This Sunday’s Gospel is the story of the Sower and the Seed. Jesus himself interprets it for us as he explains each of the parts to his disciples. He is the sower, the Word of God is the seed, and the ground is our hearts. No mystery there. The question is what do the weeds, the path, the shallow ground, and the rich soil mean to each of us as we pray with the parable.
One way to pray from Scripture is Ignatian Contemplation, a method taught by St. Ignatius of Loyola in his Spiritual Exercises. In Ignatian Contemplation, you picture yourself as a character in the story. You can be in the Bible scene or you can be in your 21st century life scene. The reflection below is what happens when I pray in the parable in my current life.
It is a pleasant summer evening. Jesus comes to me and says, “Mary, I’d like to tour the fields of the farm of your heart—the way you and your father used to ride around your farm on a summer evening just like this. Would you like that?”
The memories of those walks and truck rides are very dear to me—as is Jesus. “Sure!” I say and smile.
We then began the route that Daddy and I would often take. We went in Daddy’s green 1960s pick up truck. Jesus drove. I opened gates—just like Daddy and I did. We started going through what we call the “old pasture,” some of the very first land my parents bought in the 1930s. The pasture is steep, and the soil is thin. There is a shallow “branch” that flows through the center of it in winter and spring. In summer, it flows after a rain and has pools of water here and there most of the time. It is not land for crops, but it is good pasture land for cattle. This land is typical of the “outer Bluegrass” geography of where we live in Kentucky. This shallow, hilly ground makes up about a third of our actual farm.
“I’ve been noticing this shallow soil,” Jesus began. “You have a lot of it. It serves a purpose. You use it well. But I wonder if you’ve thought of increasing the fertility of this soil—on the farm, and in your heart.”
Hmm. That’s thought provoking. “Tell me more,” I said.
“Well,” Jesus smiled and went on, “on the farm, you might try aerating the soil next spring and planting some more clover and fescue, especially in spots you notice now where the grass is barely surviving.” I looked—yes, there were bare spots. Good idea.
“In your heart, as I said in explaining the parable, this is land in your soul where you get inspired when you hear a good homily, spend time on retreat, or read a thought-provoking book. Your soul is fertile and full of promise, like this ground in April when the rains are plenty and temperature just right for grass. But when the homilies don’t touch you, the mass is not said with care, or the music doesn’t carry you to prayer, or you have no time for retreat—and don’t take ENOUGH of the time you have for prayer—then your soul is like this field will likely be in September—dry, just surviving, your fervor “not in season.”
Hmm. Yes, there is much of my soul that is often like that, especially the last two years.
I opened the gate at the top of the hill. We carefully went down the cliff road to the creek. At the creek is a boy scout camp—and the Elkhorn—running quietly through the fields, circling our bottom land. Jesus continued: “There was no creek in the parable, but you have this beautiful water, the perfect place to come on a hot afternoon to rest…or in winter to sense the life here, even when there is no green in field or woods. This is your prayer—available always, refreshing always, the life of the Spirit. Always present when you take the time to come sit with it. And the scout camp—such a way to share what you have—like your prayer groups and book studies.”
Yes, like the creek that is the center of the farm, so my prayer is meant to be the center of my life. I caught what Jesus said: “when you take the time.” Last week I didn’t take much time. And yes, I did feel parched and depleted at days end several days.
We drove through the bottom. Jesus smiled with approval as we looked at fields of corn and soybeans—fertile soil growing good crops. “This is your good ground,” he began. “About half your farm is tillable land, appropriate for these crops. Your son is doing well with them.”
“Yes,” I said. “He loves this land and is doing a good, good job.”
“And Mary, you love the work you do as counselor, teacher, listener, friend, writer. You care for this good land in your heart well. The Father often blesses it with sufficient rain. It is good soil. Your bear good fruit.”
That was good to hear!
We climbed up the hill to the hilly land on “the other side of the creek.” We stopped at the barn near the top of the hill. We feed a lot of hay and corn there in the winter. It was a mess! Weeds everywhere! Big thistles, briars, pokeberry, and wild turnips. Johnson grass, hog weeds, others I couldn’t name.
“Hmm.” Jesus said. “Then there’s these weeds. These big ugly weeds where you haven’t cut them down. ‘The seed sown among thorns is the one who hears the word, but then worldly anxiety and the lure of riches choke the word and it bears no fruit.’ I know you are embarrassed, Mary, to see this. In your heart, this is all the administrative paperwork you never get around to and extra people-pleasing things you do that just clutter up your life. This is actually a good picture of what your tendency to be a perfectionist does. You procrastinate the mess toward the back of the farm. You don’t tend to THOSE details in your efforts to keep things pretty where other people see and you like to stay.
“Ouch!” But, of course, Jesus was absolutely right.
We turned around to return home the way we came. “You know, in the parable as I told it in St. Matthew, I started with the path. The path on a farm is necessary. You’ve got to be able to move from field to field. But in your heart, Mary, where are the hard places?”
I trust Jesus, so it was easy to tell him about what I am learning about polarities in the Church and in me. “Jesus, I need help here…maybe more than you can give me in an after-dinner tour. I am becoming aware how I have biases about some issues that are so strong that I don’t want to read anything, discuss anything, or really think about anything that is too far from what I already know and believe.
I am coming to realize that when I keep within my general perspective and comfort zone, I am like a hardened road that is over-used and not open to something new growing. Seeds of truth you give me do not take root. I am coming to realize that because I am that way, I can miss a lot AND I am not doing what you did:
You talked over dinner or at the well with everyone. You argued respectfully with those whom you saw as mistaken. You explained and taught in easy-to-listen-to-and-remember parables and wise sayings. You healed those who were sick or handicapped—sometimes when they asked you, and sometimes you offered first. You cast out evil when asked—by the person or by someone who loved them. You walked and talked, lived with, and loved your disciples. Then you died for EVERYBODY—before they converted, yet to bring them to conversion. That enabled you to defeat evil once and for all–without EVER using strategies of worldly war and power.
Prayer:
Thank You, Jesus, for this meditation. It was very real to me. Make my heart very fertile ground for it to bear fruit. Deepen the shallow, soften the hard paths, pull out the weeds, help me remember the stream, and let all the parts of my heart be Yours.
Friends: Where is your good ground, your path, your weeds, your shallow soil? Take a tour of your heart with Jesus and find out. Blessings
