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What Stops a Miracle?
Jesus has just finished telling parables about hidden treasure in bread, fields containing the greatest treasure of all, and a closing window to follow him. Then he returns to his hometown—the very place where the story began with amazement and astonishment at who he is and his mighty power. But something shifts. Out of nowhere, familiarity comes. What stops a miracle? The condition of our heart stops a miracle.
It's as if Jesus has been screaming at his audience all through Matthew 13: Don't let the posture of you stop what God is doing.
Have you ever experienced something with someone else—been in the same environment—but walked away with completely different experiences? I remember a time my family and I picked a movie. My daughter Sabella picked something like Barbie's Funhouse, and my son and I sat thinking it was the worst thing we'd ever watched. Sabella thought it was the greatest thing ever. The experience was so totally different.
I also remember going to Hillsong Conference as a family—our annual holiday because we couldn't afford another trip away. It was incredible. We sat in the front rows, bought all the CDs afterward, and listened to them repeatedly. I was raving about the experience, and I asked a pastor friend, "How was conference?" He said, "I didn't really get anything out of it because I kind of knew everything already."
Here we were, in the same room, attending the same sessions, yet he didn't even go to some sessions because he wasn't getting the same thing. How can two people be in the same room and get such a different experience?
Let me read the passage from Matthew 13:
That same day Jesus went out of the house and sat beside the sea and great crowds gathered about him and he got into the boat and sat down and the whole crowd stood on the beach and he told them many parables saying a sewer went out to sew and as he sowed some seed fell along the path. And the birds came and devoured them. Another seed fell on rocky ground where they did not have much soil. And immediately they sprang up, but they had no depth. But the sun... they sprang up since they had no depth. So they grew quickly. But when the sun rose, they were scorched. And since they had no root, they withered away. And other seed fell among the thorns. And the thorns grew up and choked them. And some other seed fell on good soil. And produced a grain. Some 100, some 60, some 30fold. Let he who has ears to hear hear.
Jesus breaks down the meaning in Matthew 13:18-23. In this parable, there are three main characters: the seed (the word of God or the work of the kingdom), the soil (our hearts), and the sewer (anyone who proclaims the word, ultimately God himself).
Here's the key insight: There aren't four different types of people in this room. Rather, there are four different types of soil that reside within you today. You are the soil with four different postures.
When the seed falls on the path, it sits on the surface. The path has lost the capacity to receive anything because of familiarity—people have walked on it so much that it's become hardened. This type of soil has no ability for the seed to even take root.
This is one of the most dangerous conditions of the heart. The longer you find yourself sitting in church, the seed doesn't even find any space to get root in the soil because there's a familiar pathway that comes through. Familiarity kills. I would say this with conviction: Familiarity kills more marriages than anything else. The things that used to matter don't matter anymore. We just became familiar.
I remember hiking the Overland Track in Tasmania—an 8-day hike with the most unbelievable views. One day you're in beautiful Cradle Mountain, the next you're overlooking valleys that look straight out of Lord of the Rings. We stood looking at the most spectacular view you could ever see. A tour guide from another group just ran past us. Something that used to be beautiful had become familiar.
The second type of soil is shallow ground. There's hard rock just beneath the surface. The seed grows quickly because of the heat, but the root has nowhere to go. When difficulties come, it can't grow further. NT Wright calls these "short-term enthusiasts."
It's January: this is the year, new year, new me. You go to the sports store because they have a sale. You buy all the gear—the shoes, the clothes. You saw The Rock wearing his Under Armour, so you buy it. You get the gym membership. Then it's February. Short-term enthusiast.
I have a friend who, about ten years ago, started hiking with our group. He bought the most expensive hiking gear—top of the line. He would mock the gear we had as ours was arriving. He's done two hikes in ten years. Hiking gear that is cheap but used is more valuable than expensive gear that's never used.
Every time I see him now, I say, "Bro, I'll give you $200 for all that expensive gear." He says, "No, man. It's worth way more than that." I say, "You're right. Mint as new in good condition. Short-term enthusiast."
People spend so much on their wedding day. Here's my advice: Great marriages are not built by being short-term enthusiasts. Great marriages are built over time. The temptation then becomes: you go on your honeymoon, you have a great wedding, you look at your photos and think, "We need to recapture that moment." So when a marriage is in trouble, they go on a second honeymoon. I promise you: going on a second honeymoon a week away will not change the underlying issues in your marriage. It's short-term enthusiasm. It gives an adrenaline spike for a while, but we build with consistency.
The third type is thorny, crowded ground. It's not hard like the path, and not shallow like rocky ground. It's divided or distracted ground. The word literally means a "divided mind." It's present in the moment, but its attention is somewhere else.
There's a story in Matthew 10 where Jesus visits Mary and Martha. Martha is busily running about the house while Mary sits at the feet of Jesus. We often hear this preached as "we should all be like Mary, sitting at Jesus' feet." But as someone with a bias toward action, I find that frustrating. Everyone knows a Mary who wants to sit and do nothing, and everyone knows Marthas who get stuff done.
But the problem with Martha isn't that she's doing work. The problem with Mary isn't that she's not doing work. The problem Jesus is highlighting is a matter of priority.
The greatest challenge with distractions is this: we all know a distraction that's obviously bad. But the challenge is when something is actually good but in the wrong priority. I say this with humility, but who thinks it's good for your kids to play sport? It's a good thing. But when sports happen on a Sunday, it becomes a priority issue.
When I was a youth pastor, families would come to me saying, "For summer camp, please pray. I want to get my child to summer camp so they have an encounter with God. They're around the wrong friends. They don't love the house of God like they should." I would pray with them and believe with them, but here's what I'd say: If you've spent ten years telling them that sport on Sundays is more important than the house of God, then one summer camp will not fix it.
The challenge is not the wrong thing. It's a priority challenge. Good things that are the wrong priority are still thorns.
Finally, Jesus speaks of good soil. In Ephesians 2:10, Jesus talks of good works that have been prepared. It's like rich, fertile soil. When the word of God finds soil like this, it produces a crop that's beyond miraculous—30, 60, even 100-fold. A 100-fold harvest is like the miraculous catch of fish where the disciples had to call for help to bring in the net. It's miraculous.
NT Wright says the harvest numbers are not about agricultural statistics. They are eschatological signals—the work of the kingdom in the now and present. When the kingdom falls on prepared ground, it produces something beyond any natural expectation.
Whatever you are experiencing or reaping in your life, you cannot break this principle: the seed that you plant will grow into something. Families that seem to have the best relationships, healthy finances, and good disciplines? That's evidence of a seed they planted in a previous season.
The inverse is also true. Any time I've experienced a challenge in my marriage, when the fruit hasn't been what I want, or when finances have been difficult—it's the harvest of a seed I previously planted.
Here's the encouraging word: You can change the harvest you're currently experiencing. You just need to plant some different seed. I haven't always been a good seed planter, but I do my best to work out what I can do to help produce the harvest in my life.
Jesus frequently spoke in agricultural terms because that was their day and age. I'm something of a horticulturist myself—my uncle was a farmer, so I have rich farming roots.
The most important thing to understand is: the problem was never the seed that was scattered. The problem was the soil.
Soil preparation is where all the harvest work is done. I watched a documentary called Clarkson's Farm where Jeremy Clarkson buys a farm. His farm adviser says, "Because you need to prepare the soil... half of your harvest, 50% of your harvest fruitfulness, will be determined by how you prepare the soil."
Our job is soil cultivation. The problem is never the seed.
Jesus shares a story that every person would have known, then references Isaiah where he says there's a difference between seeing and seeing, hearing and hearing. You know this when you've lost something in your house. You ask your wife, "Have you seen my keys?" She says, "Have you looked?" You look again and realize there's a difference between seeing and seeing.
There's also a difference between hearing and hearing. Any parents of teenagers know this. Your teenager hears you, but they're not hearing you. I genuinely had this last night. My wife was talking and said, "You're not listening, are you?" I did what every man does: "Yes, I am. How dare you accuse me." She moved on, and it was about something we have this week, and I still have no idea what it is. I was hearing but not hearing.
The state of the soil determines how it houses the seed, and not every person hears in the same way.
After telling these parables, Jesus leaves and returns to his hometown. He teaches in the synagogue where the people gathered. You'd think of hometown advantage—like the Gabba or the Cauldron in Brisbane where rival teams get ground up. When you have home ground advantage, you stand on business.
But listen to what happens:
They were astonished. Where did this man get this wisdom and these mighty works?
The word "astonished" or "amazed" is the same word used in the Sermon on the Mount. It's full-blown amazement. But then:
Isn't this the carpenter's son? Isn't his mother called Mary and his brothers James and Joseph and Simon and Judas? And are not these his sisters with us?
They were known by who their father was. So the correct identification of Jesus would have been, "Isn't this Joseph's son?" Wrapped within this is an insult questioning the legitimacy of Jesus' birth. It's an insult within an insult.
There's a beautiful story in John 9 where a blind man comes to Jesus. The disciples ask, "Jesus, who sinned so this man would be born blind?" And Jesus says, "No one sinned. This is so that God's glory may be revealed." Then Jesus heals him. But the Pharisees ask 21 questions in the next two chapters—none of them the right question.
Jesus returns home and the same thing happens. And then comes perhaps the most dangerous passage in the Bible:
And they took offense at him.
One version says, "They took great offense at him." The word isn't just a light frustration. It's a deep-seated angst. And hear this:
Jesus has just finished telling parables of:
Then he goes to the very place where the story begins—with amazement and astonishment at who he is. But out of nowhere, familiarity comes.
What stops a miracle? The condition of our heart stops a miracle.
There's an odd story in the Old Testament about the Ark of the Covenant—a place that housed the presence of God. In the New Testament, by the filling of his spirit, we become the temple of the Holy Spirit. We house God's presence.
The Ark was at a man named Uzziah's house, and his house experienced great blessing. When David becomes king, desperate to bring the Ark back to Jerusalem, they place it on a wagon. As they're moving it, the wagon hits a rut and the Ark begins to fall. Uzziah reaches out to steady it and is struck dead.
I always read that and thought it was rough—he was just trying to help. Until I read Eugene Peterson's commentary. It said there was an act of callous casualness—almost like, "It's alright, God. I've got this. We don't need your power here. I've got this." Uzziah touches something sacred with casual presumption.
Tom Wright contrasts that with what we just read. Something that was amazing, they take great offense at.
This is the most tragic passage of the whole chapter:
Jesus said to them: A prophet is not without honor except in his hometown and in his own household. And he did not do many mighty works there because of their unbelief.
Mark chapter 6 tells the same story with one crucial detail:
Jesus was amazed at their lack of faith.
What used to astonish them now offends them.
Mark chapter 2 tells another story. Jesus is teaching in a house in Capernaum (not his hometown). The house is so full that four men who know a crippled friend can't get in. They don't take no for an answer. They climb on the roof, break through, and lower their friend down to Jesus.
The passage says:
Jesus, amazed by their faith...
Compare the two stories:
Are we in Capernaum this morning or Nazareth? Have you been here long enough that what used to amaze you doesn't astonish you anymore? Have we gone casual and familiar with the things of God?
What stops a miracle? It's not the desire of Jesus. It's not the power of Jesus. It's the condition of the people he finds there.
I feel like this has been a challenge God's been speaking to me about personally. What is the soil he finds when I encounter Jesus? Have I grown casual and familiar with him? Has what used to astonish me—that I was once dead and now I'm walking in life with him, that I was lost and he found me—has what used to astonish me become something I'm just familiar with?
There's a song we listened to at summer camp that God just took me back to. It's such a challenge. Let me read a couple of the lyrics:
If the highest place I reach is at your feet, then I've done it all. If the best thing that I've seen is your glory, then I've seen it all.
Another part says:
If I feel your heart but never see your hand, if that's it, if you never do anything else for me, God, then I still have it all.
May we be reminded that there's a Savior who died so that we could walk in life with him. May what once astonished us never become familiar.
Continue exploring
Connected by scripture or shared themes.
What Stops a Miracle?
Jesus has just finished telling parables about hidden treasure in bread, fields containing the greatest treasure of all, and a closing window to follow him. Then he returns to his hometown—the very place where the story began with amazement and astonishment at who he is and his mighty power. But something shifts. Out of nowhere, familiarity comes. What stops a miracle? The condition of our heart stops a miracle.
It's as if Jesus has been screaming at his audience all through Matthew 13: Don't let the posture of you stop what God is doing.
Have you ever experienced something with someone else—been in the same environment—but walked away with completely different experiences? I remember a time my family and I picked a movie. My daughter Sabella picked something like Barbie's Funhouse, and my son and I sat thinking it was the worst thing we'd ever watched. Sabella thought it was the greatest thing ever. The experience was so totally different.
I also remember going to Hillsong Conference as a family—our annual holiday because we couldn't afford another trip away. It was incredible. We sat in the front rows, bought all the CDs afterward, and listened to them repeatedly. I was raving about the experience, and I asked a pastor friend, "How was conference?" He said, "I didn't really get anything out of it because I kind of knew everything already."
Here we were, in the same room, attending the same sessions, yet he didn't even go to some sessions because he wasn't getting the same thing. How can two people be in the same room and get such a different experience?
Let me read the passage from Matthew 13:
That same day Jesus went out of the house and sat beside the sea and great crowds gathered about him and he got into the boat and sat down and the whole crowd stood on the beach and he told them many parables saying a sewer went out to sew and as he sowed some seed fell along the path. And the birds came and devoured them. Another seed fell on rocky ground where they did not have much soil. And immediately they sprang up, but they had no depth. But the sun... they sprang up since they had no depth. So they grew quickly. But when the sun rose, they were scorched. And since they had no root, they withered away. And other seed fell among the thorns. And the thorns grew up and choked them. And some other seed fell on good soil. And produced a grain. Some 100, some 60, some 30fold. Let he who has ears to hear hear.
Jesus breaks down the meaning in Matthew 13:18-23. In this parable, there are three main characters: the seed (the word of God or the work of the kingdom), the soil (our hearts), and the sewer (anyone who proclaims the word, ultimately God himself).
Here's the key insight: There aren't four different types of people in this room. Rather, there are four different types of soil that reside within you today. You are the soil with four different postures.
When the seed falls on the path, it sits on the surface. The path has lost the capacity to receive anything because of familiarity—people have walked on it so much that it's become hardened. This type of soil has no ability for the seed to even take root.
This is one of the most dangerous conditions of the heart. The longer you find yourself sitting in church, the seed doesn't even find any space to get root in the soil because there's a familiar pathway that comes through. Familiarity kills. I would say this with conviction: Familiarity kills more marriages than anything else. The things that used to matter don't matter anymore. We just became familiar.
I remember hiking the Overland Track in Tasmania—an 8-day hike with the most unbelievable views. One day you're in beautiful Cradle Mountain, the next you're overlooking valleys that look straight out of Lord of the Rings. We stood looking at the most spectacular view you could ever see. A tour guide from another group just ran past us. Something that used to be beautiful had become familiar.
The second type of soil is shallow ground. There's hard rock just beneath the surface. The seed grows quickly because of the heat, but the root has nowhere to go. When difficulties come, it can't grow further. NT Wright calls these "short-term enthusiasts."
It's January: this is the year, new year, new me. You go to the sports store because they have a sale. You buy all the gear—the shoes, the clothes. You saw The Rock wearing his Under Armour, so you buy it. You get the gym membership. Then it's February. Short-term enthusiast.
I have a friend who, about ten years ago, started hiking with our group. He bought the most expensive hiking gear—top of the line. He would mock the gear we had as ours was arriving. He's done two hikes in ten years. Hiking gear that is cheap but used is more valuable than expensive gear that's never used.
Every time I see him now, I say, "Bro, I'll give you $200 for all that expensive gear." He says, "No, man. It's worth way more than that." I say, "You're right. Mint as new in good condition. Short-term enthusiast."
People spend so much on their wedding day. Here's my advice: Great marriages are not built by being short-term enthusiasts. Great marriages are built over time. The temptation then becomes: you go on your honeymoon, you have a great wedding, you look at your photos and think, "We need to recapture that moment." So when a marriage is in trouble, they go on a second honeymoon. I promise you: going on a second honeymoon a week away will not change the underlying issues in your marriage. It's short-term enthusiasm. It gives an adrenaline spike for a while, but we build with consistency.
The third type is thorny, crowded ground. It's not hard like the path, and not shallow like rocky ground. It's divided or distracted ground. The word literally means a "divided mind." It's present in the moment, but its attention is somewhere else.
There's a story in Matthew 10 where Jesus visits Mary and Martha. Martha is busily running about the house while Mary sits at the feet of Jesus. We often hear this preached as "we should all be like Mary, sitting at Jesus' feet." But as someone with a bias toward action, I find that frustrating. Everyone knows a Mary who wants to sit and do nothing, and everyone knows Marthas who get stuff done.
But the problem with Martha isn't that she's doing work. The problem with Mary isn't that she's not doing work. The problem Jesus is highlighting is a matter of priority.
The greatest challenge with distractions is this: we all know a distraction that's obviously bad. But the challenge is when something is actually good but in the wrong priority. I say this with humility, but who thinks it's good for your kids to play sport? It's a good thing. But when sports happen on a Sunday, it becomes a priority issue.
When I was a youth pastor, families would come to me saying, "For summer camp, please pray. I want to get my child to summer camp so they have an encounter with God. They're around the wrong friends. They don't love the house of God like they should." I would pray with them and believe with them, but here's what I'd say: If you've spent ten years telling them that sport on Sundays is more important than the house of God, then one summer camp will not fix it.
The challenge is not the wrong thing. It's a priority challenge. Good things that are the wrong priority are still thorns.
Finally, Jesus speaks of good soil. In Ephesians 2:10, Jesus talks of good works that have been prepared. It's like rich, fertile soil. When the word of God finds soil like this, it produces a crop that's beyond miraculous—30, 60, even 100-fold. A 100-fold harvest is like the miraculous catch of fish where the disciples had to call for help to bring in the net. It's miraculous.
NT Wright says the harvest numbers are not about agricultural statistics. They are eschatological signals—the work of the kingdom in the now and present. When the kingdom falls on prepared ground, it produces something beyond any natural expectation.
Whatever you are experiencing or reaping in your life, you cannot break this principle: the seed that you plant will grow into something. Families that seem to have the best relationships, healthy finances, and good disciplines? That's evidence of a seed they planted in a previous season.
The inverse is also true. Any time I've experienced a challenge in my marriage, when the fruit hasn't been what I want, or when finances have been difficult—it's the harvest of a seed I previously planted.
Here's the encouraging word: You can change the harvest you're currently experiencing. You just need to plant some different seed. I haven't always been a good seed planter, but I do my best to work out what I can do to help produce the harvest in my life.
Jesus frequently spoke in agricultural terms because that was their day and age. I'm something of a horticulturist myself—my uncle was a farmer, so I have rich farming roots.
The most important thing to understand is: the problem was never the seed that was scattered. The problem was the soil.
Soil preparation is where all the harvest work is done. I watched a documentary called Clarkson's Farm where Jeremy Clarkson buys a farm. His farm adviser says, "Because you need to prepare the soil... half of your harvest, 50% of your harvest fruitfulness, will be determined by how you prepare the soil."
Our job is soil cultivation. The problem is never the seed.
Jesus shares a story that every person would have known, then references Isaiah where he says there's a difference between seeing and seeing, hearing and hearing. You know this when you've lost something in your house. You ask your wife, "Have you seen my keys?" She says, "Have you looked?" You look again and realize there's a difference between seeing and seeing.
There's also a difference between hearing and hearing. Any parents of teenagers know this. Your teenager hears you, but they're not hearing you. I genuinely had this last night. My wife was talking and said, "You're not listening, are you?" I did what every man does: "Yes, I am. How dare you accuse me." She moved on, and it was about something we have this week, and I still have no idea what it is. I was hearing but not hearing.
The state of the soil determines how it houses the seed, and not every person hears in the same way.
After telling these parables, Jesus leaves and returns to his hometown. He teaches in the synagogue where the people gathered. You'd think of hometown advantage—like the Gabba or the Cauldron in Brisbane where rival teams get ground up. When you have home ground advantage, you stand on business.
But listen to what happens:
They were astonished. Where did this man get this wisdom and these mighty works?
The word "astonished" or "amazed" is the same word used in the Sermon on the Mount. It's full-blown amazement. But then:
Isn't this the carpenter's son? Isn't his mother called Mary and his brothers James and Joseph and Simon and Judas? And are not these his sisters with us?
They were known by who their father was. So the correct identification of Jesus would have been, "Isn't this Joseph's son?" Wrapped within this is an insult questioning the legitimacy of Jesus' birth. It's an insult within an insult.
There's a beautiful story in John 9 where a blind man comes to Jesus. The disciples ask, "Jesus, who sinned so this man would be born blind?" And Jesus says, "No one sinned. This is so that God's glory may be revealed." Then Jesus heals him. But the Pharisees ask 21 questions in the next two chapters—none of them the right question.
Jesus returns home and the same thing happens. And then comes perhaps the most dangerous passage in the Bible:
And they took offense at him.
One version says, "They took great offense at him." The word isn't just a light frustration. It's a deep-seated angst. And hear this:
Jesus has just finished telling parables of:
Then he goes to the very place where the story begins—with amazement and astonishment at who he is. But out of nowhere, familiarity comes.
What stops a miracle? The condition of our heart stops a miracle.
There's an odd story in the Old Testament about the Ark of the Covenant—a place that housed the presence of God. In the New Testament, by the filling of his spirit, we become the temple of the Holy Spirit. We house God's presence.
The Ark was at a man named Uzziah's house, and his house experienced great blessing. When David becomes king, desperate to bring the Ark back to Jerusalem, they place it on a wagon. As they're moving it, the wagon hits a rut and the Ark begins to fall. Uzziah reaches out to steady it and is struck dead.
I always read that and thought it was rough—he was just trying to help. Until I read Eugene Peterson's commentary. It said there was an act of callous casualness—almost like, "It's alright, God. I've got this. We don't need your power here. I've got this." Uzziah touches something sacred with casual presumption.
Tom Wright contrasts that with what we just read. Something that was amazing, they take great offense at.
This is the most tragic passage of the whole chapter:
Jesus said to them: A prophet is not without honor except in his hometown and in his own household. And he did not do many mighty works there because of their unbelief.
Mark chapter 6 tells the same story with one crucial detail:
Jesus was amazed at their lack of faith.
What used to astonish them now offends them.
Mark chapter 2 tells another story. Jesus is teaching in a house in Capernaum (not his hometown). The house is so full that four men who know a crippled friend can't get in. They don't take no for an answer. They climb on the roof, break through, and lower their friend down to Jesus.
The passage says:
Jesus, amazed by their faith...
Compare the two stories:
Are we in Capernaum this morning or Nazareth? Have you been here long enough that what used to amaze you doesn't astonish you anymore? Have we gone casual and familiar with the things of God?
What stops a miracle? It's not the desire of Jesus. It's not the power of Jesus. It's the condition of the people he finds there.
I feel like this has been a challenge God's been speaking to me about personally. What is the soil he finds when I encounter Jesus? Have I grown casual and familiar with him? Has what used to astonish me—that I was once dead and now I'm walking in life with him, that I was lost and he found me—has what used to astonish me become something I'm just familiar with?
There's a song we listened to at summer camp that God just took me back to. It's such a challenge. Let me read a couple of the lyrics:
If the highest place I reach is at your feet, then I've done it all. If the best thing that I've seen is your glory, then I've seen it all.
Another part says:
If I feel your heart but never see your hand, if that's it, if you never do anything else for me, God, then I still have it all.
May we be reminded that there's a Savior who died so that we could walk in life with him. May what once astonished us never become familiar.
Continue exploring
Connected by scripture or shared themes.
