Reimagining parables to reimagine ourselves

Every so often, the gospels at consecutive Sunday Masses cluster around the parables.

The sower goes out to sow his seeds everywhere. The seeds that fall on brambles are choked before they reach maturity, those that fall on rocky ground die before they can even blossom, those that fall on fertile soil thrive. The parable is often interpreted as a description of an ideal disposition toward the faith: Grace comes to everyone, but only those that are open to it can truly bear fruit.

The shepherd loses one of his sheep, so he abandons his flock to find the lost one. The parable is often interpreted to be Jesus always searching for those who leave the faith so that He can bring them home.

A landowner sows his fields with wheat; while he is asleep, his enemy sows weeds on the same soil. Despite the misgivings of his laborers, the landowner allows the wheat and weeds to grow together, for, come harvest time, only the wheat will be gathered, and the weeds will be burned. The parable is often interpreted as a portrayal of mortal existence: While life is filled with both good and evil, the good will win in the end, while the evil will fester in eternal darkness and despair.

Another interpretation of the parables, however, focuses on the central character as an image of God: the reckless sower who wastes seeds, the negligent shepherd who abandons his flock, the shrugging landowner who allows his wheat to grow amongst the weeds. The parables speak of a God who embraces all, who allows all things to grow, and who puts faith in the free will of humanity.A closer look might also provide us a glimpse of our ideal selves, the goodness to which we can all aspire.

We, too, must be the reckless sowers: We are called to take risks, to try even when there is no chance of success. To give much of ourselves even when all hope is lost, even when the powers of government, industry, and economy work against us—because good, hard work does have its fruits. It takes time to see. It takes patience to bear.

We, too, must be the negligent shepherds, who must never give up on those amongst us who have lost their way. They might have subscribed to lies, fallen for deceptions, been desperate enough to believe in empty promises—but they, too, deserve our care.

We, too, must be the shrugging landowner. Notice that the landowner can discern good from evil; this landowner knows that even if evil wins, the win is temporary. Those who do good things and strive to uphold the truth will always triumph. Again, patience; but for now, faith.

When we look at ourselves as the main characters of the parables, we are no longer merely seeds cast onto the ground, aimless sheep, or wheat or weeds that have simply been fated to grow together. We cast seeds, harvest their fruits, lead a flock. We are no longer passive creatures, but crafters of our own destiny.

It is easy to be passive in a country where the voices of those in power ring louder than the action of the true public servants, where we have laws that take away our money and play with our savings, where we are threatened with sanctions and humiliation unless we remain silent. But if we allow the voices of evil to make their promises and pledges with no evidence to show for their fulfillment, then we are not even sheep. We are simply dust, allowing ourselves to be trampled upon in the name of glorified obedience that is no more than voluntary enslavement.

The state of our nation is not that of a single person declaring it amongst loyal lapdogs parading about in silks on a red carpet. The state of our nation is best told by those of whom parables speak: the toiling, the unnoticed, the quiet. Those who make our food while earning little from their endeavors. Those who labor with few rewards. Those who have served at the frontlines for years with no recognition.

The nation, then, is not the government. It would serve the purposes of the greedy if citizens were to think of themselves as mere seeds, sheep, or wheat, whose virtues lie in passivity rather than power. Rather, we are the nation; not the words, or statistics, or rhetoric of those voted into office.

Reimagining the parables can help us break out of the passivity that has hounded us as a country. But first, we must imagine greater things for ourselves—and demand them.

iponcedeleon@ateneo.edu