a seed

I've been reading and reflecting on Mark 4 this week. It's full of Jesus' parables about how the kingdom of God is like a seed: seeds scattered in a field, seeds that sprout without the farmer's knowledge, tiny seeds that become the largest trees.

I've heard the parable of the sower a thousand times. 

“Listen! 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, so that they did not bear grain. Still other seed fell on good soil. It came up, grew and produced a crop, some multiplying thirty, some sixty, some a hundred times.”

Later on Jesus clarifies that the seed represents the "word," a trickier term in Greek to translate than it comes across in English. But from Jesus' reminders constantly for those who have ears to "listen," I'd say the "word" is referring to something Jesus is saying.

I've always assumed I am the good soil. I guess I never really had reason to consider otherwise. But this week, reading this chapter on repeat because I feel so very uncertain, far from God, confused, and tired, I felt almost ready to give up, whatever that means. I started to wonder if I am actually the rocky soil, that received the word with great joy but whose roots didn't go down deep enough. But for the first time, I realized that this parable is perhaps not as much of a threat as I had always heard it.

The thing about farming is that there are seasons. Soil that is rocky can be tilled, cleared, fertilized, and prepared for the next season. Soil is not a one-and-done game by any stretch; it may be the most repetitive cycle in the history of the world. Even if I am "rocky" soil, and some days do feel very rocky, that is not the end of my story. I don't give up there. Perhaps this season is less one of producing abundant fruit, and more one of clearing out the rocks one by one. Maybe the rocks are wrongly held assumptions, false beliefs about the world, my faith, or myself, or any number of things blocking me from receptivity.

So in the seasons in life, especially the ones where we don't feel like the good soil that is producing a crop one hundred fold, remember that there will be a next season. The farmer is still at work, and the seeds will keep being planted.


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