The Rev. Noah Van Niel
The Chapel of the Cross
July 12th, 2020
Proper 10 (A–Track 1): Genesis 25: 19-34; Psalm 119: 105-112; Romans 8:1-11; Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23
Video can be seen at this link. *Video and Audio are important for this particular sermon*
Thank you, Cate, for literally illustrating our Gospel passage this morning, that was wonderful. You have made what was always a memorable parable, even more so. The parable of the sower is one of Jesus’ most famous, perhaps because it is one where we are given the answers to what exactly he is talking about, which is not often the case. The “seed” is the good news Jesus came proclaiming. The “ground” is those who hear it. We should be good soil and hear and understand that word so that our lives may bear good fruit.
There you have it. End of sermon, I guess. Except this parable leaves me with a lingering question. If the good news of the gospel is the seed, and we are the ground, can we change what kind of ground we are? If we are rocky soil can we become good soil? And if so, how?
I’ve been thinking about how we change lately because two weeks ago, when I last preached, I left us with a challenge to change. I said we needed to change the systems and structures of our society to be more equitable, fair, and just. And as I look around, I am hopeful. Change is in the air, or at least the potential for change is. I’ve got the immortal words of star soul singer of the sixties, Sam Cooke, whispering in my ear, “I know, a change gon’ come, oh yes it will…” A change is going to come. But systems and structures can’t change until individual people do. If we want to be capable of big sweeping, societal change, it starts at home, in our own hearts, in our own lives. And I’m curious about how that kind of personal, individual change actually occurs. How do we do it? How do we become better soil?
We all know change is hard. That’s cliché. But given the right commitment and support, it is possible. And in my observation there are two main avenues for how change comes about in us as individuals. The first comes from us the second happens to us. The first involves the changing of habits, practices, or perceptions. This is necessarily an incremental process, driven from inside us, that requires a conscious effort over an extended period of time until those new habits of mind and life just become the way we do things. Think of the 12 steps, or any sustainable weight loss routine. Daily disciplines, extended over a long time, equals change.
We could call this the Psalm 119 approach. Psalm 119 extols (at great length) the virtues of meditating on God’s Law. One’s steps are to be guided by the regular attendance to these words and directions. “Your word is a lantern to my feet and a light upon my path. / I have sworn and am determined to keep your righteous judgements. / I have applied my heart to fulfill your statues forever and to the end.” This is a slow, long-term reshaping, accomplished through the daily discipline of prayer and study. And the hope is that by adopting new, or eliminating old, behaviors we will not only change our actions, we will change our attitudes and perceptions too. This cumulative process of change that comes from committing to particular practices shapes our souls and our minds until we are not just doing new things, we are new people.
The other avenue to personal change is not from the inside out, but from the outside in. It comes through lightning bolt moments—unforgettable experiences that change the way we see the world or our place in it. You watch a Black man get murdered by a police officer on camera, and suddenly you hear calls for justice in a different way. Your spouse dies, and suddenly you must figure out how to exist in the world without them. The challenge here comes not from accumulating practices and behaviors that eventually change you, but from integrating those unforgettable experiences into your understanding of yourself and your life.
We could call this the Jacob approach. From birth Jacob was a sneaky guy, not terribly moral or upstanding; a strange figure to build the chosen people from. As we heard in our first lesson this morning, he tricks his brute of a brother into giving him his birthright. Later he steals his father’s blessing. Then he cheats his uncle. This is not your typical hero. But Jacob’s life is also punctuated by a few very formative moments that have the effect of reshaping him into a worthy patriarch for the people of Israel. There is his unforgettable dream of the ladder reaching up to heaven; his wrestling match with the angel; and the moment of grace and forgiveness from his brother Esau when they eventually meet again. By late in life Jacob has changed. He’s far from perfect, but his former willingness to lie, cheat and steal has been worn away by these events that have instilled in him a fuller relationship with God, and a clearer understanding of the kind of person he should be.
Accumulation and integration. Inside out and outside in. This is how we change. How we go from rocky soil to good soil. That means, if we’re personally going to tackle something as pervasive and evasive as racism we’re going to have to take in new and hard information and experiences, stories, facts that open our eyes to see the injustices of our world and then integrate that new awareness into our old understandings. At the same time, we’re going to have to change specific practices, habits, attitudes, and behaviors that will take a lot of commitment if they are to be inscribed in our hearts and shown forth in our lives.
So what’s stopping us? Sure, it takes a long time. Sure, it takes a lot of effort. Sure, old habits are tempting to fall back into. But I think the main reason we are resistant to change, any sort of change, is because it threatens us. It threatens who we have been and who we are right now. It involves loss, and pain, and repentance, and instability and failure. Real change requires a major restructuring of our understanding of the world and of ourselves. It means that the way in which we move through life is going to be disrupted; the very narratives we use to make sense of things, rewritten. The cornerstones of our self-understanding are going to be shaken, and the monuments of our identity are going to be toppled. If we want to change, we’re going to be turned upside down and inside out until the arid gravel paths of our heart and the rocky terrain of our souls and the thorny weeds of our life are churned up and spat out until we are soft, pliable, promising dirt. Only then will we be ready to receive the seeds of the Kingdom and bear their fruit.
That’s scary. To be that vulnerable, to embrace that much sacrifice, to have our understanding upended, those are things we will always naturally resist, because they threaten to change the core parts of who we are. If only we had someone, or something to assure us that vulnerability, sacrifice, loss of certainty will not swallow us up, but will in fact lead us on to something greater…
Vulnerability. Sacrifice. Loss. Change. Friends, are these not the very seeds that Jesus came sowing? The paradoxical good news he came proclaiming? The message of that man upon that tree? That to learn we must lose; to love we must give; to live we must die. This the heart of our Gospel, the promise of our faith. The keys we have been given to unlock the Kingdom come in the shape of the cross.
As we stand at the precipice of change—in our world, but first, within ourselves—and as we take stock of all that will be asked of us if we embark upon this journey, look to the cross. When my heart flinches in the face of the pain and difficulty that lie ahead, and I wonder if I have what it takes to change, to make change, I look to the cross. When old understandings need to die and sacred stories need to be rewritten, when we are shaken to our core and confused, and want to give up, look to the cross. To that enduring symbol and blessed assurance that on the other side of the fear, and the pain and the loss, there is the promise of a new life, a new world, not just for ourselves but for everyone. At the foot of the cross, I’m not so afraid of change. And I gain the courage to begin, the strength to persist, and the hope to carry on. It is there that I am able to believe that we as people and we the people have what it takes to really change, and that, with God’s help, we will…
There’ve been times that I thought
I couldn’t last for long.
But now I think I’m able to carry on
It’s been a long, a long time comin’,
But I know,
a change gonna come, oh yes, it will.