Wicker Park Lutheran Church
Vicar Sarah Freyermuth
July 12, 2026
Have you ever read one of Jesus’ parables and thought, “ugh, why can’t he just tell us what this is supposed to mean?”
Well today might seem to be our lucky day, because in the second half of our Gospel, Jesus goes on to do just that. He turns the parable of the sower into a neat allegory, explaining exactly how each different type of soil describes a different type of person. This has made the meaning of this parable seem so deliciously clear—we just have to focus on being good soil, make sure we’re not like all those other rocky or thorny people.
Except as I was reading the Gospel this week, I found myself wishing that the second half of it didn’t exist. And honestly, it likely didn’t come out of Jesus’ mouth—the Biblical Archaeology Society’s research suggests that Jesus never explained the original parable of the sower. It was likely the authors of the Gospel that added in such a tidy, satisfying explanation.
Now you might be wondering, why does it really matter? But I think it matters a lot in this case, because Jesus often left his parables purposefully mystifying and open-ended to challenge his listeners. He didn’t want to give them easy answers but instead wanted to push them to turn inward and ask deeper questions.
You see when we read this parable through the lens of Matthew’s explanation, it quickly becomes a parable that divides people into these fixed, immovable categories: good soil and bad soil, faithful people and unfaithful people, fruitful people and… everyone us.
When we read this parable in that way it doesn’t really call us to ask deeper questions, but instead pushes us to render judgments against one another. And I don’t think that’s what Jesus would have been trying to do here.
So, to get us back to typical Jesus parable fashion, I don’t want to explore a clear, easy explanation of this Gospel. Instead, I want to ask a couple of deeper questions that I think could help us break open this parable in a new way.
First, I wonder if we could think about the different kinds of soil in this parable not as different kinds of people, but rather as different seasons of life that we all go through?
I can speak for myself when I say that I have been every single one of these soils. Yes, there have been times that I’ve been lucky enough to feel at peace with God, where I’ve felt God’s love so acutely that I couldn’t help it from bursting out of me and bearing fruit. But there have also been plenty of times when I’ve simply gone through the motions, plodding along the well-worn path. When I’ve shown up to church and participated in the rituals and spoken the words to the Lord’s Prayer, but have struggled to feel God’s presence. There have been times when I’ve hit rocky patches, when it’s been all I could do to get through the daily responsibilities, much less cultivate the roots of my relationship with God. And there have been times that I’ve felt choked by the thorns of competing priorities, by societal pressure to do more and have more and be more. And I know that you likely understand, that all of you have likely experienced what it feels like to be all four different types of soil too.
What’s incredibly beautiful about this parable is that Jesus never says “Woe to you, rocky soil.” He never condemns the well-worn path or shames the thorns that choke the seed. And I think this frees us to think about this parable not as a story about division or judgment, but as a story about how God’s never-ending love and grace continues to show up within the reality of our human brokenness.
Sometimes, blessedly, we are flourishing. But sometimes we are exhausted and distracted and disconnected, and so thanks be to God that we have a God who keeps sowing anyway. You see, the sower in our Gospel sows seeds with such abundant generosity that it appears wasteful by human standards. I mean what competent farmer would scatter seeds among thorns? And yet this is exactly what God’s grace looks like. Our God is not a God who waits for us to be in a season of good soil before loving us. Our God does not hold back grace until we are perfect or we have everything together. Instead, God scatters love all over us with a reckless abundance, trusting that even if our lives are rocky today, our soil may always bear fruit tomorrow.
Because soil does change—thorns can be cut, weeds can be pulled, rocky ground can be broken up and softened. And that brings me to my second question that I think can help us think about this parable in a new way.
What if this parable isn’t simply a call for us to tend our own soil, but is an invitation for us to be better gardeners, to ensure that everyone can access the good soil?
You see, it’s hard to access good soil when you’re trapped beneath the thorns of oppression. It’s hard not to be distracted by the cares of this age when you’re struggling to put food on the table for your family, or wondering how you’re going to pay your medical bills. It’s hard to keep God’s word rooted deeply in your heart when you’ve felt the pain of religious trauma, or when you don’t have a faith community to catch you and hold you through the seasons of rockiness.
Perhaps this parable is calling us to ask “How can we break up the rocks of judgment and shame, so that it’s easier for someone else to encounter God’s grace? How can we tear out the thorns of poverty and systemic injustice, so that our neighbors are able to flourish? How can we build up communities so that those who are lonely and in pain can access the safety and freedom to till God’s garden together?”
I have seen this community do just that. Over the last year, I have watched you break open the rocks of hunger as you have prepared meals for Night Ministry and donated to our ministry partners. I have seen you cut off the thorns of bigotry and exclusion as you have stood with our neighbors at San Timoteo and La Trinidad. I have rejoiced as you replaced the well-worn path with an ADA accessible elevator, building up this church’s garden into a place where all can enter and flourish.
And–I’m going to try hard not to cry here!!–I have also seen this congregation become good soil for me. A year ago I arrived as your pastoral intern, incredibly nervous for the year ahead and not at all sure about what God had in store for me.
But over the past year, you have broken up the rocks of my fear, and shown me what a vibrant ministry rooted in love truly looks like in practice. You have cut away the thorns of my insecurities, and helped me cultivate the soil of my pastoral calling. You all have encouraged me and laughed with me and trusted me and taught me far more than I could ever hope to teach you. Wherever I end up in the future, I know that the seeds God has sown in my heart throughout this year will continue to fuel me and bear fruit for the rest of my life because of your incredible, reckless generosity toward me.
I think this parable reminds us of one of the hardest things about ministry–that we don’t always get to see the harvest. I have seen you all water and tend so many seeds this year, seeds that I know will bear fruit in unexpected and incredible ways. And even though I wish I could, I know that I won’t get to see all the fruit that is borne. And the truth is, many of you likely won’t get to see every seed bear fruit either. There will be times when the seeds the church so lovingly tends and prunes may appear barren, times when we begin to wonder whether it’s worth it. And yet this parable calls us to garden anyway. To garden extravagantly, trusting that it is always worth it, trusting that God will bring new life in ways that are beyond our wildest imagination.
The prophet Isaiah reminds us in our first reading that we have a God who declares “As the rain and the snow come down from heaven, 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.” What an incredible promise, that God’s word keeps growing, that God’s seed will always find a way to flourish in God’s time. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for allowing me to till alongside you for a short while, and I pray that as you continue to make this church into a garden where every person can access good soil, you may know that the promise of God’s abundant, reckless love goes with you. Amen.