Fruit in Old Age

We’re making our slow way through the Sermon on the Mount at church, while some of us are memorizing it, too. Last Sunday was Matthew 5:33-37, where Jesus exhorts his listeners to tell the truth. As we transitioned from sermon to communion, Pastor Jacob asked this question, encouraging us to reflect and pray…

Where might you be telling yourself a story that protects you from a truth you need to face?

I find myself in a precarious position, storyteller that I am. I can spin these stories so many ways, choosing my own perspective, steering the outcome to my own advantage. Not that I do it on purpose. But it can be tricky, trying to discern. We become so prone to believing our own narratives, we’re not even sure what the truth really is. 

I try my best, to keep it real and humble. To weave confession with God-stories. To invite my readers to grapple with me. I am no expert. Just a learner and a follower, fellow traveler in search of a Kingdom. 

Simultaneous to the Sermon on the Mount, I’m reaching the end of a year of a chronological reading of the Bible—a twelve month study with friends from the lake. Last Friday we drove north with our winterized boat to store in the Lokhorst’s garage. After taking in a dock and preparing our watercraft for the long hibernation, six of us gathered in Barb’s and Jon’s kitchen for homemade pizzas and apple crisp. Later we enjoyed the gentle breeze of a mild fall evening, cozy around a gas fire warming a lakeside screen-porch. There we talked about the Gospels. Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. After so many months in the Old Testament, we’ve finally made our way to Jesus. 

It’s not my favorite way to read the Bible—parsing it out in chronological chunks. A bit from this book, and a chapter from another. I am much more inclined toward savoring the design of each literary text. Letting each author speak for himself. But I admit, I’m also guilty of getting into the metaphorical rut and staying there. So it’s probably good to shake things up, reading the familiar from a new perspective. Seeing these stories again. 

Which I did. 

One story in particular. The Parable of the Sower. Repeated in three of the gospels,* each text has Jesus telling the story once, then explaining it later. Which means, in our chronological reading, we’re seeing it six times. Six times to meditate and hear him say—

“Consider the sower who went out to sow. As he sowed, some seed fell along the path, and the birds came and devoured them. Other seed fell on rocky ground where it didn’t have much soil, and it grew up quickly since the soil wasn’t deep. But when the sun came up, it was scorched, and since it had no root, it withered away. Other seed fell among thorns, and the thorns came up and choked it. Still other seed fell on good ground and produced fruit: some a hundred, some sixty, and some thirty times what was sown. Let anyone who has ears listen.” (Matthew 13:3-9 CSB) 

Confession. I have typically scripted myself in the role of the GOOD soil. Asking only the question, how much am I producing? Thirty, sixty, or a hundred-fold? Those other soils… the path and the rocks and the thorns. Descriptions of other folks, maybe people I know. 

But then. I read it again…

It was Jesus’ explanation (x3) that got my attention. Specifically this particular line: 

Now the one sown among the thorns—this is one who hears the word, but the worries of this age and the deceitfulness of wealth choke the word, and it becomes unfruitful. (Matthew 13:22) 

worries of this age

deceitfulness of wealth

unfruitful 

How can I not pay attention? 

I’d be a fool to not pay attention. 

How easy it would be to tell the story my way. To say, not me, I’ve got this. No worries. No deceit in me. But really? 

Luke says it this way: 

As for the seed that fell among thorns, these are the ones who, when they have heard, go on their way and are choked with worries, riches, and pleasures of life, and produce no mature fruit. (Luke 8:14)

NO MATURE FRUIT. 

Time out. 

Give me a minute to sit with this. 

Because I am in season when fruit matters. Truly. I spend a lot of time thinking about fruit. Here in a neighborhood, surrounded by grandkids. Here on this river, meditating daily on being a tree, planted by water.

Our friends, Steve and Sue—lake life friends, with whom we’re doing our year-long study—they gave us this housewarming gift, and I love it. A simple sketch of trees and river, a favorite verse…

They are like trees planted along the riverbank, bearing fruit each season. Their leaves never wither, and they prosper in all they do. (Psalm 1:3 NLT) 

Daily vision of bearing His Fruit. 

Mature fruit. 

The righteous thrive like a palm tree

and grow like a cedar tree in Lebanon.

Planted in the house of the Lord,

they thrive in the courts of our God.

They will still bear fruit in old age,

healthy and green…

Psalm 92:12-14 

I am in a season where fruit matters, and I am also in a season where the deceitfulness of wealth and the cares of this age might 

choke 

it 

out. 

So. There huddled around a cozy fire, breeze of autumn mingling with wind of Spirit, I am confessing, when my friend Barb tells me…

“That’s the passage that spoke to me, too.” 

Like she’d never heard it before, same as me, and together we’re convicted. Neither of us wanting to spin a story that might keep us from hearing the truth. That might choke out our fruit. 

Worries and wealth. How could we possibly say we’re immune? That we aren’t as vulnerable as the next person to being choked, maybe without even knowing? 

Holy Spirit come, like living water. Like a river. Wash us. Cleanse us from all deceit. Untangle the thorns that choke us. Let us be the thriving tree described by the poets. Healthy and green, even as we age. Never ceasing to bear your fruit. 

*Parable of the Sower found in Matthew 13, Mark 4, Luke 8