Homily | July 12, 2026 | God’s Love Does Not Wait For Perfect Soil | (Episode 195)

There's something strange about today's gospel.

Jesus tells us about a farmer who goes out to sow seed.

He reaches into his bag and begins to throw the seeds.

He throws the seeds on the path.

On rocky ground, he throws it into the thorns.

He throws seed on good soil.

Now, if you know anything about farming, this makes absolutely no sense.

A good farmer protects his seed.

He doesn't waste it.

He plants very carefully.

He calculates.

He measures.

But not this farmer.

He seems almost reckless.

Which means Jesus wants us to notice something before we ever notice the soil.

The first character in this parable is not the ground, it's the sower, the farmer.

The sower is extravagant.

Who would throw something precious onto ground that has almost no chance of producing anything?

Well, only someone whose generosity is greater than his fear of wasting it.

That's God.

God never rations his grace.

He does not look at a person and say, Well, he's too far gone.

That marriage is too broken.

That sin or that addiction is gone too far.

That family will never be reconciled and come back.

That soul isn't worth it.

I've tried and tried.

No.

What does he do?

He keeps sowing.

He keeps speaking, he keeps calling, he keeps loving.

Even when he knows many will reject him.

That tells us something beautiful about God.

God's love is never determined by the condition of the receiver.

It comes from the generosity of the giver.

That alone should change the way we see ourselves.

Because some of us walked into this church today convinced that we've disappointed God one too many times.

But if God were stingy with his mercy, he would never have sent his son to die on the cross for us.

God is extravagant.

He keeps sowing.

But then Jesus shifts our attention.

The seed is never the problem.

Why?

Because the word of God is always alive.

The gospel never loses its power.

If nothing grows, it is never because the seed lacked life.

It's because of the soil.

And now that's where the gospel becomes uncomfortable.

Because every single one of us can recognize ourselves somewhere in these four soils.

Sometimes our hearts become like the path hard.

Not because we're evil, but because life has driven us, driven over us many times, with disappointments, with failures, with betrayals.

We've heard this gospel many times.

And sometimes we have stopped expecting it to change us.

The word lands, but it never gets inside.

Other times we are like rocky soil.

We love emotional moments.

Maybe a retreat, a conference, a good experience at Mass, maybe a Christmas Mass or Easter Mass, a really beautiful sunrise mass.

We get inspired.

But inspiration is not the same thing as conversion.

The trials come, the first inconvenience may come, the first sacrifice, and suddenly our faith disappears.

We're back to the same old, same old.

Because feelings may make beautiful beginnings, but they make for poor foundations.

Roots are formed through perseverance, through structure, through discipline, not excitement.

And then there are the thorns.

I think that this is where most of us live.

But notice something: Jesus does not say the plant dies because of some great evil.

No, it dies because it gets crowded.

The worries, the schedule, the constraint notifications, the pressure to make more, to buy more, to be more.

The pressures of life to be accomplished.

We fill every empty moment with noise.

We stay busy.

And whatever constantly occupies the mind, well, that's what's occupying the heart.

The devil doesn't always have to make us be bad or feel bad.

All he has to do is make us real busy.

Now here's the part I don't want you to miss.

This parable is not about personality, it's about freedom.

Jesus never says, You were born rocky.

You are always thorny.

You're always hard.

No, he doesn't say that.

Why?

Because he knows that the soil can change.

A farmer spends a lot more time working on the soil than he does planting.

That's the spiritual life.

The saints were not born with better soil, they cultivated it.

Every act of repentance softens that ground.

Every confession breaks open another layer of hardness.

Every act of forgiveness removes another stone.

Every moment spent in silence before the Lord pulls away another thorn.

Mercy changes us.

Grace changes us.

But grace needs cooperation.

God provides the seed.

We must prepare the ground.

There's a lesson from nature.

Have you ever noticed what happens after a forest fire?

Everything looks dead.

Black, burned, hopeless.

Many, but many species of trees actually need fire.

The intense heat cracks open those seeds that would otherwise remain closed for years.

What look like total destruction becomes the beginning of new life.

Sometimes God allows the trials of life, the disappointments, the challenges to crack open the hearts that comfort never could.

Some of the strongest Christians I know did not grow because of because life was easy, but because of a big trial in their life.

They grew because suffering finally made them understand the redemptive power of God and that they had to draw closer to the Lord.

So let me leave you with one image.

Imagine Jesus walking through those doors today, carrying a bag of seeds.

He already knows everything about you.

He knows exactly where your heart is.

He knows exactly where your faith is shallow and where you've drifted and you're distracted.

He knows exactly where the thorns are growing.

And yet he doesn't skip past you.

He doesn't walk around you.

He doesn't save his seed for someone else, someone more deserving.

He throws it your way anyway.

Because that's who he is.

He is extravagant.

The question isn't whether God is speaking, because he is.

The question is whether we will give him somewhere for that le that seed to land.

So this week, don't try to change your entire life.

Just cultivate one small piece of the soil.

Maybe it means finally going to confession.

Maybe it means ten minutes of silence before grabbing your phone and working and starting your work day.

Maybe it means forgiving someone you've carried a grudge against.

Maybe it means opening the scriptures before opening social media.

Just one piece, small piece of ground that you can cultivate this week.

Because if you give Christ even one small corner of your heart, he can do with it with what no farmer on earth could ever imagine.

Thirtyfold, sixtyfold, a hundredfold.

That isn't agriculture.

That's God's grace.

And grace has always been God's specialty.

And it awaits us.

Amen.