SUNDAY 15 (A) (Mt 13,1-23)
Parables are remarkably suited for discussing transcendence. By starting with simple concepts drawn from everyday life that everyone recognizes, they project us toward a reality that goes beyond the material. Because parables are rooted in life, they preserve the freshness of what is genuine and authentic across time.
This is one of the most commented-upon parables, yet interpretations have typically followed the direction marked by the Gospel itself in allegorizing it. Other explanations are possible, and we’ll attempt to show some of them—you’ll find they can be quite interesting.
The narrative itself isn’t what matters; it’s almost irrelevant how it comes about and bears fruit. Mundane as the story is, it gives us pause, questions how I live, tells me that another world is possible, and calls from me a vital response. Every parable contains a turning point that breaks the logic of the narrative itself. That’s where the true message lies.
The parable’s purpose is to replace a simple way of seeing the world with one open to a new reality full of meaning. It compels us to look deep into our being and discover incredible possibilities. The parable says nothing to those unwilling to change. It says more than words can convey to those willing to listen.
The allegorization of this parable is a product of the early community, which sought to moralize it. To discover its meaning, one must let oneself be immersed in the images. It demands a personal and vital response; it compels us to take a stance before the alternative it proposes. If you don’t decide to change, you have already defined your stance.
Exegetes point out that, initially, the protagonists of the parable were the sower and the seed. The sower as an example of generosity and the seed as an example of unlimited potential. The intent would have been to encourage preaching without calculating the response beforehand. One must sow broadcast, with no reservation whatsoever.
We should not attach importance to the number of those who respond. The intensity of a single response gives meaning to the entire human journey. The winding, long trajectory of human existence is justified by the appearance of a single Francis of Assisi. That’s why Jesus could say: The Kingdom is already here; I am making it present.
Later on, emphasis was placed on the conditions of the soil (the listener’s attitude). This allegorization would not have been original to Jesus but rather an attempt to adapt it to the new situation of Christians, shifting its meaning and making it more moralistic.
Even in an allegorical sense, we must not think of some people as good soil and others as bad soil. Rather, we should discover within each of us the hard ground, the thorns, the stones that prevent the seed from bearing fruit.
The fruit is not external success or works, but the change of mind in the one who listens. The fruit would be a new way of relating to God, to oneself, to others, and to nature. One cannot grow in humanity without these relationships.
This relationship must be personal, for typically we relate to others as things we can exploit. When I do this, I dehumanize myself. By discovering the other and opening myself to them, I unfold my possibilities of being. Only from this attitude can we access the essence of what it means to be human.
“Let anyone with ears listen.” In that time, it was official doctrine that prevented accepting the message. Today, it is still religious prejudices that keep us bound to false securities, preventing us from responding to the message.