Unlike the prudent, orderly, and ecologically-minded farmers of Monkton and White Hall, however, the sower of Jesus' parable doesn't seem to have any method to his madness. And when we stop to consider for a moment that Jesus is probably talking about Farmer God when he gives us the image of the impetuous sower, it makes me wonder: what exactly is he getting at here? Why all the sloppy seed scattering?

Now the interpretation that Matthew's gospel so conveniently provides us focuses pretty much entirely on the soil, that is, on us. We're the dirt, an appropriate image given the story of Adam's creation out of dust. And the interpretation we're given makes it clear that as soil, we're a mixed lot. But Matthew's interpretation begs the question of how the good soil got to be good in the first place. Is it just by luck or natural intelligence that "the one who hears the word and understands it…bears fruit and yields, in one case a hundredfold, in another sixty, and in another thirty?"

Perhaps the answer lies not in the content of our character, but in the nature of the sower. Impetuous though he may appear, the image of the sower points to a generous God who gives without regard to who is "worthy" and who isn't. As Kari Jo Verhulst writes in Sojourner's magazine, this generosity "travels from the sower and permeates the seed, growing in us a word that uproots our deepest assumptions about what is prudent and who is deserving. Confronted with this sower, we can turn our heads in shame, or stumble toward God in gratitude. If we embrace God's gratuitous giving, we come to recognize our very selves as lavish gifts from God. The Word sown and grown within sends us out like water onto dry ground as living words of promise and hope. We don't get to choose how and where we bless, and yet we are assured that we will not return to our sender empty."

That last phrase, of course, alludes to God's proclamation through Isaiah: "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."

God's word, inscribed in scripture and incarnated in Christ, when planted in us and watered by grace "shall not return to [God] empty, but it shall accomplish that which [God] purpose[d] and succeed in the thing for which [God] sent it." So it's somewhat clear, at least, that this morning's readings call us to focus on God who sends us abundant grace. Our natural response to God's generosity is gratitude, which in Greek is "Eucharist," by the way, but beyond worshipping and giving thanks to God, what does that very gratitude call us to do?

A clue toward answering this question is found in the very prayers we offer in gratitude to God. In the collect of the day for this morning, I [Heyward] prayed that God's people would "know and understand what things they ought to do, and also may have the grace and power faithfully to accomplish them." This phrase reminded me that when I was ordained a priest, lo these two months ago, I was asked a series of questions about what I was willing to do, such as "Will you undertake to be a faithful pastor to all whom you are called to serve, laboring together with them and with your fellow ministers to build up the family of God?" To which I replied "I will." At the end of this examination, the bishop said, "May the Lord who has given you the will to do these things give you the grace and power to perform them." To which the whole church and I replied "Amen."

Grace and power: in both my own ordination and in the collect of the day, which echoes our common ordination at our baptisms as Christ's ministers in the world, we are reminded that the grace and power to be ministers to each other and to a hungry world comes from God alone. I don't think there's anyone here who would take serious issue with that concept. But I'm afraid that if we leave it at that, we run the risk of settling for a pious sentiment that has no real bearing on what we actually do.

What I mean is that it's easy enough to say that we are dependent upon God in all that we do, and another thing entirely to be dependent upon God in all that we do. So often, we live our lives as if we're the ones in control. I know I certainly do. And what do we do when we have control over God's riches? We spend God's grace on trifles because we do not stop first to listen for what God would have us do. We let the seeds fall where they may, not taking care to plant them and water them and pray for God to give them abundant life and growth. We spend our money and our time and our energy on pursuing things that in the end benefit neither us nor the world around us.

As God asks through Isaiah, "Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy?" Why, indeed? I spent a lot of time contemplating this question at the end of my vacation, and this question struck me ultimately as a call to simplicity of life, but not the sort of simplicity I'm used to associating with that word. For in Isaiah, God asks the people of Israel why they "labor for that which does not satisfy" not to shame or guilt them on account of their abundance, but to invite them into an even greater abundance that springs from listening.

"Listen carefully to me, and eat what is good, and delight yourselves in rich food. Incline your ear, and come to me; listen, so that you may live."

This morning's reading from Isaiah is full of hope and anticipation. It is a promise of joy and peace. "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."

Through God's generous gifts comes a call to simple abundance, an abundance based in listening to how God is calling us to live so that we can give to others as well as nourish ourselves. "Ho, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and you that have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price."

Both Isaiah and Matthew point to a God who is generous beyond our wildest dreams, who models for us the sort of generosity that we ought to show others, regardless of who they are or whether they are "worthy" of our generosity. In our generosity we are called to simplicity, a simplicity that sees our abundance as something to be enjoyed and shared at the same time. For me, for instance, I have decided to use this summer to learn how to be a better teacher, so that the gifts God has already bestowed upon me may through attentive study be planted and nurtured and watered. Come harvest time, around September and October, I am hoping that I will have borne fruit that satisfies my students and delights in God's love.

I do not know, of course, what God may call you to do through these words. But let us pray: May we who hear the Word of God also understand it, so that we may know what we "ought to do, and also may have grace and power faithfully to accomplish them."