Liturgy in Context

As an inveterate, life-long avoider of anything to do with gardening, I have never really understood the parable of the sower and the seed. Oh, I had some general idea that there was such a thing as good ground and not-so-good ground, and I got that it is easier for the word to take root in an open, fertile heart than in one choked with thorns, but my understanding didn’t go much further than that. The seed of that parable finally blossomed into epiphany this past April, which marked the beginning of my first spring as a homeowner — or, perhaps more to the point, as a yard-owner. 

True to my bookish nature, I spent some quality time that winter poring over treatises on gardening, learning all about the wonders of fescue and even managing to acquire a tentative grasp of the difference between an annual and a perennial. But nothing could have prepared me for the springtime reality of watching my new yard blossom into a field of every weed known to botanical science. If it was “wild,” I had it and had it in abundance — wild geraniums, wild onions, wild garlic, wild strawberries, wild violets — but the profusion of cheerful little yellow flowers soon proved that the dominant species in my backyard was none other than that bête noire of gardeners everywhere, the dandelion. As I looked out on that carpet of yellow, I finally made the connection with the parable. The despair I felt upon contemplating sowing grass seed in a yard like this is what we often feel when working to sow our message of Christ’s love in a world that is anything but “good ground.” 

So, I hit the books again. I read about such esoteric issues as soil pH, dandelion taproots, and core aeration while the dandelions lay in wait outside. At one point I threw up my hands in despair. But one Saturday morning, by the grace of God, I suddenly felt a sense of calm come over me. Reasoning that dandelion flowers eventually turn into dandelion seeds and that dandelion seeds turn back into you-know-what, I grabbed an old bucket, went out into one little corner of the backyard, and simply picked the first dandelion flower that I saw. I picked dandelions for about two hours that day, filling and emptying the bucket twice. And since I was out in the yard already, I reasoned, planting some impatiens wouldn’t be so hard, would it? It was just a little raking and a little composting, after all. (Three trips to the garden center and several hours’ work later, I realized that there’s no such thing as a small job — but that’s a story for another day.) 

That weekend was a turning point in my life as a gardener. I realized that all the reading in the world can never substitute for getting out there and getting your hands good and dirty. It was also a turning point in my life as a follower of Christ, for I began to truly understand that we are all called to be doers of the word (Jas 1:22), to sow the seeds, and to nurture “good ground.” If indeed ours are the hands with which Christ sows the seeds of love in the world, we must all get our hands dirty — and it really is as simple as getting out there and picking that first dandelion or offering that first smile to a stranger. Extending a hand in heartfelt welcome to someone who may not have “darkened the door” of a church in decades can be that first tentative little trowel, breaking through years of hardpan surrounding a heart long buried in bitterness. With the grace of God, we may all be part of the process of making the entire world into “good ground,” in which the seeds of the word can blossom into love. ML

Deanna Light is a published liturgical composer, guitarist, vocalist, lecturer, and workshop presenter involved with parish music and liturgy ministry. She holds a master’s in liturgical studies from the Catholic University of America.

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