Sun, 28 October 2018
Homily on St. Luke 8:4-15 (the Parable of the Sower)
Love God, love your neighbor. Simple, right? We all do and now enjoy a blissful life, free of all stress, and strong with ability to easily overcome all challenges. Class dismissed. Nope.
The command is easy, but for most people this love simply doesn't seem to take root. For some, it doesn't ever even seem to have started sprouting at all!
The parable of the seeds and the different soils is so apt.
But why is it so hard to love God? To love our neighbor? Love is awesome; God is awesome, our neighbor is, if not completely awesome, at least a human being, deserving of our support, encouragement, and sacrifice. Didn't our hearts break yesterday when we heard of strangers being massacred at the synagogue yesterday? Isn't that proof that we, at the very least, have the instinct and capacity to follow these two simple commandments – to love?
Yes, it does. But odds are, the loss and outrage we feel will not last. History suggests that our desire to create a more peaceful society will last about as long as the media stokes our outrage and that the outrage will not provide the motivation to make the sacrifices necessary foe us to make the changes in our lives that will allow us to become the kind of peaceful people that can reliably counter violence.
We are the seeds on the rocks; who “sprang up,” then “withered away because they lacked moisture.” We received the word with joy; but have no root; we believe for a while but then when actual work is required – when it comes time to change ourselves rather than just criticizing the world, we fall away.
We shouldn't be surprised that we fail at loving God and loving our neighbor. Look at how we do with romance and even marriage. We don't love. We have strong feelings then refuse to make the sacrifices and changes to ourselves to allow love to flourish even in the face of temptations.
We aren't serious about love. We are serious about our feelings. Our feelings of outrage at our enemies, our feelings of outrage at our neighbors; our warm and fuzzy feelings of devotion to our flavor-of-the-day romantic partners, both real and virtual. Our alternating feelings of outrage and towards thankfulness towards our God (as if we had ever really taken the time to know Him).
We are Christians. Better yet, we are human beings. Made in the image of God. With the power to be His hands and heart and the calling to bring peace and prosperity to the world. But we refuse to take the challenge of love seriously.
There are always excuses not to engage. To stay home. To horde our spiritual and material resources. To keep our roots from going deep.
Am I being too harsh? After all, all of us here have offered up these, the very best hours of the week. We could have done anything with them, but we have gathered here to offer them to God or, at the very least, to sacrifice them for the peace and support of our family. This is good, but it's not magic. If the rest of our week isn't dedicated to making those same kind of sacrifices – made within the contexts of family life, work life, and friendships, then the roots won't take.
Even if you take Communion. Again, it's not magic. The goal is to have Christ is us and us in Him, but He won't turn you into his meat puppet. He wants friends to work with Him, not slaves. He wants to be strong and courageous, patient and kind because you are living a live of strength, courage, patience and kindness; not because He has given you some kind of magic pill on a spoon. Communion is real and the grace is real. But putting this grace into someone who isn't serious about love – about real sacrificial love – is like putting premium gas into broke down car with a leaky tank. It won't somehow transform a rusty POS into a performance car, ready for the weekend show. That kind of change takes work AND gasoline.
We're here at this Liturgy and we're here in this life. Let's not waste our time and let's not waste the time we have to to good. Let's deny our selfishness, our laziness, and our pride... and learn to love.