Sunday, July 13, 2014 | 9:30 and 11:00 a.m.

Listen!

Shannon J. Kershner
Pastor, Fourth Presbyterian Church

Psalm 119:105–112
Matthew 13:1–9

O Christ, you come among us still,
the Sower and the Seed.
As once you sowed the truth of God
in glowing word and deed,
implant your Word in waiting hearts
and let it there take hold,
until it bears in fruitful lives
a harvest hundredfold.

“A Sower Came from Ancient Hills”
by Herman G. Stuempfle Jr.
from Glory to God: The Presbyterian Hymnal

I’m going to tell you a couple of stories today. Listen!

Story Number 1

Once upon a time, there was a man who loved his church. He lived in a small city where many people knew each other, but the city was growing and changing too. His church was just the right size to him—not too big, not too small. He had been an active part of its life since he was a child, fifty-five years and counting now. And now he served as an elder, just as his father had been before him. The church, his church, was firmly planted in his heart.

And the church was doing well. Except for midsummer, worship was always well attended and the Sunday School program ran smoothly. The congregation had quite a bit of fun together. They were a playful bunch. And, as the man noted, they were also friendly. Whenever anybody walked through the doors of their sanctuary, people greeted them and warmly shook their hands. In the man’s estimation, the church was as healthy as a church can be—being made up of humans and all. Life was good for this church.

So one night at Session, this man, an elder, asked a question. Perhaps, he began, perhaps since things are going so well, we might need to start wondering about what is next for us. What else might God be calling us to do here, where we are planted—building on our strengths or maybe even doing a new thing? The other elders nodded in affirmation of his idea. After all, this congregation knew of Jesus’ call to go out into the world and to not get too settled. They knew the church existed for the sake of the world, not for the sake of itself, and that God was always calling them into newness and growth.

Plus, good things were happening in their church, and they wanted to let the rest of the city know about it. God had given them a sense of God’s embrace and grace, and they felt called to proclaim it to the whole world. They also felt called to practice what they preached about justice and mercy. So indeed, what was next for them? How might they grow in discipleship and in mission? The elders, as the spiritual leaders of the congregation, deeply desired to respond faithfully to the myriad of ways God had so blessed that church. But they also knew this kind of imagination and visioning would take a lot of time, energy, and, eventually, money to bring anything to fruition. So naturally, being Presbyterian and all, they formed a task force.

First, so they’d be better positioned for evangelism and mission, the task force decided the church really needed to do a new market survey. “Since our city is changing, let’s find out who is out there and what they want in a church,” someone suggested. “Then, we can do that.” That kind of research sounded like a good idea. After all, it was a deficit budget year, plus it was in the middle of the summer when pledges were behind anyway, so no one wanted to spend a lot of unbudgeted money on a program or a mission activity or new staffing if those efforts were not going to be successful and reap tangible benefits sooner rather than later.

Furthermore, anything they did was going to take a lot of people power and time, especially if they were going to go out into the community or try something new. And this church, like most churches, was not a fan of failing. If they could not do it really well, they were not so sure they wanted to try it to begin with. Messing up can hurt your reputation. No one—staff, Session, congregation—wanted that. Anything they did needed to be carefully thought out and planned. So with the idea of a market survey in mind, they plotted the church on a huge map and began looking at the demographic data of all the neighborhoods that made up the city in which the church was planted.

First, they looked south. “Hey,” said one member of the task force. “Why don’t we just go down here and get into some of these neighborhoods that are always on the news and see what we find. They may not want to come all the way up here to church; we might not be their spiritual home; but I bet we could find a way to do God’s work with them as partners. As part of the same family of God, I wonder what we could do to help share their burden?” The elder who loved his church nodded his head enthusiastically. That would be incredible.

“Yeah,” someone else responded. “You are right. I am sure there is a whole lot to do down there. But do you really think we are the ones to get involved? I mean, there are a lot of churches already planted there. Surely they have things under control. And do we really want to stick our noses into the mess of gun control laws or race and socioeconomic dynamics? That might get political, and we don’t want to get political.”

“I get where you are coming from,” another person chimed in. “I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, but I think our efforts down there might just get wasted. We could spend a whole lot of time and energy in those neighborhoods, only to have it trampled on and thrown away. It would be like throwing seed on a Target parking lot. Looking for a way to minister in that area just does not seem very frugal or practical. Let’s keep looking.” The elder’s spirits started to sink a bit as they all studied the map a little more. Where could they get the best gospel bang for their buck? What made the most sense from a cost-benefit analysis?

“Look here,” one of the other leaders said. “Here is a neighborhood that has a lot of kids in it. That might be a good place to go and tell about our church. I bet those kids could use a safe place to play and experience God’s love.” “That is true,” responded another. “But notice how transient that population is. They might really enjoy coming here, but I bet they wouldn’t stay very long. The more I think about it, that neighborhood sure looks like a pretty unstable group of people. One afternoon in the bright sun, and I imagine their enthusiasm and their roots would just wither away. They may not even speak our language. We couldn’t count on them to become active, pledging families in the church. Let’s look elsewhere to plant our good news.”

By that point in the meeting, everyone was starting to get a bit discouraged. The elder who began the whole thing started to rub his head, noticing a new, throbbing pain. Another went to find more coffee.

“OK, well, let’s look north, and maybe a little west, then,” one of them decided. “Look at all this new development springing up here—so close to us. There are tons of new apartment buildings and condos. This would be a good place to go and plant a new worshiping community or something like that. This would be a good place to sow God’s proclamation of grace and justice for all people. Let’s go here.” But another spoke up: “It looks like a really promising area,” she agreed. “But I bet most of those people don’t even go to church. They are probably young professional-types. No kids, single or newly married. Instead of church on Sunday, I bet they listen to NPR and read the paper, or head out to Starbucks for their first morning latte. They might not think we are very hip or relevant to their lives. It’s just a very thorny issue, because I’m sure it would take a lot of money, time, and energy to spread the word about our church out there or to plant something new. Do we really want to make that kind of serious investment when we might see nothing in return?”

By this point, all of the members of the task force had their heads in their hands. It had sounded like such a good idea at first. They had felt really excited about all the possibilities for growth in discipleship and in mission. After all, they were a good congregation. Things were going very well. They had this great mission and vision statement that was on their page on Facebook and displayed on the website.

They knew God called them out into new spaces, to move beyond their comfort zones, to be God’s hard hats for hope and mercy in a world that was bleeding for it. And yet, after studying their options, none of it seemed very practical. They didn’t just want to get out there, invest their time and money into something from which they were not guaranteed a good return. They did not want to try something new if it might fail. They needed to be practical. The congregation counted on their prudent, carefully measured, well-thought-out leadership.

“Well,” one finally said, shattering the silence. “I suppose we can always just wait a while longer. Keep watching and thinking until we feel better about stepping out.” And all of them, except that elder who asked the question in the first place, agreed. So he just gave up. And they folded up their map, saved their data on their iPads, and promised themselves they’d look at it again in a few years, when they had more members or more staff or more time or a better and bigger budget. And they did live rather happily ever after. But the elder never asked a question again, and over time, he became less engaged and the church was less planted in his heart . . .

Story Number 2

There was this farmer who had a whole bag of seeds to sow, and she wanted to do a good job and be a good steward of those seeds, so at first she was very careful. She did not want to be wasteful. Well, as she began to scatter them, she noticed that a few seeds fell on the road—a well-traveled road at that. And then she saw some birds immediately come down to eat them and fly away! The farmer put down her bag and took a broom and swept the rest of the seeds off to the side of the road. She thought about collecting the extras, but who knows. Maybe those birds would take them where they were needed.

She picked up her bag again and started sowing again, carefully, with measured and controlled throws. But sure enough, ten minutes into it, she noticed that a bunch of seeds had landed in absolutely horrible soil. It was full of rocks and trash. She put down her bag and did her very best to toil that awful ground. The work was tedious and frustrating. After a few hours in the bright sun, down on her hands and knees, her fingertips bruised and bleeding from her effort, she gave up. Oh well, she thought, who knows. Maybe the little work I did will help those seeds that are lodged deeply down in there.

The farmer picked up her bag again and started sowing. Filling her hand full and letting them go. She finally felt like she had a rhythm to her work. But just as she started to feel good about what she was doing, she noticed she was throwing them into a group of weeds. How had she missed seeing that first! She stopped and saw that nasty, thorny weeds were encircling her precious seeds, like they were just waiting for the small seedlings to pop up so they could smother them, taking all their sun and water. Once again, she stopped and got down on her hands and knees. She surveyed the situation. But by this point in the day, she was tired. She was tired of being so careful and measured with her sowing. She was tired of feeling so stressed out over whether or not the seeds were going to get good results. She was tired of having to worry about where the seeds landed. She looked at the weeds, shrugged her shoulders, and got back up.

This time, she decided to throw caution to the wind, as well as her seeds. She took the seeds and started throwing them all around her. She even turned a few circles, tossing, tossing, tossing. She started to laugh. It felt good to be playful with it. It was fun not to always be so careful and cautious with her sowing. As a matter of fact, she decided to take some risks: She threw some near where she knew the birds would gather them. After all, she figured, birds need food too. She threw others down a small creek. Who knows where the water could take them. She threw a handful in the middle of the weeds and decided perhaps they would be hearty enough to survive.

She just ran all around, throwing them, laughing, enjoying her work. For the first time all day, she was finally getting to act out of her deep core of generosity. And it was great. She was sowing those seeds as extravagantly as she could. “God,” she proclaimed, “do with it what you will!” And with that prayer, she emptied her bag and went inside to rest. And she definitely lived happily ever after.

Postlude to Story Number 1

Thirty years later, that church is still doing OK. The members are comfortable and content. Things are still running smoothly. The congregation is aging, numbers have stayed the same, but that is just what happens when neighborhoods change and culture sifts and people die or move. They still run a deficit budget from time to time, but they should be able to make it for a few more years—hopefully. What more could God ask of them?, they figured. They were surviving and doing their careful best.

Postlude to Story Number 2

Thirty years later, the farmer’s grandchildren are the ones sowing the seeds. They have turned it into a game. They run as fast as they can, dancing, laughing, twirling in circles, tossing out seeds the whole time. And you should see the place. Plants are everywhere—fruits and vegetables of all kinds. The farmer always has a tremendous harvest. She never could have imagined the results of her generous planting. She just gave up on making any logical sense out of it all. Every year, she simply decided to act purely out of generosity and grace.

She knew she had stopped acting like a careful or prudent investor long ago, but wow. Who could argue with her results? It is like the Garden of Eden just exploded on her land. Her property is breathtakingly beautiful, with lush green foliage as far as the eye can see. Who knew such beauty, such a tremendous harvest could come from generous, extravagant sowing of gospel seeds? And she wondered with delight, what more might God be asking of her, of her children and grandchildren? What an exciting time—a real gift—to be able to dream and wonder and listen about what was next! It was such a glorious way to live!

Let anyone with ears to hear, listen!