Sunday reflection: It's not about my "soil conditions"

This reflection is brought to you by 

Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23.

I give thanks for the Sanctuary of Peace community, made up of homeless and low income friends who have given me a whole new appreciation for the Parable of the Sower, today's Gospel reading. 

It's not unusual for them to wake me up to Jesus' stories in ways that I've never considered before. Here's the reading and reflection I will share with them this morning...

That same day Jesus went out of the house and sat by the lake.  Such large crowds gathered around him that he got into a boat and sat in it, while all the people stood on the shore.  Then he told them many things in parables, saying: “A farmer went out to sow his seed. As he was scattering the seed, some fell along the path, and the birds came and ate it up. Some fell on rocky places, where it did not have much soil. It sprang up quickly, because the soil was shallow. But when the sun came up, the plants were scorched, and they withered because they had no root. Other seed fell among thorns, which grew up and choked the plants. Still other seed fell on good soil, where it produced a crop—a hundred, sixty or thirty times what was sown. Whoever has ears, let them hear.” 

“Listen then to what the parable of the sower means: When anyone hears the message about the kingdom and does not understand it, the evil one comes and snatches away what was sown in their heart. This is the seed sown along the path. The seed falling on rocky ground refers to someone who hears the word and at once receives it with joy. But since they have no root, they last only a short time. When trouble or persecution comes because of the word, they quickly fall away. The seed falling among the thorns refers to someone who hears the word, but the worries of this life and the deceitfulness of wealth choke the word, making it unfruitful. But the seed falling on good soil refers to someone who hears the word and understands it. This is the one who produces a crop, yielding a hundred, sixty or thirty times what was sown.”

New International Version (NIV)

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I love it when Jesus tells stories… but it took me until now to really appreciate this one. Maybe that’s because, too many times, I’ve heard these words like they are a judgment against me. Like maybe Jesus is saying that the soil of my heart is too hardpacked, too rocky, too shallow, or otherwise unable to accept and allow Creator’s goodness to take root in my life. Or maybe he’s saying I should be 'the seed that falls on good ground' and produces 100-fold, no less, like the psalm response we just sang together. 

Maybe I hear Jesus' words that way because our North American culture conditions us to think we have to be MORE – and to judge ourselves when we fall short. But this time around, it dawned on me that Jesus isn’t judging me. He’s telling me that Creator is a good farmer who casts seeds of God’s love around wildly and abundantly and right into our hearts without asking us about our “soil conditions.” God says we are ENOUGH as is. 

That’s right. Creator loves us as we are. If our soil is trampled too hard to receive love because too many people have walked on us and stolen our faith in God’s goodness, God knows it’s not our fault. If our ground is rocky because we’ve had to protect our hearts from too many hurts, or our faith is shallow because we’ve never had the chance to develop trust, God knows it’s not our fault. Creator’s love for us doesn’t depend on how well we are able to receive it. It overflows on us, because that’s who God is. God is love. Unconditional and forever. For you. For me. 

And Creator sees the long view, too. Just because my soil is hard or rocky or shallow or depleted right now, God knows those qualities aren’t a life sentence for you or me. Soil can be amended. We can change. Like the farmers of Jesus’ time, God throws seed around without fretting about where it lands or how well it produces, then turns over the whole field, whether it's packed down or rocky or whatever. God rejoices in the harvest however it comes. 

And Creator knows that we’re not all cut out to yield a hundred percent! In the past weeks when my dad was dying, even one percent felt like a lot. It’s a comfort to know that The Sower is pleased with whatever I can muster. There’s a lovely passage in the writings of Isaiah that says, “a bruised stem he will not break and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out.” (Is 42:3.) Meaning that our good God sees our struggles and cares for us when we are bruised or when our light is barely shining. 

No matter how we are when we come to God, as we listen to Jesus’ story today, the important thing is that the One who made us loves us, just as we are, and wants only the best for us. God doesn’t expect us to always be strong, courageous, faithful, and on top of things. Creator just wants to love us, and invite us to be open to love and healing, as we are able. If we can be ourselves and turn toward God even when we have almost nothing left to give, and put our lives into Creator’s hands, we are pleasing to God. 

For now, let’s rest in Creator’s unconditional love for us. 

 I invite you to straighten your back and get as comfortable as possible in your chair. 

Put your feet on the floor, relax your body, and close your eyes if you can. 

Breathe in and out slowly, quietly and gently. 

Open your mind and heart as wide as you can. 

Imagine yourself as a small seedling, growing up from the soil. 

Feel Creator’s gentle rains as they wash over you. 

Pay attention to Creator’s sun warming you through and encouraging you to grow. 

Stretch toward Creator’s moon as it shines on you from the darkness of the night. 

The shadow of the One who made you, the good gardener, falls on you. 

God gets down on her knees to press good soil around you. 

Smiling, God tells you that he wants only what is best for you. 

Creator says that you belong and are beloved, just as you are, and that the goodness of creation would not be complete without you being part of it.

Seeing love in your God’s eyes, what do you want to say? 

Share your thoughts and feelings now for a few moments....

Let's pray together:

Creator, 
You know me better than I know myself. 
You don’t judge me by human standards – you simply scatter seeds of your love in and around me, abundantly, all the time. 
Thank you for creating me, for loving me, for accepting me as I am. 
Help me to be as you want me to be. 
Help me to put my life in your hands so I can grow in the way that is best in your eyes. 
Show me your way and help me to share your love with others. 
Your love and your grace are enough for me. 
Thank you for listening when I pray, and for answering me in your good time. 

+Amen

Postscript:

When I saw Chad at our Tuesday Table Time outreach two weeks ago, he asked me when I would preach next, and I told him, July 12th. "Looking forward to it," he said. So I wrote this reflection with Chad in my mind's eye.

But this morning, just before our service was to start, Pastor Quinn came to tell me he'd just learned that Chad died of drug poisoning. Chad, sweet Chad, heard this reflection from God's house, and knows, even better than I do, the truth of its words.

Now I don't need to remind you that God loves you, Chad. Rest in peace, my friend.

Dad finds his way home

It's been hard to pick up these moodlings for the past month because I couldn't imagine how to write about my beloved dad, a man who preferred understatement. He didn't want a eulogy! But on the weekend, I met a friend who follows my moodlings and who didn't know that my dad had died. I realized that maybe there are a few other readers wondering about him, and that I shouldn't put it off any longer, even though I'll cry the whole time I write.

Just before midnight on June 16th, my dad's run to the finish line ended. The damage from a serious stroke on May 25th was more than his body could take, though he tried his best to make a comeback. No question, he "ran the good race." His sense of humour and his appreciation for his caregivers in IMCU Unit 41 never left him. We all spent time with him the day he died, and I am so grateful that I had the chance to tell him that I loved him, that everyone loved him, that afternoon. None of us expected him to cross the finish line that evening, so just two of us were with him. 

Dad, just over a year ago

It was raining when he died, and it didn't stop raining for two days. On the way from the hospital to Mom's after he left us, we decided to have a toast to Dad. And wouldn't you know it, he left me just enough of his last bottle of Glenlivet 14-year-old Scotch Whiskey to drink a toast to his face-to-face meeting with God. 

The ten days between his death and his Celebration of Life (yes, it was definitely a celebration) were a whirlwind even though he did a lot of the legwork for us. He chose his own songs and readings, and wrote a brief memoir that helped us to compose an obituary (click here to read it). It's a eulogy that none of his three daughters would be able choke out, but his brother and sister did well in improving and delivering it. 

People came from far and wide and everything came together really beautifully on June 26th. The sun even shone, though rain was forecast (with quite a thunderstorm that night). I'm full of gratitude for all who were present, and feel a lump in my throat whenever I think about the full church, the many hugs, and how those who gathered sang (with gusto) all the songs Dad had chosen for his send-off. "Trust in the Lord, you shall not tire..."

If you've been following these moodlings for a bit, you might remember that my word for 2026 is "wonder." And there has been an abundance of wonder in me since Dad's stroke, mostly at how people were with us so gently as we "walked our dad home." It's a list of wonders too long to moodle here, though it's all in my journal from the past month. 

And there are many wonders before that, in so many memories: 

Singing in the car together on long trips when we were kids, learning to hold the melody when Dad sang harmony, and finally asking him, "How do you do harmony like that, Dad?" "Try singing other notes and listen for the ones that sound good. You'll get it."

All the conversations while he drove us to and from activities. Working for him, our first boss, at Universal Church Supplies, and growing up surrounded by music, books, and other "churchy stuff." Enjoying family time with our big extended family, often with homemade music.

Frisbee, tennis, badminton. Bike rides. Ball games. His immediate forgiveness of my fiance when he slid into second and broke my dad's wrist. His welcome of my husband into a family that had been made up of him and four women. Singing with Dad's good tenor voice in our family music group.

Camping with Dad in Radium Hot Springs for many years running, us kids, and eventually his grandkids, all golfing together at Edgewater one summer. He welcomed everyone's friends, and had a way of making strangers feel seen and less strange, a way of sidling up to people to make them smile with a side-hug and his attention.

Covid's regular family video check-ins (now a habit that continues this long after the epidemic) with Dad cracking us all up with his often "unfiltered" observations about various things. 

The confidence he placed in his kids as we learned and grew and found our way in the world, his willingness to help us out in so many different ways, his joy in our successes and his prayers in our times of struggle. His love and daily prayers for his grandkids.

But what probably stands out most for me is his love for Mom. I can't think of another marriage as good as theirs. Did they ever fight in their 60+ years together? I can't recall even once. Every time I was alone with Dad in hospital, he asked for her, and lit up when she walked in. The solidity of their relationship gave us all a good grounding in life and multiplied Dad's capacity to love, so that many people felt its ripple effects -- as evidenced by the crowd at his final celebration. The church was so full of the community he gathered around him, a holy thing.

There's much more I could write, but Dad would be embarrassed by this much. He preferred less fuss.

But Dad, I am so, so grateful for all that you were and for all the love you gave to those of us who love you, and other people besides. I am grateful to know that you're in the communion of saints, watching out for us and praying us home, to be with you one day. We will sing together again...

But until then, I will always love and miss you. And that's an understatement.