Seventh Sunday after Pentecost [Proper 15] (Green)
Sunday, July 16th, 2023
GENESIS 25:19-34; PSALM 119:105-112; ROMANS 8:1-11; MATT 13:1-9, 18-23
If I were pressed, I could tell you far more about the banjo than you might ever want to know. I could tell you that clawhammer style, where you play the banjo with just your thumb and your middle or index finger, makes for a mellower sound.
I could also tell you that it was Earl Scruggs, playing with Bill Monroe at the Grand Old Opry in 1945, who introduced the three-finger, super-fast, and hard-driving style of playing the banjo that you are probably familiar with from bluegrass.
If you played me a recording, I would be able to tell you the difference between a four-string banjo and a five-string banjo based on what style of music I was hearing.
And if you looked through my collection you would find music by Don Stover, Abigail Washburn, and bands with names like the Red Stick Ramblers, and compilations with titles like the Rounder Banjo Extravaganza, Live. I have a live recording of the Stanley Brothers that I bought at a concert by the legendary Ralph Stanley at the Freight and Salvage in Berkeley California at which I sat front and centre. And yes, I even have the Original Motion Picture Soundtrack of the film Deliverance.
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You can’t go to a festival like the Winnipeg Folk Festival and not hear a lot of banjo jokes. It’s a whole sub-genre, told largely by people who do not like the banjo, but who are onstage with a banjo player while said banjo player is interminably attempting to tune their banjo. They say things like “banjo players spend half their lives tuning their banjo, and the other half playing their banjo out of tune.” Or ask questions like, “What’s the difference between a banjo and a chainsaw? A chainsaw has dynamic range.” Or “What’s the difference between a banjo and an onion? No one cries when you cut up a banjo.” Or even, “What do you get when you throw a banjo off the Empire State Building? Applause.”
(You may need to be in attendance at a folk festival to find such jokes at all funny.)
And as much knowledge as I have of the banjo, and as much as I have a not insignificant collection of banjo music in my condo, I just might be on the side of the despisers of the banjo. I might like the banjo a whole lot more if only it actually sounded like a guitar.
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This notion, though—that one could have real understanding of something without love—would have been a difficult notion for the ancients, including Matthew. Or maybe more accurately, in the understanding of the ancient world, the mind and the heart are not so easily disentangled from one another.
Isaiah prophesied of a people whose hearts had grown dull, and that if only the people would understand with their heart, they would turn to the Lord for healing. And it is precisely those verses that Matthew quotes just before he explains the parable of the sower, the explanation we hear today.
Understanding is a key thing for Jesus as he interprets his own parable; in fact he says, of the seed that is sown on good soil: it is “the one who hears the word and understands it, who indeed bears fruit”; the one who hears the word and can set things together rightly, the one who has insight, is the one who bears fruit. But for Jesus, this understanding, this insight, is closely related to the heart, the seat of our desires and our affections.The word is even sown first in the heart; and when the word doesn’t take root in the heart, the word can’t be understood, and the evil one comes and snatches away the seed that is word.
And so if I were to say to Jesus, “You know Jesus, I have a deep understanding of the banjo. But I don’t really have much feeling for it,” Jesus would probably give me a very funny look, and say, “but Preston, you understand with your heart, and you love with your understanding. I don’t think you can do what you think you are doing. If you do not understand it, you cannot truly love it; and if you cannot love it, you will not understand it.”
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It’s almost as though what Jesus is saying is that you can have technical expertise about Christianity, but at the same time, neither understanding nor love for God.
You might hear all things about God and grace, but if you don’t understand with love, nothing will take root. And you will fall away.
You might hear all things about God and grace, and you might even feel joy! But if you haven’t the sort of understanding that takes root in your heart with the sort of love that can endure trouble or persecution? You will fall away.
You might hear all things about God and grace, but if you haven’t the sort of understanding that takes root in your heart with a love greater than your love of wealth? You will fall away.
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Stanley Hauerwas points out that the parables aren’t really all that complicated. And that Jesus is actually quite clear about what it takes to be a church with a depth of soil. If we are to be a church with any depth of soil, if we are to be a church that has any longevity, we will be a church that does not settle for the sort of simple joys that come with entertainment-style Christianity. Because Christianity that does little more than entertain will not survive trouble or persecution.
If we are to be a church with any depth of soil, if we are to be a church that has any longevity, we will be a church that does not love wealth. Because Christians that love wealth will not know how to love Jesus.
And so the task of the church is not to entertain, nor is it the task of Christians to be wealthy—the task of the church, the task of the Christian, is to grow in love and understanding of God, that is, to be a community of disciples of Jesus. It is this sort of discipleship, not concerned with being entertained at church, nor concerned with wealth, that will give the depth of soil that will lead to longevity and increase.
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Let’s finish and return to that sad and forlorn banjo.
We probably won’t settle the question of my love for banjo—because you could fairly well say, Preston, if you know that much about the banjo, and have that much banjo music, and if you really did sit front and centre at a Ralph Stanley concert at the Freight and Salvage, do you really hate the banjo? If you could ask that, you’d be well-placed to question my supposed dislike of that particular instrument.
But what I would say, in order to end on something of a note of grace, is that most of us are probably more like banjos than we might like to admit. We are unlovely instruments in the hands of someone who loves us nevertheless.
And that this is how we grow as subjects of love and understanding—it is by first being loved and understood, loved and understood by the God who knows what it is to be human: imperfect in the flesh, and yet made perfect by the Spirit of the God who resurrected Jesus, and who resurrects us.