There is something strange about today’s Gospel passage. The farmer seems careless. He throws good seed onto a footpath, into rocks, and among thorns. Any experienced farmer would call that wasteful. So why does Jesus tell the story that way? Is he encouraging us to be wasteful?
The Parable of the Sower which we read in today’s Gospel passage is one of the most familiar parables in the Bible. Unlike many of his other parables, Jesus actually explains this one in detail. That should tell us something. If the Teacher spends extra time explaining one lesson, perhaps he wants us to pay extra attention.
Before we ask what the parable means, we should ask another question. Why does Jesus tell it here at this point? Matthew places this parable at a turning point in his account of the Gospel. Up to this point, Jesus has preached, healed, raised the dead, cleansed lepers, and performed miracle after miracle. Yet the responses have been dramatically different. Some people have followed him with joy. Others have remained indifferent. The Pharisees cannot even pretend about their hostility. Even members of his own hometown have struggled to believe, while members of his family think he is crazy.
Imagine what the disciples must have been thinking. “Lord, if your message is true, why are so many rejecting it?” Jesus answers that question, not with an argument, but with a farmer. He begins, “A sower went out to sow…” Notice something surprising. The farmer does not seem very efficient. He throws seeds everywhere. On the path, among rocks, into thorns, and on good soil. Any experienced farmer would have been more careful. But that is exactly the point. The generosity of the sower is the point. God never stops sowing. God never gives up on us. The question is never whether God is speaking. The question is what kind of soil we have become. That is why this parable is proclaimed at every Mass, not literally, but spiritually.
Think about what happens at every Mass. The Liturgy of the Word begins. The Scriptures are proclaimed. The Gospel is announced. The homily is preached. What is happening? The Divine Sower is scattering seed on every heart at the Mass. Some hearts receive it with joy. Some are already thinking about lunch. Some hear the Word but leave unchanged because the worries of life quickly choke it. Others hear the very same readings and their lives are transformed. The difference is not the seed. The difference is the soil. That is why, before the Gospel is proclaimed, we trace small crosses on our forehead, lips, and heart. We are silently praying: “Lord, may your Word be in my mind, on my lips, and in my heart.” In other words, “Lord, make me a good soil.”
In the first reading, Isaiah compares God’s Word to rain falling from heaven. Rain does not return without watering the earth. Neither does God’s Word return empty. Notice what Isaiah does not say. He does not say every seed grows immediately. Rain may fall today, yet the harvest may come months later. God’s Word often works the same way. A homily heard as a child suddenly makes sense twenty years later. A parent teaches a child to pray, and decades later that prayer brings the child back to God. The seed was never wasted. It was simply waiting for its season.
St. Paul, in the second reading, takes the image even further. He tells us that all creation is groaning, waiting for redemption. Seeds spend part of their lives buried beneath the earth. From above, nothing appears to be happening. But beneath the surface, life is already growing. The Christian life often feels like that. We pray. We struggle. We wonder why nothing seems to change. Yet God is working where we cannot see. Roots always grow before fruit appears. Perhaps that is why Jesus chose a seed. Seeds change the world quietly.
My dearly beloved in Christ, as we reflect on today’s Gospel passage, let us first examine ourselves, not as the sower but as the soil. Why? Because before we can share God’s Word, we must first allow the Word to change us. One of the greatest dangers for those of us who come to Mass every day or every Sunday is that we become experts at evaluating the Mass. “That was a great homily.” “That homily was boring.” “That choir sang beautifully.” “I don’t like what St Paul said in that reading.” We say all these things without ever asking the most important question: “What kind of soil was I today?”
Every Mass ends with the dismissal: “Go forth…” Why? Because the seed that entered the church is supposed to bear fruit outside the church. The success of the Mass is not measured by how inspired we felt when we left. It is measured by how much fruit God’s Word produces when Monday morning arrives. So the next time you come to Mass, don’t ask, “Will I get something out of today’s readings/homily?” Ask instead, “Lord, what kind of soil am I bringing to your seed today?” Because the power of God’s Word has never been in question. The only question is whether it finds a heart willing to let it grow.
Homily for 15th Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A 2026 by Fr Emmanuel Ochigbo
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