Matthew 13:12-30, 36-43 on July 19, 2026
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Finding Ourselves in the Stories: A Sermon on Seeds, Prejudice, and Redemption
Wow, that was some scripture, wasn't it? I told Pastor Jason, you would leave me with this one, and being the kind and generous person that he is, he said, well, Pastor Bonnie, you could choose any top any scripture you want. But I thought it best to continue with the journey and Matthew that he is on.
Stories Reveal Our True Selves
You know, we like stories and movies because they reveal to us something about ourselves without kind of being in our face. I personally love stories, I love reading them, I love telling them, I love writing them. And I always try to find myself in one of the characters in the book or the essay or the magazine. So let's try that on for size.
There's the Sower of the Seed or the Farmer. I like that. That's definitely me. Nothing better than getting my hands in the soil and planting bulbs and seeds and waiting for them to grow. I think my neighbors thought I was crazy because every day after I planted the bulbs I could go out and see if they were up yet. So maybe I'm the farmer, but you know, I don't like the weeds. Don't like the weeds at all. So I can't be the farmer too much work.
Characters in the Parable
Then in our story, we have the evil one. Of course no one wants to be the evil one, right? We would never plant evil, would we? Well, that can't be us. Then maybe we want to be Jesus in the parable. I mean, after all, who doesn't want to be Jesus? You know, at first I like that idea, but he says some harsh words. So I'm really not sure I want to be Jesus after all.
Half about the disciples. That's where I fit in. The disciples say, what's going on? What does the story mean? Seeking wisdom and understanding. I probably like that, but then there's the angels. Oh, I want to be an angel. I always wanted to be an angel, where you whisper sweet things and people's ear and help them do right. And you save people. But wait, in this story, the angels sort out the bad from the good. I put people into a fire. Nope, nope, nope. I like the peacemaking. I do not like that. I can't be an angel. And Darryl says, I'll never be an angel anyway. So I guess not.
Where Is the Good News?
Did you find yourself in the story? Where in the world is this good news and the gospel in the story? What is possible? Well, I believe there's always good news and challenge in our gospel lessons.
When we lash out and anger and hate with someone who holds a different political view than our own, we too are acting in an evil way. When we curse at drivers who cut us off, which happens mostly daily, we're not planting good seeds. We're not acting, I love. When that Aaron can proud person who talks about their money all the time, and how much they have, and suddenly they lose it all, we say, serves them right. Evil seeds, I have a feeling. We are unjust and unkind, but Jesus said there are two commandments. I love God with all your heart and your neighbor as yourself. Because I'm not so sure we should do the sorting out of who's bad and who's good.
So if this ancient story did not fit you, perhaps you can find yourself in this somewhat modern day parable.
A Story from the 1960s
This story takes place in the 1960s. I remember it all vividly as if it were only yesterday. The youths had already started to fall that early September morning, as I skipped my way to the bus stop. School days again, the bus soon arrived. I loved every day going down that lane. Seeing my old friends and smelling of new soaps and fresh pencils was just an appetizer for the real fun school.
Being long, blanky and uncoordinated, and Tom Boish at age 13. I was in all my glory. The back seat for me, I yelled and I ran down the aisle. Being first on and last off had some privileges you see. Whoa, Bonnie, the bus driver, Mr. Harold said to me. New rules this year, honey. Got to assign seats. Everybody's got to sign seats, he said solemnly.
What assigned seats I stomped will then just assign me to the back. And I proceeded forward. It was nice, but I didn't assign the seats. You get to sit in 14 right window. I don't believe this. I stomped vehemently, and then I thought, now a bad seat, I got a real hump. Means I could prop my legs. The smile soon returned, however, as friends took their places. No one knew why we had assigned seats, but we have been together for years, so we took it in stride. The laughter and reacquaintance chapter soon filled the bus.
The Arrival
All at once I noticed a strange silence, the bus stopped. The safety got on and gradually the silence rippled to the back of the bus. What? An accident? A flat? Soon I knew. There she was. A big colored girl coming slowly my way. Everyone silently shifted to the outerness of the bus. I looked away, afraid to look in the eyes of a negro, until I felt the heaviness on the seat beside me. You could hear a sigh as if relief all around me, and the chatter soon picked up.
Ha, she said quietly to me, I'm LMA Jones. I didn't look at her, nor did I say anything, not anything at all. Not that day, nor any other day. That clackety bus carried to us two and from the school, and its routines became one with me. But I could never quite reconcile the heaviness on the seat beside me.
A Year of Silence
LMA tried to start conversations. She always smiled at me with her warm, good morning. Eventually, she never tried. I barely looked at her, even as I spoke openly to others around me. My fosterless sister, Leora, reported that she was a straight A student and would probably graduate with others, maybe even valedictoria. You're kidding, I said. Do people really talk to her? I was sure she answered, oh almost everyone that is.
Although the teachers, the only one to collect and pass out papers now, ever since TJ Moore refused to pick up her papers and made a scene. How did she take it, I ask? Well, she just sat there not saying a word. I did think I saw her handshake a little, though. Leora said, do you talk to her, I asked Leora? She and LMA were both seniors, that was big stuff. I wanted so badly to know all about it. Leora was unapproachable and I was scared of LMA.
Of course, Leora explained, you're so stupid. We're not supposed to play with them mom and dad said so. I targeted back. Leora shook her head and dismissed me. You're dumb, she walked away.
LMA was a mystery to me after that. And I no longer pulled my dress around me when she sat down. I started to smile at her and occasionally looked at what she was reading. She is smart and I end beat smart.
The Yearbook
It was the last week that we finally got our yearbooks. This was my first year of high school and I could hardly contain myself as I passed my book around to be signed. I noticed LMA had one too and it appeared that people had signed hers. I wondered what they wrote. By now, I was hoping that people would write good things to her. It wasn't her fault she was black.
The last day of school, I bounced into my seat, trying to feel the release that all the other kids seemed to be feeling. I couldn't do it though. Heidi and my true self never came off too well. Would you sign my book, she asked? I looked up and there was LMA handing me her book and pen. I paused for a moment and then grabbed mine from the mountainous pile of papers and worn school books and said, will you sign mine?
She wrote a while, closed it and then handed it back to me. Thanks, Bonnie Lee. She looked right in my eyes and stood up at her stop. By I said, and I reached out and touched the hem of her brightly-foward skirt. By I said again and winked at me. I sat there clutching my ear, but really fast. I felt like I just won an award.
The Message in the Yearbook
It was about ten more minutes until we reached my long lane. I ran the three quarter mile to the house and straight to my room. Dear Bonnie Lee had said, all beautifully penned by that lovely dark night. I enjoyed getting to know you as we have ridden together this year. I know you will do well in the future. Keep on reading and don't let Ella, Gibra, get you down. Your friend, Ella Mae Jones.
I cried. I sat there and bawled like a baby. She was my friend. She had called me by my real name Bonnie Lee. The name my real mom used to call me. Not just Bonnie like you were in my foster parents. She knew algebra was hard for me and she knew I loved to read. She knew I would be a success. How could she know all this just by sitting by me? And she signed it. Your friend.
Even now as I think about it, I wonder what I wrote. Is there any possibility that I was as kind or a tad bit insightful? I hope so.
Reflecting on Forced Integration
In looking back, I can't help but feel a sense of all about Ella Mae Jones. This young girl forced to play a role in a grown up role. Both of us, taking on identities we knew little how to wear. She, the token black girl, sent to represent the Negroes in the first year of forced integration in the southern town of Amelia. Me forced to be the token of acceptance, probably because I was a foster kid and the school knew no one would make a fuss.
How did she take it day after day with the silence and the threats? School, my place of refuge, surely her nightmare. I thought about it often and wanted so badly to turn back the clock and do it all differently. Set things right you know, see him more clearly now. I might talk to her and brace her, show my piece making inclusive side. But would I? Probably not, because that was my world at 13 years old. One taught to hate that which is different. Be afraid of what you don't know.
Am I Really Changed?
And today am I really changed? I hope so. Am I really inclusive? I like to believe that the God in me sees through color and money and culture. But I'm not so sure. I still feel suspect when I see those who are homeless using drugs. They're drunk and people using the medical assistance card. A woman smoking while their child hangs dirty by their side. The fear touches me in the subway in Italy when I hear a language I don't know. I'm not a stranger hits me and probably even hate a bit when the fundamentalist shout that they're ways the only way to redemption. And tell me I'm going to hell because I'm a female minister. Discussed turns me away from the women soliciting sex in the streets of Bulgaria where skinny babies ride their hips.
LMA Brings Me Back
But LMA brings me back. LMA reminds me that God is all in everything. That y'all way turns up in the most incredible places where I at least expect to see God. LMA reminds us that we are all God's children and God's arms are open wide to my prejudices, my ignorance, my sins. LMA taught me to return evil with good. LMA lets me see once again that Christ is the bomb for my soul.
And how is that? For through it all she trialed in school and smiles and steadfastness. Yes, she was valedictorian but only in the yearbook. She did not attend graduation and there were no pictures of her receiving the award. They voted that year to have the class president speak, setting a new tradition they said. She only knows she succeeded because under her name a tiny small print it said LMA Jones, honor student valedictorian.
Redemption Through Struggle
So you see it through LMA and Jesus' parable. I'm reminded that through struggle and sorrow, through pain and prejudice comes redemption. When we go to the deepest parts of our souls, we discover that evil cannot linger and God's love is abundant. May it be so, amen.