You gotta dance.



Today’s readings:
The seed sown on the path is the one who hears the word…
Matthew 13:19
In Matthew (as we heard on Sunday) seeds are not the abstract “Word of God” that they are in Luke and Mark. Seeds are symbols of us who have received the Word. Often you hear sermons on this parable (from the parallel versions) and the focus seems to be “what kind of dirt are you?” In this telling, though, the story is more abstract, the symbols more threatening. For, the sower sows symbols of us… where we are.  
Any of us can be any of these seeds after any grace filled moment of conversion. It has nothing to do with the sower.
It’s you.
So, are you the one who hears the word of the Kingdom without understanding it?
Are you the one who hears the word and receives it at once with joy but has no root?
Are you the one who hears the word, but then worldly anxiety and the lure of riches block it out?
Or are you the one who hears the word and understands it and bears fruit?
The Word of God does not get into your soul without God putting it there. But that’s not enough: it’s then up to you. You.
You have to do something.
What can you do? Hear. Understand. Bear fruit.
That’s your job. God’s done his. 
You should start with the commandments we got in the first lesson. The rest can come later.
No other gods and no adultery are the big ones today, I think. But your milage may vary. 
How do you dance this dance with God? Trust me: telling me he doesn’t care what you do, or he won’t mind if you’re about to break a few rules, or he won’t care if you’ve go a few extra deities… that’s just you talking to yourself.
But if you’ll dance with God, he will lead. We are all feminine to his masculine. We are all the followers to his lead. Wherever he leads, you should follow.

Author: Huw Richardson

I'm no Benedictine, but I'm too old for the Franciscans. I'm in the process of moving servers... so trying to keep both of my "linked sites" in sync until there's only one. There can be only one. Huw Richardson was born in Atlanta under a different name about 55 years ago. I never knew my father nor any of his kin. I’ve lived all over: I was never in the same house for 3 Christmases until I was over 40. I’ve not yet made it to 4. Rootlessness seems to be a way of life and every time I think I’m about to root, it ends up not happening. Yet I’ve made some amazing friends online. I’ve met some awesome people all over the world. I’ve met religious leaders and heads of state and famous movie stars. I’ve also managed to be debt-free. I’ve stood on the Hill of Tara and touched the Lia Fail. It did not cry out. I’ve kissed the Blarney Stone as well, if you can’t guess. I have illicitly touched ancient, holy statues to see if anything would happen and I have never used flash photography when I should not have. I’ve been a bookseller, a call center drone, a trainer, a convert, a preacher, a monk, a planter, a secretary, a writer, and an activist. My patron is Blessed Stanley Rother. When I’m in trouble, he’s got my back. He prays for me, along with St Rose of Lima, St. Catherine of Siena, St John Henry Newman, Bl Fulton J Sheen, and Bl. William Richardson. I’m a Dominican Tertiary and a member of Courage International. This is home: I’ve found my roots by using my wings. What’s next? I don’t know. Part of me wants to just pick out a camper and gig my way around the world. Part of me wants to own a pub in Ireland and feed my soul with good music until forever. Part of me has always taught. Some part of me dances whenever the moon is full. Another part of me kneels in awe in the darkness as all the stars spin but the cross stands still.