My grandparents' house, where my uncle now lives, is an old farmhouse. Well, it would be old in Maine, it was built in the 1960s! It sits on a 1-acre lot carved out of the corner of a field right next door to a shed of tractors and combine harvesters, which gave the house its name Barnfield. My mother loved it when the field behind her parents' house was planted with wheat. At first, you see small, green sprouts pushing up through the heavy clay soil. They shoot towards the sky, eventually turning into long storks that bend towards the ground with the sheer weight of ripening grain. The farmland in Norfolk is very fertile; it’s made up of rich glacial wash deposited at the end of the last Ice Age. Very much like Aroostook County's large flat fields, only because of the mild climate in that part of England, it can grow three or sometimes even four crops a year. When the grain is fully grown, we’d walk through the field behind the house along a public footpath that leads up to the medieval church. I liked to run my hands through the standing stalks on either side, feeling the spiky kernels bounce against my hands. A field ready for harvest has a good dusty malt smell, like a sweet beer.
Into this field will come a combine harvester; as a child, these were some of the largest machines I’ve ever seen. That was before I saw Maine pick-up trucks. A combine harvester goes through the field, with the sythe blades on the front cutting the stalks. It then separates off the grains, which are funneled out the side in long streams into a trailer pulled alongside, and it deposits long runs of straw behind, waiting to be bailed once the sun has dried it. The fields around my grandparents' house are big by British standards, so nothing compared to the Midwest. But despite their size, two men working with a combine harvester and trailer can cut all the fields around the house in a single morning. Truly, in modern agriculture, the harvest is plentiful, and the workers are few.
So when we listen to Jesus talking about sending laborers out into the field to harvest, we might imagine those few individuals who feed the many through their labor and the work of their machines. The church has often chosen to see the harvest as evangelism, the field as the world, and Christians as though doing the work of harvest. We might imagine that, like in modern agriculture, large harvests are achieved by a few professionals who work with technology and machines to bring in a tremendous amount. We might then be surprised when having professional clergy, a professional missionary, or a communications director does not result in growing congregations. However you wish to measure it, be that Sunday attendance, depth of faith, or money in the offering plate. What’s made really clear from where the rest of our gospel reading goes is that Jesus isn’t talking about modern farmers, but rather he is talking about harvesting in the world that he knew.
In ancient Galilee, as happens now, whole fields of crops would come ready for harvest all at once. If you do not harvest the grain when it is ripe, it can get spoiled by rain, wind, or wildlife. There is a real-time crunch, even for modern farmers. Those two guys in Norfolk work 18-hour days in harvest season because they may only have a short window in which to do the harvesting. In Jesus' day, there were no combine harvesters, so the whole community worked to bring in the crop. Whatever your normal job, when it came harvest time, you would go out in the fields. Reapers would lead, cutting the storks. Then behind would come the women of the community, tying the grain on the storks into sheaves. Then would come the men who would gather the sheaves and take them to keep the rain off. Then would come the children and the old, gleaning the field, gathering up all that was missed. Whatever those who came last collected, they could keep. It was the farm owners' charitable gift to the poorest in the community. Everyone was involved in the harvest, and the smaller your community, the more vital everyone’s part became.
So it makes sense that Jesus' story about being a few laborers sent into an abundance of harvest is set in the context of enumerating those who have been called and sent. The pattern of discipleship is never alone; it's always communal; like Christ, who is always with the rest of the Trinity, we are to be with each other in ministry. The 12 disciples are called directly into evangelism with service. No one is kept back; all are sent out like sheep among the wolves to bring in a harvest for the kingdom of God. It is not a safe prospect. Surely we need one more training before we do this work? For us, telling our friends and neighbors, even telling strangers about our faith, is one of the most uncomfortable activities that we as Lutherans, as Episcopalians, can engage in.
Whatever the community size, there is work for everyone to take part in. Maybe not all of us are called to be at the front of the harvest, preaching the gospel call to those who have never decided to follow Christ. Still, we are all needed in the process of gathering together the community God has planted. We all have a part role in keeping each other safe from all that would harm, and making sure that not one grain is missed, for it is the food of the poor who need it most. Because evangelism comes with works of healing, works of justice, miracles, and resurrection for those who need them. God would have us gather everything in the field into the kingdom of heaven, in the church. For God would heal and feed everyone, not just with earthly food but with heavenly grace.
The story of modernity is one of progress. In which communal farming gives way to mechanized agriculture for the profit of the landholders. It's a story of great men. Of inventors, politicians, land speculators, and business people. Individuals who move fast and break things in the hope of riches. Through their actions, the farm has changed from the world Jesus knew. Yet Jesus' message is still clear: the church functions as a community moving together to feed the world. Working as one to bring in an abundant harvest of love and justice. Unfortunately for the church, we have been schooled in the earthly story of individual progress. We recall the stories of individuals who we think have made the church we know. Our Bishop Cranmers and Martin Luthers, our Peters and Pauls. But until you can name everyone who has been part of our community, who has been part of the church for the last 2000 years, we only have a small part of the story. They all made the church together.
So as we move into summer, we think about what it means that the fields around us are ripe and that we are sent. This is a time of great potential, a time of change. At 250 years old, we reflect on our nation’s history and wonder what its hope might be in the future. As climate change and questions of human relationships tear at our social fabric, we see a harvest of need. God has sowed hope in the hearts of all, hope that has sprouted and grown despite the growing drought of love. Are we ready to go out into the fields and harvest goodness for the world, bringing people into the faith and love of God, that can overcome our nation's fears, its poverty, and despair? This is hard work. Remember, there will be wolves, but we do not go alone. We have each other, and more importantly, we have the Spirit of God within us to give us the words we need. So do not fear, step out in faith into the field, for we will endure to the end, and so many will be saved. Amen.