Year A: Proper 10 | Romans 8:1-11; Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23
St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church
July 12, 2026
the Rev. Jonathan Hanneman
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The Church has a long history of taking snippets of what Paul has written and putting them back together in ways that contradict what the apostle was actually trying to say. We focus on his vice lists and use them to prove other people are wrong or sinful rather than looking at the next sentence where he flips our presumptions right back onto our own heads, exposing our own failings. We rearranged bits of his statements about Judean religion and traditions and used that patchwork to justify antisemitism and, ultimately, genocide, when the whole time he was arguing that it’s perfectly appropriate for Jewish people to maintain their ancient customs. We take a single line from Philippians and use it to force people into a fake shell of what we think “joy” ought to look like without considering Paul’s preceding discussions of his own struggles, challenges, and ambivalence—the whole process it took him to finally settle into that same joy.
Looking at our Romans passage today, it’s important to remember the context of what exactly Paul has been talking about. We’ve been working our way through (most—but not all—of) this longer passage since early June. But if I’m spending most of my time studying these texts and still forget the big picture of what Paul’s been saying from week to week, I imagine it’s just about impossible for anyone else to hold the thread.
Paul’s whole argument here revolves around an image that he keeps touching on but that we, as a congregation, never actually saw introduced. Way back in chapter 5, he brought up the idea of the “old man” and the “new man.” His figure for the old man is Adam, whose choices and actions led him to turn from God, a tradition that we, Adam’s descendants, continue to practice today. When Paul references “the flesh,” that’s what he’s talking about. “The flesh” isn’t the physical human body but the instinctual drives we live under that guide self-preservation but never move beyond that stage. Basically, it’s what people today refer to as “lizard brain:” the reactive self that holds no consideration for others or long-term consequences. I see a bug: I eat a bug. I see a bird: I run under a rock. It doesn’t matter if the “bug” is actually the wiggling tip of a predator’s tongue or the rock I run under is actually a scorpion’s den. I see; I act; I deal with consequences, no matter how instantaneous they may be, when they come.
In the place of “the old man,” Paul lifts up Jesus as the model for “the new man.” Rather than succumbing to the constant drives and distractions of lizard-brain, Jesus chose the fully human pathway, nurturing, caring for, and uplifting others. He wasn’t trapped by selfish instinct but chose to serve and heal and comfort, giving of himself to help those around him thrive. Even when faced with death, he continued on that same, humane pathway, not casting blame but humbly accepting the outcome of what those thoughtful choices had led to in the midst of a lizard-brain world. Partly because of his faithful example of love, mercy, and generosity, God adopted[1] Jesus as heir in the place of Adam, the “firstborn” son, setting him as head of the family in place of his “fleshly” older brother.
Paul then adjusts his image from the old man and the new man to body (as representative of the lizard-brain “flesh”) and breath or, in most translations, spirit—the rejuvenating and energizing life of God that floods and transforms the body from simple flesh into a full, conscious person. He argues that we who set ourselves under Jesus and his anointing are no longer obligated to serve the flesh and its short-sighted, selfish schemes. Rather, we, like Jesus, ought to live and serve others through the power and energy of God’s own breath that flows within and animates us. It isn’t that the flesh doesn’t weigh us down—even the most lively person’s limbs still occasionally fall asleep and make themselves dead weight. However, with practice and effort, even those holdout areas of our selves can be revived and brought into line with the customs and practices of God’s Kingdom. Breath empowers body; spirit can revitalize flesh and transform us from raw, selfish instinct into truly thoughtful and caring humans, ones capable of showing our love and respect for God in how we treat and honor the people around us.
That’s why “there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.”[2] It isn’t simply that Jesus “saved” our dead or passive selves. It’s that the life of God, both exemplified in and made possible through Jesus, our family head, proves itself within us, even as we may struggle against our own lizard-brain desires. The breath that empowers us will find expression. That Life to which we are committed and with which we partner transforms even the deadest of selves. Life overcomes Death, and its evidence will be seen as we turn from solely seeking our own interests and begin to bring life to those around us. We choose to follow and set ourselves under Jesus’s authority, and that choice and commitment will prove its own existence through our actions as we reflect not only Jesus’ example but the very Life found rooted in our imaginative, kind, and self-giving Creator.
This is where our Gospel reading comes into play. We tend to leave the Parable of the Sower asking, what kind of soil am I? Do I let God’s Word just bounce off me so that it disappears forever? Maybe I get all hot and excited but then just end up cooking under pressure. Am I someone who allows the challenges of life to overcome me? Or am I “good” soil that God tends and waters and helps produce? Personally, I’d say focusing on the type of soil I may or may not be is actually a distraction. The true point of the story is that seed bears fruit. Circumstances offer different kinds of challenges and make rooting and growth much harder to come by, but seeds that are able to establish themselves become plants that bear fruit. Some produce loads, others less. Some harvest may be tiny and abundant while other plants that receive more pruning produce a smaller but more individually substantial crop. Even in the “bad” environments, the goal is still to bear fruit. If something does manage to grow in the weeds or roadside or pathway, the harvester isn’t just going to abandon it.
Paul is telling us that, under Jesus and the anointing God has bestowed upon him, each of us can find “good soil.” We, in partnership with God’s own Spirit, can cultivate change that leads to bounty and flourishing for those around us. Your circumstances may indeed be challenging. Your habits, partnerships, and proclivities may be choking out any evidence of life. If so, don’t simply succumb to the poison or heat surrounding you, the pressure to conform with some sort of party line or cultural expectation. Bear fruit in spite of those challenges. In following Jesus’ example, you’re tilling the soil. You’re watering the seeds. You’re cultivating your own progress, and, through the life of God already active within you, you can and will bear fruit.
[1] In the Roman sense of that word
[2] Romans 8:1 | All Bible quotations are from the NRSVue unless otherwise noted.