A sower went out to sow. It was early, and the sun was just rising. And his dreams from the night’s sleep were still fresh in his mind. The sower had dreamed that a choir of birds, directed by a bright red cardinal, had gathered on branches in the trees around him, and sung to him. The music was unfamiliar, but he knew where the words came from, the prophet Isaiah:
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.
Then the birds flew off, all except the cardinal, who stayed perched on a branch, looking at the sower, and seeming to smile at him, though admittedly it is hard to tell when a cardinal is smiling. But it was a dream, after all.
A rocky path with thorny bushes on either side led to the field that the sower had planned to sow. Arriving at his field, the sower encountered, there on the path, a representative of the Office of Sowing and Reaping, wearing a face mask, and latex gloves, waiting for him.
The sower had a sack of seeds slung over his shoulder. The man from the Sowing and Reaping had a clipboard in his hand.
“What’s your plan?” asked the guy from OSR.
“Gonna sow these seeds,” said the sower. “Gonna reap the rewards, too, come harvest time.”
The man with the clipboard from OSR responded with a soft grunt, then said, “Let’s see what yer gonna do.”
The sower reached his right hand into the sack of seed, and drew out a handful of seed, little streams of seed flowing out between his fingers.
“Not so fast,” said the guy from Sowing and Reaping, tapping the clipboard. “Guidelines here, for a time of pandemic.”
The OSR rep had a small sealed packed, about half the size of a packet of onion soup mix, clipped under the clip of his clipboard. He unclipped it and handed it to the sower. “There you go,” he said.
The sower tore open the top of the packet, and pulled out a pair of tweezers, just the right size to grasp a single, small seed. He gave the OSR guy a pained, quizzical look.
“One at a time,” the fed said. “And six feet apart.”
The sower began to protest, but the OSR guy shushed him. “It’s all here in the regs,” he said, tapping the clipboard. “And no more than 25 in a field.” His tone was not aggressive, just clear and uncompromising.
The sower felt his heart sink for a moment. He reached into the seed bag with the tiny tweezers and pulled out a single seed, looked at it worriedly, and began to walk the last few steps from the stony path toward the freshly tilled, dark, loamy soil.
But the OSR guy stopped him. “Did you wash those seeds?” he asked.
The sower’s jaw dropped, and he looked at the OSR guy with incredulity.
“Can’t sow seeds that haven’t been washed,” the guy said. “Twice.”
The sower had never washed a seed before, but with a heavy sigh, he began to turn around on the stony path, in order to return to the shed and figure out a way to get this done and still get his seeds in the ground before the heat of the day. But the OSR guy stopped him again, saying, “Can’t use those now; they might be contaminated. Gotta dump em out.”
The sower was stunned. This was his only bag of seeds, and he was depending on it to get him through the long, hot summer. He could hardly believe what he was about to do, and he had no idea how he would survive if he did it. But the look on the other man’s face told him that there were no other options. “Right here?” asked the sower.
“Yes, here,” said the man from Sowing and Reaping.
So the sower, slowly and reluctantly took the seed bag from his shoulder, and turned it upside down, emptying the contents on the rocky path, and in the thorny bushes planted on the path and around the field to keep the rabbits out.
The guy from OSR held out the clipboard, and said, “Sign here.” Then the official turned on his heel and headed on his way down the rocky path.
The sun had now risen, and the sower was feeling defeated. There was no more seed in the shed. This had been his only bag of seed. Of course, he didn’t want to spread disease. But how could anyone grow anything in these circumstances? As he turned to walk home, he noticed a bright red cardinal sitting in the lower branches of a nearby tree, but the details of his dream that night had already faded from his mind in the face of this disheartening encounter. He walked the long walk home, poured himself a cup of coffee, and sat on the porch, feeling lost and defeated, not knowing what to do, and ready to give up.
The cardinal had seen it all. He, too, had been sent to the sower’s field that day, but not by the Office of Sowing and Reaping. Sitting on his branch, he began to call to the other birds, with his high, forceful calls. And within minutes, a small flock of a wide variety of birds had gathered: not only other cardinals, but starlings, and wrens, robins, and doves, bluejays, and even an owl, looking very sleepy indeed.
To this flock the cardinal spoke:
“Brothers and sisters,” he said, “as you noticed, a large supply of seed has been abandoned here on the rocky path below me, and in the thorny bushes, and among the weeds. To you, this situation appears to be a bonanza of good fortune, and I promise you that no one will leave here hungry. But first, I have been sent as a messenger so that sowers everywhere will know that their sowing is not in vain, even when things seem hopeless.
“The sower who sows this field is at home right now, feeling sad, and ready to give up, wondering how he will survive. He is questioning his faith not only in God but in his fellow man. He is in a dark mood.
“Long ago, God saw how often such moods fall upon the children of men in the face of setbacks, disappointment, and struggle. He sent a prophet to them to assure them that even in tough times, God is with them, and hope is not lost.
“Unlike birds, you see, men have a hard time seeing the hand of God at work in the world. They are prone to doubt and disbelieving. They find it easy to give up on God. This sower, for instance, does not know that God’s purposes will be fulfilled, precisely because they are God’s purposes. He suspects that what happens in that field, or in any field, is more or less up to him. And while he would tell you that he does not believe that, he does, in fact, act as though it’s entirely up to him, and like he’s all alone in his work.
“But, for whatever reasons, God does not give up on his people. And I have been sent from a special, secret office in the precincts of heaven to supervise a small but meaningful intervention today, for the sake of one sower, who, as I say, is home brooding about his misfortune at this very moment.
“You see the seed scattered before you. Work with me, my friends, to sow this field. All of us together, can accomplish the task in a trice. And there is, as I say, more than enough seed here to sow the field, and then for all of us to feast with what remains on the rocky path. In the Name of God, I ask, are you with me?”
A great flapping of wings brought with it a response as the birds all called out in their own songs, and it sounded for a moment like an orchestra tuning, in preparation for the music to come. The birds descended on the scattered piles of seeds, and each according to his ability carried seeds with its beak or its talons from the rocky path to the dark, loamy soil, leaving long rows of seeds planted without any restrictions at all. Before long, the entire field had been sown. Just as the cardinal had promised, there was plenty of seed left lying there on the rocky path and in the bushes for the birds to feast, and then to depart feeling satisfied, singing as they went, and receiving a word of thanks from the cardinal.
Back at home, the sower had fallen into something of a depression. He found it hard to get up out of bed. Life seems to have no purpose or meaning, and he felt entirely alone in the world. He stopped answering his phone, and hadn’t shaved in days.
But after a week or so, the cloud of depression lifted just enough for him to decide to go outside for a morning walk in the direction of the field he had planned to sow. As he got closer, he noticed a lot of bird activity, and he figured, of course, they have come to eat the pile of discarded seed left scattered on the path and in the thorns. But as he approached the field, his eyes seemed to be deceiving him. Bright green shoots, in slightly uneven but unmistakeable rows, were sprouting up from the field. The sower stood at the edge of the field with something more than amazement in his heart - yes, he was sure it was love that was filling his heart. And that’s when the birds began to sing.
They were not, as you already know, birds of a feather. They were starlings, and wrens, robins, and doves, bluejays, and even a sleepy owl, with a cardinal leading them all. And although each bird sang its own call, each bird heard the others singing in its own language. And the sower heard them singing in his language, as they warbled the words of the prophet:
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.
Rain fell, and watered the seedlings, and the sun shone, and they grew. Every day the sower would walk dow the rocky path to visit the field and watch it grow. And every day a cardinal sat in the lower branches of a nearby tree, keeping watch. And the man from the Office of Sowing and Reaping never returned, confident that he had done what was required. And late that summer the sower harvested the grain. It was a lean year, but it was a good year.
And the sower learned that although there are failures and setbacks, and sometimes you cannot see the way out of a problem, when God’s word goes forth from his mouth it does not return to him empty, but it accomplishes that which he purposes, and it succeeds in the thing for which he sent it.
Thanks be to God.
Preached by Fr. Sean Mullen
12 July 2020
Saint Mark’s Church, Locust Street, Philadelphia
