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Stairs to Nowhere                        Matthew 13: 1-9                   July 13, 2008

As I prepared myself, this week, for my second mission trip to the Mississippi Gulf Coast, several things crossed my mind.

One was the weather. I checked the local forecast on line, and as I expected, it's pretty boring. Day after day of temperatures in the 90s and humidity in the mid-70s. Basically a sauna. You don't go to Mississippi in July and expect cool, crisp days.

Another was my list of things to bring along. Same as last year. Shorts, t-shirts, work shoes with protective toes, bug spray. All packed and ready to go.

But the thing that came back to my mind, again and again, as I prepared for this year's week in Mississippi, was an image from last year's trip. An image from one of the many pictures that I took on that journey. An image that remains etched in my memory - and a sight that I wonder if I'll see again this year.

The picture that I will always recall from last year's trip was one that I took in the City of Biloxi. It is a picture of what was left of a house that had been standing only a few hundred feet from the Gulf of Mexico.

The only thing left of this particular house on this particular piece of property, etched in my mid by this particular photograph, was a stairway. Standing in the middle of nothing else that was identifiable. All of the rest of the rubble that once was someone's home had been cleared away. All that was left was a stairway. A set of stairs to nowhere.

That stairway, for me, is a metaphor for the journey I'm about to take - and seven other members of our congregation have already started. It symbolizes, perhaps as well as anything could, the reason we've decided to spend time and energy and funds helping the ongoing recovery efforts in that part of the Country. Because it not only symbolizes the need - which is great, to be sure - but it also symbolizes the hope for the future that all of the people involved in the recovery effort possess.

You see, I think that whoever decided to leave that stairway to nowhere on that particular piece of Biloxi land did so to remind everyone who saw it that God is not finished with the people of the Mississippi Gulf Coast. That God still has plans for the Kingdom of Heaven to exist in Biloxi and Gulfport and Ocean Springs and New Orleans. That the extravagant plans that God has for the future of God's people, plans that are worth singing and dancing about, include the people whose lives were forever changed when a hurricane named Katrina arrived on an August day in 2005.

That stairway is a reminder, for me, of the extravagance of God. That with God, nothing - absolutely nothing - is impossible.

Our Gospel lesson for today underscores this rather outrageous notion. It is the familiar Parable of the Sower.

Speaking in parables, as we regular readers of the Bible well know, was Jesus' favorite method of teaching about the Kingdom of God. And this parable is the first one recorded in Matthew's Gospel. It is a vivid example of how God works in the world. It is also punctuated with a strong directive: "Let anyone with ears listen," Jesus says. "Listen up. Pay close attention."

"A sower went out to sow," he tells his listeners, "And as he sowed, some seeds fell on the path, and the birds came and ate them up. Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and they sprang up quickly, since they had no depth of soil. But when the sun rose, they were scorched; and since they had no root, they withered away. Other seeds fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked them. Other seeds fell on good soil and brought forth grain, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty."

I think I've read this parable a hundred times. The story is recorded in all three of what we call the "Synoptic Gospels" - Matthew, Mark and Luke, in pretty much the same form. It's one of those sayings of Jesus that everyone agrees is central to his message. I've also probably heard or read at least a dozen sermons on the text.

And, more often than not, this parable is interpreted with a focus on the soil, rather than the sower. Making it a parable about us rather than one about the workings of God. Countless preachers and teachers have used it to challenge us to be more like the good soil. Free of rocks and weeds and other distractions. Receptive to the Word of God.

One of the more popular interpretations of this parable is the one acted out in the play "Godspell." In it, four actors dressed like clowns play the seeds scattered about by the sower.

The first "seed" lands on a path and other actors making crow noises peck him to death.

The second "seed" lands on rocky ground and sprouts, but soon is scorched by rays from a big, yellow, cardboard sun held aloft by another member of the cast.

The third "seed" meets a similar fate among "thorns" who choke him.

And finally, the "seed" cast on good soil comes fully to life - to the delight and applause of the rest of the actors on stage - and most of the audience.

And the message? Well, clearly, it is this: Do whatever you can to be "good soil," so that the seeds sown by Jesus' message can grow and prosper.

Don't get me wrong, that is not a bad interpretation of this passage. It just may not be the best interpretation. We may just have it backwards. I believe that this parable is not primarily about what good soil we are, and how well we understand the divine mysteries. This parable is, instead, about what God is doing.

One scholar puts it this way: "What if it is not about our own successes and failures and birds and rocks and thorns but about the extravagance of a sower who does not seem to be fazed by such concerns, who flings seed everywhere, wastes it with holy abandon, who feeds the birds, whistles at the rocks, picks his way through the thorns, shouts hallelujah at the good soil and just keeps on sowing, confident that there is enough seed to go around, that there is plenty, and that when the harvest comes at last it will fill every barn in the neighborhood to the rafters?" *

If we think about it, this sower-focused interpretation of the Parable has huge implications for the way we attempt to be the Church.

In many ways, I believe our congregation is on the right track. We already do lots of things that suggest we understand the extravagant nature of God.

• We open our doors and decorate our sanctuary and deploy our resources to offer a free, welcoming vacation bible school to every child in this neighborhood, despite the cost. Even though there are plenty of birds pecking in that piece of ground.
• We offer food, through our Fishes & Loaves pantry, to anyone who comes in the door and tells us they are in need, even though some would argue that there are those who take advantage of our generosity. It can be rocky soil, indeed.
• We send money to support a village in Tanzania, even though we know that the complexity of the problem is overwhelming. Even though thorns are everywhere.
• And we support mission trips to the Mississippi Gulf Coast so that a few of us can have the privilege of making a difference to a few of our brothers and sisters who struggle to put their lives back together. Even though it is soil where no rational farmer would attempt to plant.

We do all of this because we believe in the extravagant power of our God.

And while all of us can feel good about the efforts we are already making, the Parable of the Sower reminds us that there is still more to be done.

Every one of us needs to find ways to throw around seeds of mercy, grace, and love even if the soil doesn't appear to be that receptive to them. The fact that birds will eat some of our seeds and thorns choke others is not our concern. We are called to keep on lavishly, foolishly, wastefully, even, scattering the seed of God's word. God scatters these seeds. . .everywhere, and we should, too.

Ask yourself this question: Are you actively scattering seed? If not, grab a bagful. There's plenty for everyone, and everyone can participate. Some people can talk to their friends and neighbors quite openly about their faith in God. Others can try to show their Christian faith by example. Some can serve on our congregation's outreach committee, and others can perform random acts of kindness. All of these, and more, can be ways of sowing seed.

Remember, a lot of our seed will fall in places where it never takes root. Some of it will fall in places where it gets a good start but doesn't last. Some of it will fall in places where it will get choked out by competing interests.

And since we can't predict just how or where the seed is going to fall, or when or if it is going to produce, we just scatter it wherever we can and hope for the best.

Two guitars hang on the wall at Camp Victor, the outpost for our Gulf Coast mission efforts. The guitars are there for everyone's use. Like everything else at Camp Victor, they are for sharing.

There's a sign on the wall under the guitars that invites people to play them, but the terms of use include a caveat. "No playing 'Stairway to Heaven,'" it says.

The sign, of course, refers to the overplayed, often poorly played Led Zeppelin classic by that name, but it's ironic, don't you think, that of all the songs that could have been prohibited, the writer of the sign - presumably the donor of the guitars - chose that one.

For you see, Camp Victor, the launching platform for so many efforts to carry out the extravagant, foolish, rock, thorn and bird-ignoring, seed-scattering mission of God, is itself a stairway to the Kingdom of Heaven. A place where a staircase pointing to nowhere can be transformed into a Stairway to Heaven. Where God's Kingdom and the kingdom of this world are drawn together.

Pray for our team of Gulf Coast missionaries, my friends. We'll have lots of stories to tell when we return, I'm sure. And also pray that God reveals a way for each of us to extravagantly, generously, foolishly scatter seed - as some of us we will be privileged to do this week, as we take stairways to nowhere and make them into stairways to heaven.

                                                                             AMEN

* Barbara Brown Taylor, The Seeds of Heaven, p. 26

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