Homily, Good Soil
The Seventh Sunday after the Pentecost, Proper 10A (2026)
St. Peter’s Episcopal Church
Plant City, FL
The Rev. Derek M Larson, TSSF
Today’s Lectionary Readings:
Isaiah 55:10-13
Psalm 65: (1-8), 9-14
Romans 8:1-11
Matthew 13:1-9,18-23
In the name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
Have you ever been to a place where from the most you step foot inside your shoulders just drop?
That was the phrase that one of the folks that joined us yesterday for a morning retreat at Saint Leo Abbey, a monastery about 40 minutes up the road, used when describing walking onto the campus.
“When I arrived my shoulders just dropped.”
How does that happen?
We don’t realize how often we hold our shoulders up. How often we hold tension in our bodies. Always walking around like we’re defending something, or we’re carrying something, or we’re competing with something. And there are very few places where we are naturally able to let go of all that tension.
We hold it at the grocery store. At our jobs. In traffic. In the doctor’s office. At school. Working on the computer.
And if we’re lucky our shoulders drop when we walk in the door to our homes. But even then maybe not always. We see the chores that need to be done. The children that need caring for. The loneliness that fills the house. And so our shoulders stay tense.
So what a gift it is, when we step foot into a place where our shoulders just drop. And isn’t it wonderful when this church is one of those places?
But I wonder, how does that happen? What creates the space conducive to that kind of relief?
I have a similar question about our gospel passage this morning. In it we hear a classic parable from St. Matthew often called the Parable of the Sower. It’s a story in which a sower spreads seed across different kinds of soil. The seed on the path gets eaten up by birds. The seed on the rock withers with no root. The seed in the thorns gets strangled by them. But the seed on good soil thrives.
When I read this passage I’m always left with the same question. What makes the good soil good? Who tended that ground to make it ready for seed, and why hadn’t they done the same amidst the rocks and thorns and birds?
The parable makes it sound like the quality of the soil was accidental. But someone cultivated the good soil. Someone tended to it. Someone created the environment conducive to the germination of seeds. And because of their work, life sprung up from the ground.
And I believe the same is true of spaces in which our shoulders can relax.
We live in a noisy, chaotic, demanding world. Full of rocks and thorns and birds. We live in a world of competition. And speed. And production. That demands our unending attention.
A world of gossip and politics, lust and insecurity, outrage and impatience.
A world that is simply not naturally conducive to the hearing of God’s voice and the peace that God brings. Because our shoulders are up. We’re on the defensive. We’re already filled with tension.
If the seeds of God’s love were spread across our land, three times out of four—at least—they would lie dormant or quickly wither.
And so again the question, what makes good soil good? What cultivates a place that is conducive to experiencing the peace and love of God?
That is the work of our parish. To cultivate good soil. To be the place where shoulders drop, hearts are opened, and grace is received. And it takes work.
Someone has to dig up the rocks. Someone has to cut back the thorns. Someone has to shoo off those birds.
Someone has to water the ground. Someone has to fertilize it. Someone has to protect it from pollution.
And that someone is each one of us. Together, we collectively tend the soil of this place, so that the grace of God that is planted here will grow amidst us.
The parish is not meant to be another place of busy noise demanding our attention, even if it is for something good. It is not meant to be another competition for the attention of souls—I’ve never liked that language of “winning souls for Christ.”
The parish is meant to be a community in which the quiet work of prayer and love cultivates an ecology of grace in which we can grow deeper into communion with God and one another.
So what does that look like? What does it look like for each one of us to take up the gardening tools that foster that kind of place?
First, we take up the tool of common prayer. By showing up each Sunday to join with others around the altar, and by gathering again at least once in the week for Morning or Evening Prayer, we water the soil with attention to God’s presence. With our common prayer we cultivate good soil.
Second, we take up the shovel and begin removing the rocks that keep us at arm’s length from one another. A garden cannot flourish when the ground is hard and shallow, and neither can a parish. We remove those rocks by learning one another’s names, by lingering after worship instead of rushing home, by calling someone during the week, by inviting someone to lunch, by noticing those who are missing. Every friendship that grows is another stone lifted from the field. With our shared life together, we cultivate good soil.
Third, we take up the pruning shears and cut back the thorns that threaten to choke new life. The thorns of insisting on our own way. The thorns of, “We’ve always done it this way.” The thorns of protecting our own preferences instead of making room for something new. Every time we choose openness over preference, we pull another thorn from the garden. With our openness to one another, we cultivate good soil.
Fourth, we shoo away the birds of anxiety, impatience, and judgment that threaten us when ministry takes more time than we’d like or when people fail us or when we would have done things another way. We exercise grace whenever we experience miscommunication or the lack of communication, always giving people the benefit of the doubt. We recognize that it is the collaborative work of ministry that is often more important than the end result, for the goal is communion. With our patient love for one another, we cultivate good soil.
All of these and more are part of the work of cultivating good soil in the parish, and we are well on the path of this work, but there is always work to do in the garden.
A garden doesn’t tend itself, and neither does the culture of a parish. It is up to us to cultivate an environment here conducive to growing the peace and love of God in us. A place where prayer is more natural than panic. Where relationships matter more than efficiency. Where grace is offered more quickly than judgment. A place where upon the first step of arrival, shoulders drop, hearts open, and grace is received. Because it is a place of good soil. Amen.
Questions for Reflection
- What roles do I play in my local parish community in helping to cultivate good soil?
- What rocks, thorns, or birds show up in my parish community that I can help remove?
- Which of the four ways of cultivating a good parish culture in this homily most resonates with God’s call on my life?
Thoughts on Faith 