It's not that I dislike change, or speed, or nimble decision-making. I'm actually envious of Chuck's ability to have a business that moves quickly and seems to be able to always adapt on the fly. I also love measurable outcomes and efficient work charts. For those of you who have taken the Myers Briggs Personality test, you'll know what I mean when I say that I'm a "J." For those of you not familiar with the test, it means I'm the type of person who relishes order and judgment and protocol. But when I look at the church, the slow and somewhat disorderly institution that I love so dear, I realize that it's neither business nor machine. At its best it's a living organism. Paul's language about the church as Jesus' body in the world and Jesus' own earthy metaphors are right on target. The community of God's people is a living, breathing thing. You can't make a living, breathing, moving thing change by changing out parts or by instituting policy decisions. You influence change in livi ng things by teaching or by example, through prayer and guidance, in living and working together over the long course of time.

I have come to realize that ministry is a long-view profession, much like other forms of education. When you look at a kindergarten classroom, you may be forward thinking enough to see that it will take a wise teacher's vision today in order to prepare this group of 5 year-old nose-pickers and latent thumb-suckers for a lifetime of learning, for professions that require higher math, computer programming, or speaking another language. But in that classroom, everyone knows, you start with the basics. Learn to read. Learn to share. Learn not to hit. Spiritual development comes like this kind of learning, in small bites that accumulate to form the bigger picture. It takes time, a long time, a life time. It happens not just at church, but in all our life experiences - just like not all that children learn comes through their classroom education.

The parable of the sower is a parable about life and about learning. As my friend and colleague Dr. George Fisher pointed out in his time of teaching here for this year's Jack Davidson lecture, understanding this parable requires an observance that we may have lost as our lifestyles have moved far from an agricultural base. Watching what happens to seed and the land, Jesus tells us, teaches us something about people and how they grow in spiritual ways. In most contemporary readings of this parable, it seems as though there are three failures and only one success. The seeds on the path get eaten. The seeds in rocky soil don't have enough nourishment so they wither and die. The seeds sown with briars get choked out. And the only success story comes from the seeds sown in good soil. Dr. Fisher, in his ecological study of this time period, notes that anyone who has tried to grow crops in a fickle climate might recognize that all these seed scenarios are useful in some way, not complete failures. The land is renewed over time through seedlings that wilt and die to become humus, and the land is renewed through briars and weeds that reach down long roots and break up hard soil allowing it to absorb rain. The seed that falls on good soil and yields an enormous crop are rare indeed.

In fact, when we begin to think of seeds as people, as Jesus tries to explain this parable to us who may not exactly have the trained ears to hear - Dr. Fisher encourages us to sense a budding disconnect. I don't know about you, but I'm not sure that I've seen in my life a surprising yield of faith that could be described in such bountiful ways as multiplying by a hundredfold. It's easier for me to describe times in which God's word sown in me was snatched away, or disappeared when times got tough, or was choked out by my own worldly concerns. But I love his optimistic view that even those times are necessary for the land, or for my own heart, to be renewed. Those times when God's Word did not fully get planted or grow to fruition were still times of growth in spirit. Those times when the world got the better of me, perhaps some rain was getting through, and the soil was becoming softer and richer in its nutrient value.

Yes, it's the long view, the slow view, the view that says - dally a while on the path, watch what happens season after season. Allow time for God's word to germinate. The Bible is certainly a long view book. It has more generations of characters in it that a James Mitchner novel - many of which I've started and abandoned a few chapters into the book. But this story of God's own people is our reminder that God is faithful season after season after season. We get caught up in the here and now. We want our spiritual revelations to be sudden and complete. We want a hearty yield without experiencing the wilting of the seedlings or the choking of the briars. It's not likely to happen that way. This parable tells us that we will get bumped and bruised along the way by things we do to ourselves and the things we do to others.

Tending and loving the land in a biblical way is a long, long project. In our highly mobile society, we forget what it's like to know a piece of property for generations, to have a feel for its trees and streams and soil. When was the last time you heard something as eloquent written about the land than the poetry of Isaiah? "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." I know that it's a catch word in today's ecological and political buzz - but God promises sustainability. I say that, not to be cute or obsessively green, but to acknowledge something important. God is far more capable than human beings to see the long arch of history and human behavior. Realizing how many times in scripture alone that humankind seemed to be a failed project and how many times God promised and delivered a new hope - well, it seems pretty unbelievable really. God has a similar compassion for the land, for all of creation. Renewal happens through some pretty basic assumptions. Plants renew themselves in decomposition cycles. Humans are surprisingly similar to the rest of creation. We are renewed through the ebb and flow of life. Sometimes it takes a few seasons for us to repeat our patterns enough to see where we could do better. When the "aha" happens, God's word can sink into us a little deeper, and produce a little more, until we are multiplying by a hundredfold the good gifts God has given us.

In the church, we want results fast. We want new members, new attitudes, new whatever it is that would give us the spiritual push forward to be a booming congregation. However, taking the time to cultivate new relationships seems dated and boring. Observing the small but significant steps toward spiritual renewal is much like watching grass grow. Thank goodness God is in it for the long, long story - the one in which God is the beginning and the ending. My slice of time here is limited, but in very precious ways. I encourage you to take the time. Take the time to note the lessons of the land, the small steps on the way to being an actual "hearer" of God's word. It may surprise you how delightful it can be to imagine the joy, the peace, the rest that comes from allowing the mountains and trees show you the long view.

Amen.