Promise Rather than Pedigree--July 21, 2026

Promise Rather than Pedigree--July 21, 2026

For all who are led by the Spirit of God are children of God. For you did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you received a spirit of adoption. When we cry, “Abba! Father!” it is that very Spirit bearing witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs: heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ, if we in fact suffer with him so that we may also be glorified with him. (Romans 8:14-17)

It turns out that family isn't so much about the curating of pedigrees as it is about the keeping of promises.

That will probably seem counterintuitive, since at one level, family is very much about the passing on of DNA, and over the centuries people have indeed made a very big deal out of the virtues of their bloodlines and the legacies of their ancestral virtues being handed down with each successive generation.  Everybody who has heard an family acquaintance say, "You have your mother's eyes," or "You have your father's nose," knows that at some level, family has to do with biology and lineage.

And yet, in a very real sense, before children come along who carry on the family line and characteristic traits of the parents and grandparents, there is first the keeping of a promise.  My wife and I share no DNA in common, but we are family because we have made and continue to keep promises to each other.  Usually we call them "marriage vows," and we might not give them much thought after the wedding reception is over, but really, the core of every marriage (and thus the children who proceed from those marriages) is the invisible, intangible force of words that are not just spoken, but meant, day in and day out, over a lifetime.  I start every morning, knowing that I belong unconditionally within my own household, not because I have the DNA to merit my place in the family, but because my wife has made promises to me and she keeps them.  Her promises are the grounds for my belonging.  And reciprocally, my promises to her are her grounds for belonging.  And of course, we are hardly unique--humans have been building families out of promises for countless generations.  Our words--and the continuing commitment to keep our word--turns out to be strong enough to build a household on.  And, to go one step further, if there are times I find myself worrying if I "fit in" or really "belong," I don't have to fret about biology, and whether or not I will pass along this or that trait to carry on the family legacy: I count on the promises of those whose love tells me I belong.  Every time my spouse tells me she loves me, or every time those words come out of my lips for her, we are each assured, in a sense, "Oh yes, that's right--our belonging in this family doesn't depend on our DNA or genetic connections, but on the promises of those who keep loving us."

It really is a wonder.  And it's a wonder, not just that families are ultimately based on words rather than biology, but that we are so used to this arrangement we usually don't even think about it.  But it's helpful to remember, especially when we consider our belonging in the family of God, like Paul the apostle does in this passage that many of us heard this past Sunday in worship.  Paul is talking about the way we know we belong in God's "found family" called church, and he is clear throughout this passage that our belonging is not a matter of our earning, accomplishing, achieving, or even our biology.  We have been adopted, Paul says, which is a belonging that comes by a promise rather than depending on genetics.  We belong in God's family as God's own children, not because we are inherently as holy as God or as perfect as Jesus, but because God has made a promise to love us--and God daily continues to keep that promise.  Like spouses who hold a family together as they live out their vows, even though they don't share any DNA themselves, we belong in the family of God because God has made promises to us and we dare to believe those promises are true.

The other thing that means for the family of God is that it includes, by God's choice, people from every nation, family, tribe, language, and culture.  Paul doesn't say, "You know you have a place because you are similar enough to all the other people in the club." He doesn't say, "You will be allowed on the list because you speak the same language, eat the same foods, and share the same ethnic heritage as everybody else."  Belonging in the Christian community isn't like that: our belonging doesn't come from DNA, cultural heritage, or family ancestry, but from God's calling us children. God declares we are citizens of the kingdom of heaven, so to speak, as a free gift of grace, not based on our national origins, cultural traditions, language, or genealogy.  

In fact, that is the crux of Paul's whole ministry, throughout his letters and over the course of his many travels.  Paul staked his life on the audacious notion that in Christ God was making a new kind of human community, which included people from Judean ancestry as well as Gentile lineage, regardless of those differences.  Whether or not you kept kosher, practiced circumcision, spoke Hebrew, or came from "insider" families, you could belong in the family God, because belonging was rooted in God's promise, not your DNA.  It was a radical notion, and to be sure, it took the church a bit of time to truly think through the implications of the gospel's inclusive claim. But ultimately, the New Testament witness was clear: in Christ "there is no longer Jew or Gentile, slave or free, male and female" (see Galatians 3:28).  We belong in this found family by virtue of the strength of God's promises, not our sameness in demographic or cultural categories.

That's important to remember, even today.  Sometimes (and these days, it seems to be increasingly) you'll hear people say that the only real way to build a community is on "same-ness." They'll say people can only really coexist if they have a common heritage of DNA, language, or ethnic background, and they'll get uncomfortable when people from different backgrounds or ancestries are brought together.  But for two thousand years now, the community of Jesus has existed on the basis of promises rather than pedigree: we belong not because we come from the same bloodlines but because we have been given the same assurance from the Spirit that we are children of God.  It is not only possible to build a community on words--we have actually been doing it for two millennia, from the very beginning of the Jesus movement.

Today is a day to remember that: our belonging, as well as those of the people sitting across from you in church, as well as those worshiping across borders, as well as those disciples who live half a world away across oceans, all of us belong in the family of God by the virtue of God's strong promises, rather than our sameness in biology--and that is enough.

Lord Jesus, speak your promise to us again to remind us our belonging comes from you.

Love That Looks Foolish--July 20, 2026

Love That Looks Foolish--July 20, 2026

[Jesus] put before [the crowds] another parable: “The kingdom of heaven may be compared to someone who sowed good seed in his field; but while everybody was asleep, an enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat, and then went away. So when the plants came up and bore grain, then the weeds appeared as well. And the slaves of the householder came and said to him, ‘Master, did you not sow good seed in your field? Where, then, did these weeds come from?’ He answered, ‘An enemy has done this.’ The slaves said to him, ‘Then do you want us to go and gather them?’ But he replied, ‘No; for in gathering the weeds you would uproot the wheat along with them...." [Matthew 13:24-29]

Love that isn't willing to look foolish for the sake of the beloved is just pretending. If it's real love, it's willing to put up with coming across as silly, weak, and feeble to anybody watching. That's part of how love bears.

And as Jesus makes it clear from this story many of us heard this Sunday in worship, that is how God loves. God is always more committed to preserving what is precious to God than managing the divine reputation. In other words, God is more deeply invested in saving you than in saving face, and God doesn't have some need to look "strong" or "tough" or "like a winner." You are more important to God than God's ego. Wow.

That really is what this story is about. The premise is simple enough: a farmer plants good seed on his field, and expects wheat to grow up. But when an enemy comes along and plants weeds (sometimes called "tares" or "bearded darnels," based on the word Matthew uses in the Greek) in the field too, just to be rotten, the farmer is left with his wheat harvest growing alongside these tares. Now there's a dilemma: what to do with a wheat field that is also full of a bumper crop of weeds? The farm hands all want to pull out the weeds, because, well, they're weeds, right? If they let the weeds stay in the field, the farmer (and his staff) will look ridiculous! It will send the message that the enemy has won! He'll be cackling off in his lair somewhere, gloating in the belief that he's bested this farmer. And meanwhile everyone else in town will be laughing themselves to tears over the farmer who (they think) is wasting water, time, and fertilizer on a mixed bag of good wheat and useless tares.

The farm hands are worried that their boss will be a laughingstock, and so their advice is to take the "tough guy" approach. They need to project strength. They need to make the boss look like a winner, and they certainly can't let that no-good enemy get away with thinking he's one-upped their employer. So they propose pulling out the weeds--that way the enemy will know he hasn't won--what the villain did in the dark of night, they'll undo in the daylight, just to show him that he's not victorious... right? Well, the trouble is, the farmer himself knows that the wheat and the tares are intertwined at the root--you can't pull one up with out risking damage to the other. And so, the real choice is whether the farmer wants to keep his ego intact at the risk of damaging his harvest, or keeping the crops safe even if it means looking like a loser. Will the farmer insist on burnishing his reputation or preserving what he considers precious? And is his ego so needy that he must look like a "winner" at all times, or can he play the waiting game for the sake of saving the wheat?

Well, you know the answer: in Jesus' story, the farmer is more committed to saving his wheat harvest than in sticking it to his enemy. He's willing to bear whatever mockery, whatever criticism, and whatever damage to his reputation might come with the choice not to uproot any of his wheat, even though that means leaving the weeds where they are for now, and worse still, letting the enemy think he's wont. The farmer is more interested in the welfare of the wheat than in what anybody else thinks of him, even the old enemy himself. That's what genuine love does--it bears with risk of looking foolish or weak, because it is more interested in the well-being of the beloved. That's true whether it's a lone individual, a field full of wheat, or a world full of people. God's love means God is willing to look like a loser in the eyes of the world for the sake of saving us. Ultimately that's what the cross means, too--that God chooses to redeem the world, not through conquering angel armies who could destroy all opposition and show glory and power, but through the weakness and foolishness that are the cross. God is willing to risk that the very world God loves is mocking the one nailed to a Roman death stake. God is willing to bear that the powers of evil will think they've won because God hasn't immediately uprooted their dastardly plans. God is willing to put up with all of that, because that's what love does.

My goodness, it is an amazing thought to realize that God loves you more than God's own ego. But it's true. And when you realize that, maybe you also find yourself starting to let go of the old egotistical need always to look "right" or "smart" or "tough" or like a "winner." Maybe we don't need to impress anybody else in all creation--after all, God is done with needing to impress, too.

Lord Jesus, thank you for the lengths you have gone to for the love of us. Let the truth of that love hit home.

What God Wants Done--July 17, 2026

What God Wants Done--July 17, 2026

 "For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven
  and do not return there until they have watered the earth,
 making it bring forth and sprout,
  giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater,
 so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth;
  it shall not return to me empty,
 but it shall accomplish that which I purpose
  and succeed in the thing for which I sent it.
 For you shall go out in joy
  and be led back in peace;
 the mountains and the hills before you
  shall burst into song,
  and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.
 Instead of the thorn shall come up the cypress;
  instead of the brier shall come up the myrtle,
 and it shall be to the LORD for a memorial,
  for an everlasting sign that shall not be cut off." (Isaiah 55:10-13)

The bottom line here, I guess, is that God is going to get done what God intends to get done--even if God's way of doing things seems inefficient or indirect to our eyes.

These words that come from the latter chapters of what we call the book of Isaiah may still be ringing in your ears from hearing them this past Sunday in worship. They seem to be speaking to people who are waiting on God to act, or for God's promises to come true.  Quite possibly, the prophet is speaking to people who have been nervously biding their time in exile, shifting uncomfortably in their seats and waiting for their long-hoped-for homecoming.  They had grown up on stories of God's glorious acts of deliverance--the parting of the Sea, the provision in the wilderness, and the tales of God's wonder-working power.  And they had heard more recently from prophets like Isaiah that this same God would do it all again and bring them home from exile--not through the Sea as in the Exodus out of Egypt, but with a road in the wilderness that would guide the people who had been born away from home in Babylon back to the land of their ancestors.  So, after hearing all that great talk about God's powerful word and God's reliable promises, you can imagine them becoming a bit impatient as they waited for all these great things to happen.

You can imagine the questions forming on their lips, or at least on their minds:  "How do we know God can follow through on all this big talk?"  "Can we rely on God's promise, especially when the Babylonian Empire seems so strong and unwilling to let us go home?"  "If God has said that we will come home, then why are we still here under foreign occupation?"  All fair questions, even if they are pretty pointed.  If someone is suffering, after all, it's not terribly comforting if the only thing anybody ever says is, "Don't think about it, and just hold tight." So what is God supposed to say during the remainder of the waiting time until the people can go back home?  What will God do to assure them that the promises will be kept, and that they are worth holding onto in the mean time?

Here is how the 55th chapter of Isaiah puts it:  "Just like the rain and snow come down and don't go back up to the clouds again until they have made their way through the whole water cycle, watering the crops so that humans can eat and thrive, flowing to the river and then the ocean, and then evaporating back up into the sky again, my word will accomplish what I intend for it to do."  It's a powerful image, at one level simply assuring the prophet's listeners that God has not forgotten about them and God's word will still be effective.  After all, people could picture exactly what the prophet was describing: even in a pre-scientific age, people could see the flow of water from the rainfall to their fields and back up to the sky to repeat the cycle all over again.  If the rains could be trusted to flow out into the world and fulfill their purpose of helping plants to grow (and thereby to help humans to grow), then in a similar way, God's word could be counted on as well.  So far, so good, in terms of speaking words of assurance to nervous hearts.  The prophet was basically saying, "What God wants to get God, God is going to get done--mark my words."

But there's another layer to the image that I think is really helpful to keep in mind.  The path of the water cycle might seem like a pretty circuitous and roundabout route to get from the starting point to the destination, but that's not a failure or a flaw on God's part.  It is actually by design.  You might look at the meandering path that a droplet of water takes, from rainfall to landing on a leaf or into the soil, to the river, to the sea or lake, and then to evaporate back up into the sky, and think that seems like a waste of energy or lack of direction--but it is accomplishing a number of things all along the way.  It is exactly because the rain takes its sweet old time being soaked up by plants, or flowing into groundwater, or entering the river, or returning to the sea, that life can thrive on this planet.  It is precisely because the snow doesn't directly empty into the ocean that plants can grow, animals can feed, and human beings can flourish.  The prophet here in Isaiah 55 is well aware of that, pointing out that the rain's winding path is what allows it to "water the earth" and "making it bring forth and sprout" so that there can be both "seed to the sower and bread to the eater."  In other words, God seems to have deliberately chosen what looks like an indirect or inefficient way of doing things--which surely takes longer than a direct Point-A-to-Point-B straight line would--in order to make life thrive.

And that seems to be part of the point here: not only can we count on God to get done what God wants done, but it turns out that what God wants done is for the world to flourish.  It may happen in surprising ways that take a long time to unfold, but this is how God's purpose works, much as rainwater wends its way with twists and turns on its journey from the clouds to the fields to the rivers.  The very thing that makes it take a long time to reach the destination is also what makes it life-giving at every point along the way.  So it makes perfect sense, then, that the prophet then imagines "the trees of the field shall clap their hands" and the ground bringing up myrtle and cypress instead of briers and thorns.  

For the people living in exile and waiting for God's big dramatic shows of power, then, all of this might have been a way of saying, "I need you to trust me: God is still going to get done what God wants to get done. But it might be that there is more flourishing that can happen if God does it in the longer-term, seemingly indirect way that looks more like the water cycle than a non-stop flight as the crow flies."  It might still be hard to wait and hope that God was working in the world, but at least it pointed to the possibility that what seemed like a design-flaw might actually be a purposeful strategy.  God's ways might take a long time to come to fruition, not because God isn't proficient at getting things done, but because God's strategy is always bigger, wider, and more life-giving than we realized.  God isn't just interested in transporting water from the sky to sea-level; God is interested in bringing forth life all along the way.  For that to happen, you need stops in the farmer's field and the growing wheat, rather than a single straight line.  Maybe God actually knows what God is doing, the prophet seems to be saying, but we have to see our own situations within the larger context of all the ways God is seeking to bring life in the world.

Sometimes our own anxieties make us see the world with the same narrow focus and short-sightedness.  We can only see our own personal problems or difficulties, and we pray and pray for God's intervention, only to feel let down and disappointed when God's answers don't materialize on our terms or timelines.  I wonder if the same prophet who spoke here in these ancient words might remind us as well that God indeed is going to get God what God wants to get done... and at the same time, that God's way of doing things may look indirect or inefficient, but are part of a bigger and more beautiful design intended to bring the world more fully to life. That doesn't mean our worries or needs are unimportant, but it does mean that our stories are part of something even larger and grander than we may have realized--and that God intends to enable all of it to flourish.

Like Julian of Norwich said it so long ago in her own meandering and beautifully inefficient way of putting it, "All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be made well." The rain falls from the sky to the field to the stream to the sea, and life breaks out everywhere along the way.  That's how God operates in the world.  Thank God.

Lord God, accomplish your good purposes among us, in us, and through us.  And enable us to trust in the midst of it all that you are at work.

The Subject of the Sentence--July 16, 2026

The Subject of the Sentence--July 16, 2026

"For God has done what the law, weakened by the flesh, could not do: by sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh and to deal with sin, he condemned sin in the flesh, so that the just requirement of the law might be fulfilled in us, who walk not according to the flesh but according to the Spirit." (Romans 8:3-4)

This very point is the difference between hearing the Gospel as Good News and hearing it as a self-help sales pitch.  If the Christian message boils down to, "Here is a list of what you have to do," it is neither good nor new.  But if, as Paul insists here, the Gospel's claim is, "God has already done what we could not do on our own," well, then, everything is different.

These verses from Romans 8, which many of us heard this past Sunday in worship, put it just that plainly.  "For God has done what the law, weakened by the flesh, could not do." You will note, of course, that God is the subject of the sentence.  In other words, the Actor is God, doing what we cannot--doing even what the Law, which God had first given, could not do.  God does the saving. God deals with sin.  God enters into our humanity.  God enables us to live by the Spirit instead of being ruled by the whims of our worst impulses.  All of it is accomplished by God through Christ Jesus the Son.  In the Christian story, God is the doer, the hero, the Subject.  Saving the world--and all of us as well--is God's action.

Now, for as clear as Paul is here, it's funny how often we Respectable Religious folks have gotten it all backward over the centuries.  Sometimes we can't seem to accept that God has already done the heavy lifting, or that our being saved isn't something we have achieved by our own cleverness, talent, or morality.  Maybe it sounds too good to be true, or maybe we are upset by the idea that God saves and rescues people who haven't earned it.  Or maybe it's about control: if I am the subject of the sentence when it comes to salvation, then it's up to me and my effort to do good enough... and I can also look down on the other people I don't think have done a "good enough" job.  But if God is the One doing the saving because I cannot on my own, then I don't have control over who else God rescues, saves, and redeems.

And maybe that's our persistent hang-up: we would rather keep control (or pretend to keep it) over who is "in" and who is "out" than allow God to scandalous and extravagantly save people who are not on our approved list. If we tell ourselves that being saved is a matter of my individual performance or piety, then there's a gate to be kept and a bar to be met. But if God really is the One doing the saving in the big scheme of things, we have to admit we don't have control over who's in.  God is free to rescue, redeem, and resurrect outsiders, sinners, mess-ups, and stinkers.  Of course, that's exactly how we find our belonging, too--not by our innate goodness, but by God's.  Because God is the One who claims us, we belong even when we are weak, sinful, stingy, and hard-hearted.  There's the trade-off, too: once I can admit that I don't have control over who made the cut, I can also rest in the relief of knowing my belonging doesn't depend on my performance, either.  It is because of what God has done in Christ that we have hope, not what I think I can do on my own.  It is because of God's choice to take on all the burden of human sin in Christ than I am freed from that weight--not because I have done a good enough job following rules and earning gold stars.

Accepting Paul's point is humbling, because it forces each of us to admit we are not nearly as in control of things as we imagined.  But it is also what makes the Gospel genuinely good news in the first place.

I think that's a trade I'm willing to make--how about you?

Perhaps today is a day for grammatical clarity: that is, today is a day to recognize that God has always been the subject of the sentence that is the Gospel's good news.

Lord God, enable us to admit that you are the primary actor in the universe's great redemption story, and to surrender the illusion of control we never really had.

All Our Chips on Grace--July 15, 2026

All Our Chips on Grace--July 15, 2026

"Therefore there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus has set you free from the law of sin and of death." (Romans 8:1-2)

Paul keeps passing up chances to add red tape.

This is actually one of the things I find most blessedly startling about the apostle's way of thinking. Just when I could imagine him pulling back, adding some conditions, or unspooling some fine print to limit the good news of God's grace, he just plows forward without hedging or adding exceptions.  And I kind of think that Paul knows exactly what he is doing and relishes it. The sheer audacity of the Gospel's unconditional extravagance brings him joy... as well it should.

Take, for example, these verses many of us heard this past Sunday in worship from the opening of what we call the eighth chapter of Romans.  Having just finished Chapter Seven admitting how often he fails to do what he wants and how often sin keeps digging its claws into him even on his best days and with his best intentions, Paul makes a blanket declaration out of nowhere: "Therefore there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus."  No asterisks.  No expiration date.  No tedious legalese in fine print.  He just comes out and says, "For all who belong in the found family of Jesus, there is no condemnation." He does not add as a prerequisite, "Only those who have mastered their struggle against sin will avoid judgment." Neither does he say afterward, "Of course, this assumes that those who are in Christ Jesus have all been good little boys and girls."  He seems to be saying that even for people who are still living through the struggle with sin and who keep making boneheaded and selfish choices (which, Paul has just said includes him), there is no reason to fear.  No zapping looms on the horizon. No lightning bolts of smiting are locked and loaded, ready to be hurled from the sky at us.  No nagging anxiety that at any moment the mouth of hell could open up beneath our feet to gobble us up whole because we've been coveting our neighbor's car or skipped church last Sunday.  There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus--God has gone ahead and told us ahead of time that there will be no death sentence, and all is forgiven already.

Over the course of Christian history, taking Paul seriously on this point has been difficult for many Respectable Religious people.  It just sounds too easy.  It sounds too "cheap" (a free gift always runs that risk, I suppose).  It sounds like God is letting everybody off the hook and welcoming in all the undesirables with open arms.  And there's a good reason for that--that is precisely what Paul says God is doing.  Because we are joined to Christ, who has taken all the world's sin and nailed it to his own cross, it's not there to be held against us anymore.  Because we belong to Jesus, there is no one else who gets a vote on whether we are damned or saved.  Because God has justified us from God's side as a free gift, we don't have to fear that our mess-ups and mistakes will be weaponized against us if God should wake up grumpy one morning. If Paul the former persecutor who had blood on his hands could be pulled by grace into the community of Christ and wholly forgiven, then we don't have to fear being judged for our most terrible choices, either. Paul was pulled into God's embrace even when he was an enemy of Christ, so clearly there is no one "too far gone" or "beyond the reach of mercy." Not even you or me on our worst day. No condemnation means no condemnation--not now, not ever, not for any of us who have been loved into the family of God through Christ.

And just to clarify here, this isn't just some crazy idea Paul cooked up on his own. Even though Paul the apostle had never been one of the original twelve disciples of Jesus, what Paul says here sure does echo the way Jesus tells stories about God's blanket pardon and limitless grace. It's the stories he tells where impossibly large debts are forgiven completely with a wave of a hand. It's the tale of the long-lost son who has lost the family fortune but is met by his father running out to meet him with an embrace and a welcome.  It's the way Jesus healed people without charging, the way he crossed borders to include outsiders, and the way he raised the dead who couldn't even ask for his help.  And on top of that it's the way Jesus taught his disciples to love their enemies because it was the same way God loves us--even when we are "wicked and ungrateful" (Luke 6:35-36).  In other words, Paul and Jesus both refuse the opportunity to add conditions, fine print, or exceptions, and instead they both put all their chips on grace.

Could we dare to see the world through that same lens?  Could we believe that God really has promised there will be no condemnation for us--that our darkest chapters and worst actions do not have to be held against us, and that it is possible to begin again?  Could we really be freed from having to live those old scripts based on our guilt and the rotten habits in which we had been stuck?  And could we see everyone else we meet as also being a long-lost prodigal wrapped up in loving arms and welcomed home? What would we finally be free to do with our lives if we realized we didn't have to waste our time, worry, or energy on whether there was a divine lightning bolt headed our way at any given moment? 

What might happen if we, following the lead of Jesus and Paul before us, put all our chips on grace, too?

Lord Jesus, your good news seems too good to be true. Speak it to us again so that we will believe we really are freed from condemnation as we are, and let that news set us free.

Yes, Seriously--July 14, 2026

Yes, Seriously--July 14, 2026

[Jesus said:]“Hear, then, the parable of the sower. When anyone hears the word of the kingdom and does not understand it, the evil one comes and snatches away what is sown in the heart; this is what was sown on the path. As for what was sown on rocky ground, this is the one who hears the word and immediately receives it with joy, yet such a person has no root but endures only for a while, and when trouble or persecution arises on account of the word, that person immediately falls away. As for what was sown among thorns, this is the one who hears the word, but the cares of this age and the lure of wealth choke the word, and it yields nothing. But as for what was sown on good soil, this is the one who hears the word and understands it, who indeed bears fruit and yields in one case a hundredfold, in another sixty, and in another thirty.” (Matthew 13:18-23)

Seriously? This is how God's kingdom comes? This is how God's reign unfolds in the world?

Jesus' story about a farmer scattering seed might be familiar to our ears (after all, many of us heard it in worship this past Sunday), but it really is pretty bizarre if you give it a bit of thought.  Jesus really does seem to be comparing the Reign of God--or the Yahweh Administration, if you like; the way God runs the universe--to a farm worker with a handful of seed that gets scattered recklessly, extravagantly, and (seemingly) wastefully over all sorts of terrain, risking that a great deal of that seed will not produce a harvest, but doing it anyway.

And I have to think that for the folks who first heard Jesus tell this tale, it sounded preposterous.  What sort of a kingdom is this?  What self-respecting king would let his regime be compared to something that seems so scattershot and risky?  And of course, those question are not wrong: whatever Jesus is describing here, it surely does operate quite differently from the "kingdoms" of history.

Jesus' listeners have seen what those sorts of kingdoms and empires look like.  They lived in the grip of the Roman Empire, which ruled with a ruthless efficiency and the brutal expediency of coercion.  The empire accomplished its goals by conquering, by destroying, and by dominating.  They marched their armies to your city's gates and invaded.   They occupied your territory, put down revolts before they got out of hand, and extracted the wealth of your community in taxes, tribute, and plunder, all to finance more legions of their troops in your streets and more obnoxious triumphal arches and statues of their leaders to remind you who was in charge. And the Romans hadn't invented all of those tactics, even if they improved or even perfected them; the Romans' playbook was the same strategy behind the Greek Empire under Alexander the Great, the Medes and the Persians before that, the Babylonians and Assyrians before them, and even further back to Pharaoh's Egypt.  In other words, everybody who lived in Jesus' time and place knew what to expect from the world's kingdoms--intimidation, domination, and violence.  You got what you wanted from the world by taking it through force.  Everybody knew that.

And yet, that is precisely not how things look in the kind of story Jesus tells, about the surprising way that "the word of the kingdom" goes to work in God's way.  Of all the images and all the metaphors in all the world that Jesus could have picked to describe the advance and spread of God's kingdom, Jesus picks perhaps the least empire-like one there is: a farmer seemingly wasting time and effort scattering seeds in every direction, who has to know that a good bit of his labor is going to be literally fruitless. A sower cannot coerce the ground to accept the seed. You cannot threaten the grains of wheat to make them sprout, and you cannot intimidate the soil into producing a harvest.  All you can do, if you are the one scattering the seeds, is to let the soil be what it is going to be, and to let the seed be what the seed is going to be.  You cannot force, shoot, stab, or dominate your way into a harvest. You can only scatter seed and allow life to take hold where it will.  That is a decidedly un-empire-like approach.

And that is precisely the point, I am convinced.  Jesus isn't announcing the "empire" of God as though God is just one more two-bit tyrant like Caesar and his fawning successors.  God doesn't rule the world like Rome does, by fiat and force and coercing compliance, but more like a farmer who plants... and waits... and risks that some of the effort will appear to have been wasted. And that is exactly why the "word of the kingdom" is Good News and not just some repackaged imperial propaganda.

When our message as Christians sounds more like the Empire's edicts--and when we try to legislate that all have to fall in line with our wishes--we have lost the very thing that makes the Gospel good and news.  When we make the Reign of God sound like another decree of Caesar, we have left the actual message of Jesus behind and fallen for a counterfeit.  So these days, when I hear folks clamoring for displays of Christian power and influence through legislation--whether putting up monuments of the Ten Commandments at courthouse complexes or mandating that public schools read the Bible or whatever other culture-war foolishness we get carried away with--I am concerned that we have missed the point Jesus has been trying to make.  That's not how God accomplishes divine purposes, as Jesus tells it.  God doesn't use force or coercion, but coaxes and cultivates. The right picture is not of invading legions of a divine empire, but seed scattered by a sower who knows full well that some of what is offered to the earth will be rejected, will wither, or will be eaten up by the birds.  It may startle us to realize that this is how God runs the universe, but this is the way Jesus talks about God's Reign.

So to come back to the questions I posed at the start of today's devotion, yes.  Yes, this is how God's kingdom comes. Yes, seriously, this is how God's reign unfolds "on earth as it is in heaven."

Lord God, let your reign spring up among us and in us like seeds breaking open into stalks of wheat.

More Important Than Productivity--July 13, 2026

More Important Than Productivity--July 13, 2026

"Jesus told them many things in parables, saying: 'Listen! A sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seeds fell on the path, and the birds came and ate them up. Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and they sprang up quickly, since they had no depth of soil. But when the sun rose, they were scorched; and since they had not root, they withered away. Other sees feel among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked them. Other seeds fell on good soil and brought forth grain, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty. Let anyone with ears listen!" [Matthew 13:3-9]

For whatever else this story is about, it means that God is more interested in growing something good than in maximizing profits and efficiency. Or to put it the other way around, God is willing to put up with looking ineffective for the sake of increasing life in the world. God's commitment to nurturing seeds that will grow somewhere is stronger than God's need to "maximize productivity."

This parable, which many of us heard in worship this past Sunday, presents us with a farm worker who has to know that his approach of scattering grain seeds everywhere is going to look wasteful. He has to know that the seeds that land on the path are likely to get snatched up by the birds, that the thorns and thistles will starve out any seeds that land among them, and that the stony ground won't produce a good crop, either. And yet, he's more interested in getting something to grow than he is with maximizing his labor-to-profit ratio. He's willing to go to the length of broadcasting seed everywhere, even if that means knowing some will not provide a return on the investment. Those with more miserly business sensibilities might say, "You're losing money there," or "You're not getting as much final profit as you could if you only planted seeds where you know there's good soil." But the farm worker seems to know full well what he's doing... and is willing to take that risk.

Now, I'm not really in a position to know whether this technique for planting a field was standard in Jesus' culture and time, or whether it is supposed to be striking and unusual. What I do think is clear is that Jesus chose this kind of image to describe how God's "kingdom" operates--that is, how God runs the universe. And Jesus insists that God is willing to bear with the reality that some of God's effort in the world will be met with rejection or disappointment... and yet God goes through with giving abundantly (even recklessly) in all directions, anyway. God is willing to deal with the inefficiency. God is willing to accept the apparent waste of effort. God is willing to put up with the lackluster response we humans sometimes (often!) give back in response to God's gracious word to us. And that is all because God loves.

If we want to embody God's kind of love in the world, it's going to mean that kind of willingness to risk that our efforts won't turn out, don't yield the response we want, or might not produce the results we want. It means the willingness to put good into the world, anyway, even if others don't receive it. And it means the deliberate choice to plant seeds with the full, open-eyed awareness that we do not have control over what will come from our attempt. We can make the effort, but we can't guarantee others will see or appreciate it. We can scatter God's good word around to everyone, but we can't compel every listener to take it to heart. And yet we do it anyway, because that vulnerability itself is a piece of what makes love love.  There are some things, after all, that are more important than productivity.

In the end, this story isn't so much about how to avoid being a bad kind of soil or how to make yourself into a good kind of soil--it's about the lengths God is willing to go to, even in the face of rejection and disappointment, to keep on bringing life among us. If we are going to live this story, then maybe today is a day to make the additional effort or take the risk of giving a second try to something that seemed fruitless. Maybe today's a day to love people without worrying about whether they will return the favor or repay you. Maybe today's a day to let go of the need to look "successful" in anybody else's eyes, and instead to risk putting good into the world regardless of how anybody else judges it or responds to it. Maybe today's a day to reflect the character of our blessedly inefficient God.

What could that look like today?

Lord Jesus, spur us on to take the risks of giving your good word everywhere.