Second Sunday after the Epiphany (Year 2, NL)

Seeds do not grow without soil, and soil is a factor of place.

The psalms of ascent press hard against the norms of our bootstrap culture.

They put us in touch with essential things that we know to be dear or wrong.

When predictable things are replaced by elusive ones

The people come, bringing something of themselves. Then they leave.

In God's kingdom, sometimes less is more.

It’s a beautiful plant. It’s also an invasive weed.

My Western side longs for more activity in this parable, but I'm trying to listen to my Eastern side.

Unabated cultural frivolity rules our churches, too.

On first reading, the two parables in today's Gospel text seem to make less and less sense. In the first, a sower seems to leave the seed to fend for itself. In the second, a tiny mustard seed becomes a bush large enough for its branches to provide shelter for birds. (In Matthew's telling, it's a full-size tree!) When we stop to think about it, both parables are preposterous.

Like the stories that come before it, the storm at sea is a parable of reversal.

I have come to realize how mysterious a thing a seed is.

To be a follower of the one who promised that the kingdom of God is like a mustard seed is to expect a blessed in-breaking of peace.

The Prodigal Son is often read to mean that God loves sinners, whereas the Jews thought God only loved the righteous. This makes no sense.

Six words of scripture always transport me to an amazing place: “The kingdom of heaven is like . . .”

These parables are like God's joke in the form of an invasive species.

A new reformation of the seed and the corn is evolving.

Some 50 years ago, Merton warned us about what can happen when “all words have become alike.”