whether it’s packed firmly into a road, surrounded by rocks, invaded by thorns and weeds, or pristine enough for planting?  No more so than we can decide whether to understand something or not.  So if we have no more control over how we receive the Word than soil has regarding its use or geography, what are we supposed to do with this text?

            I’m aware of two common responses: one is to stress over what kind of soil we are, and the other is to put ourselves in the place of the sower, rather than the soil.

            I’ve done both.  Looking back over my faith journey, I can point to times when I didn’t have a clue what this religion thing was all about.  I’d heard the Word, and it didn’t seem to be planted in my heart at all.  I never considered God as I went about my life, and I certainly didn’t feel any lack.  Clearly I was like the path, with the Word snatched up without ever taking root.

            Until later.  My life wasn’t going very well, and I thought, maybe I’ll give this God-thing another chance.  And this time, I truly heard a word of grace.  I heard what I needed to hear.  I was thrilled!  God was going to get me through all the garbage I was dealing with after all!  Only, even though I had God in my life, the garbage didn’t go away.  In fact, I found myself being pushed away by some old friends and even some family members, because they were uncomfortable with all my God-talk, and they didn’t want to hear it.  Surely I wasn’t supposed to lose people who had stuck by me because of God, was I?  That can’t be the way it works!  But that’s what seemed to be happening, and I had a choice: keep God, or keep the people in my life.  I chose the people, and God got shoved aside.  He was too much of an embarrassment to me, and he wasn’t really doing me any good anyway.  Clearly I was like the rocky soil.

            But keeping the people in my life didn’t make the garbage go away either, and eventually they walked away from me anyway, even though my God-talk had stopped.  And I heard the Word again, and thought, well, I’ve lost the reason why I turned from God last time—maybe I’ll try again.  And again I heard a word of grace, and again I embraced my faith enthusiastically.  This time I didn’t care if people looked at me funny or treated me differently because of my faith.  I was also a little more mature about it, incorporating my faith into my life thoroughly, but subtly.  People knew I was a Christian; I never hid that fact and I was happy to talk about it when it was appropriate to the situation, but I was better at recognizing when it was appropriate, and when it wasn’t.

            But the garbage in my life was still there, and still piling up.  I couldn’t see how to incorporate my faith into my struggles.  God wasn’t paying my mortgage; he wasn’t fixing the broken relationships in my life; he wasn’t improving my lousy job situation; he really wasn’t doing much of anything, except taking up more of my very precious and valuable time, and making me feel guilty about lots of other things.  This time I didn’t consciously turn from God so much as I turned towards those other concerns.  And so much of my time was spent dealing with those other things that God ended up just getting whatever spare time I had, after I had taken care of everything else.  Needless to say, that wasn’t very much.  Clearly I was the soil with the thorns.

            And what about now?  Now I’m a pastor, preaching the Word on Sundays.  That’s got to qualify as being the good soil, and yielding fruit (though I’m not really sure how I’m supposed to quantify that).  Doesn’t it?  I don’t know.  With the exception of when I was like the soil on the path, and I didn’t have God and I didn’t care, I always thought I was good soil, until something happened and I realized that I actually wasn’t.  How can I be certain that now isn’t any different?  How can I be certain that in a few months or a few years, I won’t look back and realize that I’ve fallen away again, that I’ve backed away from God again?  Honestly, I can’t be certain.  So I can stress out over that, wondering what kind of soil I really am, or I can decide not to relate to the soil in this parable, but relate to the sower instead.

            That’s nicer to think about.  I am the sower.  I stand up here and proclaim the Word, planting the seeds into the soil of your hearts.  I can wonder which of you are really hearing me, which of you are thinking about the chores and errands you have to do later, which of you are just here for cosmetic or social purposes, and which of you won’t still be coming next year.  And you don’t have to be a pastor to take that perspective.  Anyone who shares the good news in word or deed can view themselves as the sower, and wonder, maybe even judge, what kind of soil is being sown in any given situation or with any given person.

            But as tempting as it is for us to put ourselves in the place of the sower, that’s not where we belong.  We are the soil.  Jesus is clear about that.

            So what are we supposed to do?  How can we make sure we’re the right kind of soil?  What do we do if we’re not?

            Listen again to what Jesus says in verse 18.  “Hear then the parable of the sower.”  The parable of the sower.  Not the parable of the soil.  This parable is not about us.  This parable is about God.  And what does God do in this parable?  He sows the Word everywhere, indiscriminately, on every type of soil, over and over and over again.  My own story is testament to that.  As I’ve already described, at different times in my life I’ve been every type of soil mentioned in this parable, yet God continued to sow.  I’ve given up on God many times; God has never given up on me.  God has sent his Word to me multiple times, and is still continuing to do so.

            What kind of soil are you?  Who knows?  God does.  And God doesn’t care.  Whether at this moment you’re hard-packed road, producing a bumper crop of rocks, infested with thorns, or rich and fertile, Jesus Christ, the Word made flesh, has come to you, exactly as you are, and he alone can transform you and help you to bear fruit, fruit that produces seeds of its own in an abundant yield.  Let anyone with ears listen.  Amen.