Ninth Sunday After Pentecost

NINTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

(Proper 10, Year A)

July 13, 2008

Ss. Peter & Paul – Fr. Phillip Ayers

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Henri Nouwen, in his book, The Living Reminder, quotes a saying that he French use to express the paradox of progress: “To step back in order to jump farther” (Retirer pour mieux sauter). In his chapter on “Guidance,” he applies this to the ordained ministry and its guiding function among the people of God in the concrete circumstances of everyday life.

Nouwen reminds the reader that all reformers are revisionists, people who remind their communities of the “original vision” of their cause. Their task is returning the people to the source from which the initial inspiration came.

For example, Benedict in the sixth century recaptured the vision of community; Luther, in the sixteenth century, recaptured the vision of God’s undeserved grace; Wesley recaptured in the eighteenth century the vision of a living faith; and Martin Luther King, Jr., in the twentieth century recaptured the vision of peace and justice for all. Each of these leaders took a step “back” in order to bring us further along.

Nouwen points out that the minister guides by confronting and inspiring. Then he asks: “How might such confrontation and inspiration express themselves in our daily ministry?” He answers it with one suggestion: “Tell a story.”

Nouwen explains further that “Often the colorful people of great faith will confront and inspire more readily than the pale doctrines of the faith.” This is essentially wheat Jesus accomplished in telling his parables.


The hearer was confronted and inspired—not in some bland or dogmatic way, but through the medium of story.

Through the “indirection” of this method of teaching, Jesus was able to break through his listeners’ fearful barriers of resistance and to challenge them, in a fresh way, to recognize God’s inbreaking presence in their lives—and make a decision to accept it. He was tilling ground to make it fruitful.

In today’s Parable of the Sower, Jesus skillfully sets the stage for learning. He does not launch into a theological treatise on double predestination or on why some people believe in the Gospel and commit themselves to it—and others don’t.

Rather, he broadcasts—that’s the way a sower sowed the seed, broadly scattering it—the Good News of God’s love freely, spread out on all kinds of ground, most of which is not conducive to receptivity or growth.

Does Jesus fret over the silence, the incomprehension, the lack of fruitful response? Does he lament that only one of the four locales where the seed lands shows any growth? No more than he seems to fret over the rich young aristocrat who heard the gospel and went away sorrowful (Mt. 19:16-22).

Jesus doesn’t follow after him, trying to convince the lad, like a salesman, with sweeter offer upon sweeter. “Just give half of it away … or I’ll settle for a third … how about just a tithe, a tenth?”

Nor is it recorded that Jesus suffered from insomnia. If he could sleep through a howling squall—as in the storm-tossed boat--, he could sleep despite the fact that some seed dos not take hold.

Jesus never worries because he depends on the utter reliability of the Father, all appearances of arid ground notwithstanding. The reign of God will arrive, despite the obstacles. It will reach a maturity and richness in spite of the staggering odds it faces.

Charles de Foucauld (1858-1916), the French explorer who became a Trappist monk and was called “the hermit of the Sahara,” once said, “Cry the gospel with your whole life”—and he did not follow the adage with worry about how it was to be received. Just sow, wherever you are.

As to the listener, he or she is confronted not only with the reality that the Gospel has been universally broadcast, but also with the inevitable questions: “What kind of ground am I? Am I a stony place? If so, what are the stones blocking my soul? Old fears and inhibitions, resentments or lingering guilt? AND What am I, with God’s help, going to do about them? What thorns are choking God’s activity out of my life? What keeps the Gospel on a superficial level, prevents it from germinating and growing ripe fruit? Is it majoring in the minors? Over-commitment and over-exposure to the world? Or just laziness?”

The inspiring part of the story, of course, is the dramatic growth and fruit-bearing potential of the Gospel when it does take root in the willing heart of the convert. By the time of Matthew, its growth is unstoppable. It must have been good enough even to afford the First Evangelist a good night’s sleep!

The following allegory by “Hieronymum” illustrates as only story can how acceptance of the Word and Jesus’ offer of eternal life depends on the heart’s openness—AND our own effort in getting ourselves out of the way for the Spirit to work:

Walking within the garden, the pupil suddenly came upon the Master, and was glad, for he had but just finished a task in His service, which he hastened to lay at His feet.

“See, Master,” said he, “this is done; now give me other teaching to do.”

The Master looked upon him sadly yet indulgently, as one might upon a child who cannot understand.

“There are already many to teach intellectual conceptions of the Truth,” he replied. “Thinkest thou to serve best by adding thyself to their number?”

The pupil was perplexed.

“Ought we not to proclaim the Truth from the very housetops, until the whole world shall have heard?” he asked.

“And then—“

“Then the whole world will surely accept it.”

“Nay,” replied the Master, “the Truth is not of the intellect, but of the heart. See!”

The pupil looked, and saw the Truth as though it were a White Light, flooding the whole earth; yet none seemed to reach the green and living plants that so sorely needed its rays, because of dense layers of clouds intervening.

“The clouds are the human intellect,” said the Master. “Look again.”

Intently gazing, the pupil saw here and there faint rifts in the clouds, through which the Light struggled in broken, feeble beams. Each opening had its origin in a human heart.


“Only by adding to and enlarging the rifts will the Light ever reach the earth,” said the Master. “Is it best, then, to pour out more Light upon the clouds, or to open hearts? The latter thou must accomplish unseen and unnoticed, and even unthanked. The former will bring thee praise and notice among men. Both are necessary: both are Our work; but—the openings are so few! Art thou strong enough to forego the praise and make of thyself a heart center … ?”

The pupil sighed, for it was a sore question.