Sunday
afternoon I led two back-to-back Bible studies in Skagit County Jail on the
Parable of the Sower in Matthew 13. After introductions and an opening prayer,
a volunteer reads the first nine verses. As I listen a strategy unfolds for the
mere twenty minutes that remain.
I ask
the fifteen or so men where Jesus was, who else was there and what they were
doing in the story. Since nobody seems to remember, we read the first two
verses again. Then people piece together the details.
Jesus
had left his house and was sitting by the sea. Large crowds came around him so
he got in a boat and sat down. The whole crowd was standing on the beach
listening.
“Ok,
let’s pretend I’m Jesus and here’s my boat,” I say, jumping up on a table
pushed up against a disheveled bookshelf in the jail’s multipurpose room. How
about if you guys all stand, pretending you’re on the beach listening.” All the
men stand up, and I pretend I’m teaching.
“So
what happens in this story that Jesus tells?” I ask the men.
Together
we talk about what a sower is, and how in the parable the sower throws seeds
out on four kinds of ground. Seeds fall beside the road, which end up getting
eaten by birds. Seeds fall in rocky soil, which spring up but then dry up fast
in the hot sun. Seeds fall in the sticker bushes, which get choked to death.
Finally seeds fall on good soil, which is fruitful.
“Who do
you think the sower and the seed might represent?” I ask the men. Standing
there looking at me sitting on the table (in the imaginary boat) the answer
seems obvious. Jesus is the sower and they’re the soil. The seeds are Jesus’
words. I invite the men to take a seat and continue.
“So
seeds go into ground, but we’re not ground, are we? How do invisible words
enter into us?” I ask.
“We
hear them,” someone says, and I remind them that Jesus ends his parable saying
“He who has ears, let him hear.”
“So who
has ears?” I ask, and everyone looks around and someone says, “we all do.”
So the
sower scatters seed in all these places, which represent all kinds of people in
different states of openness. If Jesus reveals God, what’s God like according
to this story?”
“God
doesn’t discriminate, he scatters his seed to everyone,” someone says.
“He’s
generous and doesn’t judge. He teaches everyone,” someone adds.
“So he
doesn’t say—‘no, I’m not giving that guy anything, he’s a sex-offender. Not
that guy either, he’s addicted to porn. Not him either, he never goes to church
and is a felon,’” I say, and then suddenly realize I’m speaking to inmates from
the sex-offender pod. Nobody seems offended though. It feels like I’ve got
their full attention.
We talk
about how Jesus believes in the people, including us. He tells anyone who has
ears, “hear.” There’s still a little time left so I invite someone to read the
next verses.
“And the
disciples came and said to him, “Why do you speak to them in parables?” Jesus
answered them, “To you it has been granted to know the mysteries of the kingdom
of heaven, but to them it has not been granted.”
“So the
disciples want to know why Jesus speaks through these not-so-easy to understand
stories,” I say. “Does his answer sound kind of harsh, even discriminatory?”
The men
look down at their Bibles silently, some of them probably thinking that the
good news they’ve barely heard is about to be snatched from their trampled path
souls by the birds.
I ask
if anyone knows what a disciple is and nobody answers. I ask a man in front of
me what’s his profession, and he answers: “I’m a chronic alcoholic.”
I
acknowledge his confession but probe deeper, learning that he’s a mechanic. I
tell him that if I came to him and asked if I could shadow him because I wanted
to learn how to work on cars like he does and he agreed, I’d be his disciple.
“That’s
like an apprentice,” a guy who says he’s a metal worker chimes in—and people
get it.
“So the
disciples come to Jesus with their questions and concerns, and he helps them
understand,” I summarize.
“When
we don’t understand something, we can come to Jesus and ask him. Of course we
can’t see him. But we can tell him and ask him for wisdom and understanding.
That’s called prayer. Jesus tells them in other places: ‘Ask and you will
receive.’ ‘Seek and you will find.’ ‘Knock and the door will be opened,’ I say.
“Any of
us can speak to Jesus or the Holy Spirit by faith. If you do this God will give
you clarity, like Jesus says: “To you it has been granted to know the mysteries
of the kingdom of heaven.”
“What
if Jesus is just saying that if you don’t understand something and don’t ask,
you won’t get the clarity?” I ask.
The men
seem to like this answer, so I dare to have them read the next verse and ask
them what they think it means. Someone reads:
“For
whoever has, to him more shall
be given, and he will have an abundance; but whoever does not have, even what
he has shall be taken away from him.”
A
heavily tatted-up guy probably in his late twenties humbly offers an answer.
“When
we have faith and ask, God will give us more and our faith will grow. If we
refuse to trust we end up with nothing.”
The
guards pop the doors announcing time’s up, and we haven’t even prayed. I nod to
the guard and ask if we can have one more minute to close with prayer.
“Any of
us can be Jesus’ disciple if we want to learn from him.” I say. “You can be
that good soil that receives the seeds of his word. He wants to tell you the
mysteries of the kingdom of heaven. While you’re in this jail you can be
hearing and receiving his words, taking in these seeds. You can ask Jesus by
faith and he will give you in abundance,” I say.
I
invite the men to tell Jesus right then and there if they’d like to be his
disciple to learn from him. Many of the guys are nodding that they want this. I
bless the seeds of God’s words that have gone in, and prohibit the enemy from
snatching them away. I bless whatever faith they have and then notice the guard
peaking in through the door. Time’s definitely up and men file out. I feel
God’s gentle presence and wait for the next group, wondering what’s going to
happen.
Only
three men come in for the second Bible study. A guy in his mid forties gets all
choked up begins to cry when we talk about how Jesus doesn’t discriminate, but
speaks to everyone in whatever state we’re in, calling us to listen, to receive
the word so it can be fruitful.
He says
that his mother-in-law, who he lives with, is a really religious person who
goes to church every Sunday, and reads the Bible and prays every day.
“All
the time she hugs me and tells me she wants me to live a long life. But I’ve
been completely closed, feeling nothing. All I think about is where I’m going
to get that day’s supply of heroin,” he says, sobbing.
“She
doesn’t know, or I guess she probably does know that something’s wrong,” he
reflects.
I’m
deeply moved, and so are the other two guys. The man who’s crying suddenly
realizes that these hugs are like seeds that are still there, waiting for the
soil to be ready. Suddenly his heart is open, and the seeds of love are
penetrating into the softened soil of his heart.
I ask
if I can pray for him and the others, and people nod yes. I bless each of the
men, asking the Holy Spirit to fill them, to cover over the seeds, make them
germinate and grow, and become fruitful. I leave feeling like I can feel seeds
germinating and growing, bursting out of my heart. Let whoever has ears to hear, hear.
