"And when much people were gathered together, and were come to him out
of every city, he spake by a parable: a sower went out to sow his seed:
and as he sowed, some fell by the wayside; and it was trodden down, and
the fowls of the air devoured it. And some fell upon a rock; and as soon
as it was sprung up, it withered away, because it lacked moisture. And
some fell among thorns; and the thorns sprang up with it and choked it.
And other fell on good ground, and sprang up, and bare fruit an
hundredfold. And when he had said these things, he cried, He that hath
ears to hear, let him hear."--LUKE 8:4-8.
IN our country, when a sower goes forth to his work, he generally enters
into an enclosed field, and scatters the seed from his basket along
every ridge and furrow; but in the East, the corn-growing country, hard
by a small town, is usually an open area. It is divided into different
properties, but there are no visible divisions, except the ancient
landmarks, or perhaps ridges of stones. Through these open lands there
are footpaths, the most frequented being called the highways. You must
not imagine these highways to be like our macadamized roads; they are
merely paths, trodden tolerably hard. Here and there you notice by-ways,
along which travellers who wish to avoid the public road may journey
with a little more safety when the main road is infested with robbers;
hasty travellers also strike out short cuts for themselves, and so open
fresh tracks for others. When the sower goes forth to sow he finds a
plot of ground scratched over with the primitive Eastern plough; he
aims at scattering his seed there most plentifully; but a path runs
through the centre of his field, and unless he is willing to leave a
broad headland, he must throw a handful upon it. Yonder, a rock crops
out in the midst of the ploughed land, and the seed falls on its shallow
soil. Here is a corner full of the roots of nettles and thistles, and he
flings a little here; the corn and the nettles come up together, and the
thorns being the stronger soon choke the seed, so that it brings forth
no fruit unto perfection. The recollection that the Bible was written in
the East, and that its metaphors and allusions must be explained to us
by Eastern travellers, will often help us to understand a passage far
better than if we think of English customs.
The preacher of the gospel is like the sower. He does not make his seed;
it is given him by his divine Master. No man could create the smallest
grain that ever grew upon the earth, much less the celestial seed of
eternal life. The minister goes to his Master in secret, and asks him to
teach him his gospel, and thus he fills his basket with the good seed of
the kingdom. He then goes forth in his Master's name and scatters
precious truth. If he knew where the best soil was to be found, perhaps
he might limit himself to that which had been prepared by the plough of
conviction; but not knowing men's hearts, it is his business to preach
the gospel to every creature--to throw a handful on the hardened heart,
and another on the mind which is overgrown with the cares and pleasures
of the world. He has to leave the seed in the care of the Lord who gave
it to him, for he is not responsible for the harvest, he is only
accountable for the care and industry with which he does his work. If no
single ear should ever make glad the reaper, the sower will be rewarded
by his Master if he had planted the right seed with careful hand. If it
were not for this fact with what despairing agony should we utter the
cry of Esaias, "Who hath believed our report? and to whom is the arm of
the Lord revealed?"
Our duty is not measured by the character of our hearers, but by the
command of our God. We are bound to preach the gospel, whether men will
hear, or whether they will forbear. It is ours to sow beside all waters.
Let men's hearts be what they may the minister must preach the gospel to
them; he must sow the seed on the rock as well as in the furrow, on the
highway as well as in the ploughed field.
I shall now address myself to the four classes of hearers mentioned in
our Lord's parable. We have, first of all, those who are represented by
the _way-side_, those who are "hearers only"; then those represented by
the _stony ground_; these are transiently impressed, but the word
produces no lasting fruit; then, those _among thorns_, on whom a good
impression is produced, but the cares of this life, and the
deceitfulness of riches, and the pleasures of the world choke the seed;
and lastly, that small class--God be pleased to multiply it
exceedingly--that small class of _good ground_ hearers, in whom the Word
brings forth abundant fruit.
I. First of all, I address myself to those hearts which are like the
WAY-SIDE: "Some fell by the wayside; and it was trodden down, and the
fowls of the air devoured it." Many of you do not go to the place of
worship desiring a blessing. You do not intend to worship God, or to be
affected by anything that you hear. You are like the highway, which was
never intended to be a cornfield. If a single grain of truth should fall
into your heart and grow it would be as great a wonder as for corn to
grow up in the street. If the seed shall be dexterously scattered, some
of it will fall upon you, and rest for a while upon your thoughts. 'Tis
true you will not understand it; but, nevertheless, if it be placed
before you in an interesting style, you will talk about it till some
more congenial entertainment shall attract you. Even this slender
benefit is brief, for in a little season you will forget all that you
have heard. Would to God we could hope that our words would tarry with
you; but we cannot hope it, for the soil of your heart is so hard beaten
by continual traffic, that there is no hope of the seed finding a living
root-hold. Satan is constantly passing over your heart with his company
of blasphemies, lusts, lies, and vanities. The chariots of pride roll
along it, and the feet of greedy mammon tread it till it is hard as
adamant. Alas! for the good seed, it finds not a moment's respite;
crowds pass and repass; in fact, your soul is an exchange, across which
continually hurry the busy feet of those who make merchandise of the
souls of men. You are buying and selling, but you little think that you
are selling the truth, and that you are buying your soul's destruction.
You have no time, you say, to think of religion. No, the road of your
heart is such a crowded thoroughfare, that there is no room for the
wheat to spring up. If it did begin to germinate, some rough foot would
crush the green blade ere it could come to perfection. The seed has
occasionally lain long enough to begin to sprout, but just then a new
place of amusement has been opened, and you have entered there, and as
with an iron heel, the germ of life that was in the seed was crushed
out. Corn could not grow in Cornhill or Cheapside, however excellent the
seed might be; your heart is just like those crowded thoroughfares; for
so many cares and sins throng it, and so many proud, vain, evil,
rebellious thoughts against God pass through it, that the seed of truth
cannot grow.
We have looked at this hard roadside, let us now describe what becomes
of the good word, when it falls upon such a heart. It would have grown
if it had fallen on right soil, but it has dropped into the wrong place,
and it remains as dry as when it fell from the sower's hand. The word of
the gospel lies upon the surface of such a heart, but never enters it.
Like the snow, which sometimes falls upon our streets, drops upon the
wet pavement, melts, and is gone at once, so is it with this man. The
word has not time to quicken in his soul; it lies there an instant, but
it never strikes root, or takes the slightest effect.
Why do men come to hear if the word never enters their hearts? That has
often puzzled us. Some hearers would not be absent on the Sunday on any
account; they are delighted to come up with us to worship, but yet the
tear never trickles down their cheek, their soul never mounts up to
heaven on the wings of praise, nor do they truly join in our confessions
of sin. They do not think of the wrath to come, nor of the future state
of their souls. Their heart is as iron; the minister might as well speak
to a heap of stones as preach to them. What brings these senseless
sinners here? Surely we are as hopeful of converting lions and leopards
as these untamed, insensible hearts. Oh feeling! thou art fled to
brutish beasts, and men have lost their reason! Do these people come to
our assemblies because it is respectable to attend a place of worship?
Or is it that their coming helps to make them comfortable in their sins?
If they stopped away conscience would prick them; but they come hither
that they may flatter themselves with the notion that they are
religious. Oh! my hearers, your case is one that might make an angel
weep! How sad to have the sun of the gospel shining on your faces, and
yet to have blind eyes that never see the light! The music of heaven is
lost upon you, for you have no ears to hear. You can catch the turn of a
phrase, you can appreciate the poetry of an illustration, but the hidden
meaning, the divine life, you do not perceive. You sit at the
marriage-feast, but you eat not of the dainties; the bells of heaven
ring with joy over ransomed spirits, but you live unransomed, without
God, and without Christ. Though we plead with you, and pray for you, and
weep over you, you still remain as hardened, as careless, and as
thoughtless as ever you were. May God have mercy on you, and break up
your hard hearts, that his word may abide in you.
We have not, however, completed the picture. The passage tells us that
the fowls of the air devoured the seed. Is there here a wayside hearer?
Perhaps he did not mean to hear this sermon, and when he has heard it he
will be asked by one of the wicked to come into company. He will go with
the tempter, and the good seed will be devoured by the fowls of the air.
Plenty of evil ones are ready to take away the gospel from the heart.
The devil himself, that prince of the air, is eager at any time to
snatch away a good thought. And then the devil is not alone--he has
legions of helpers. He can set a man's wife, children, friends,
enemies, customers, or creditors, to eat up the good seed, and they will
do it effectually. Oh, sorrow upon sorrow, that heavenly seed should
become devil's meat; that God's corn should feed foul birds!
O my hearers, if you have heard the gospel from your youth, what
wagon-loads of sermons have been wasted on you! In your younger days,
you heard old Dr. So-and-so, and the dear old man was wont to pray for
his hearers till his eyes were red with tears! Do you recollect those
many Sundays when you said to yourself, "Let me go to my chamber and
fall on my knees and pray"? But you did not; the fowls of the air ate up
the seed, and you went on to sin as you had sinned before. Since then,
by some strange impulse, you are very rarely absent from God's house;
but now the seed of the gospel falls into your soul as if it dropped
upon an iron floor, and nothing comes of it. The law may be thundered at
you; you do not sneer at it, but it never affects you. Jesus Christ may
be lifted up; his dear wounds may be exhibited; his streaming blood may
flow before your very eyes, and you may be bidden with all earnestness
to look to him and live; but it is as if one should sow the sea-shore.
What shall I do for you? Shall I stand here and rain tears upon this
hard highway? Alas! my tears will not break it up; it is trodden too
hard for that. Shall I bring the gospel plough? Alas! the ploughshare
will not enter ground so solid. What shall we do? O God, thou knowest
how to melt the hardest heart with the precious blood of Jesus. Do it
now, we beseech thee, and thus magnify thy grace, by causing the good
seed to live, and to produce a heavenly harvest.
II. I shall now turn to the second class of hearers: "And some fell upon
a ROCK; and as soon as it was sprung up, it withered away, because it
lacked moisture." You can easily picture to yourselves that piece of
rock in the midst of the field thinly veiled with soil; and of course
the seed falls there as it does everywhere else. It springs up, it
hastens to grow, it withers, it dies. None but those who love the souls
of men can tell what hopes, what joys, and what bitter disappointments
these stony places have caused us. We have a class of hearers whose
hearts are hard, and yet they are apparently the softest and most
impressible of men. While other men see nothing in the sermon, these men
weep. Whether you preach the terrors of the law or the love of Calvary,
they are alike stirred in their souls, and the liveliest impressions are
apparently produced. Such may be listening now. They have resolved, but
they have procrastinated. They are not the sturdy enemies of God who
clothe themselves in steel, but they seem to bare their breasts, and lay
them open to the minister. Rejoiced in heart, we shoot our arrows there,
and they appear to penetrate; but, alas, a secret armor blunts every
dart, and no wound is felt. The parable speaks of this character thus:
"Some fell upon stony places, where they had not much earth: and
forthwith they sprung up, because they had no deepness of earth." Or as
another passage explains it: "And these are they likewise which are sown
on stony ground; who, when they have heard the word, immediately receive
it with gladness; and have no root in themselves, and so endure but for
a time: afterward, when affliction or persecution ariseth for the word's
sake, immediately they are offended." Have we not thousands of hearers
who receive the word with joy? They have no deep convictions, but they
leap into Christ on a sudden, and profess an instantaneous faith in him,
and that faith has all the appearance of being genuine. When we look at
it, the seed has really sprouted. There is a kind of life in it, there
is apparently a green blade. We thank God that a sinner is brought back,
a soul is born to God. But our joy is premature; they sprang up on a
sudden, and received the word with joy, because they had no depth of
earth, and the self-same cause which hastened their reception of the
seed also causes them, when the sun is risen with his fervent heat, to
wither away. These men we see every day in the week. They come to join
the church; they tell us a story of how they heard us preach on
such-and-such an occasion, and, oh, the word was so blessed to them,
they never felt so happy in their lives! "Oh, sir, I thought I must leap
from my seat when I heard about a precious Christ, and I believed on him
there and then; I am sure I did." We question them as to whether they
were ever convinced of sin. They think they were; but one thing they
know, they feel a great pleasure in religion. We put it to them. "Do you
think you will hold on?" They are confident that they shall. They hate
the things they once loved, they are sure they do. Everything has become
new to them. And all this is on a sudden. We enquire when the good work
began. We find it began when it ended, that is to say, there was no
previous work, no ploughing of the soil, but on a sudden they sprang
from death to life, as if a field should be covered with wheat by magic.
Perhaps we receive them into the church; but in a week or two they are
not so regular as they used to be. We gently reprove them, and they
explain that they meet with such opposition in religion that they are
obliged to yield a little. Another month and we lose them altogether.
The reason is that they have been laughed at or exposed to a little
opposition, and they have gone back. And what, think you, are the
feelings of the minister? He is like the husbandman, who sees his field
all green and flourishing, but at night a frost nips every shoot, and
his hoped-for gains are gone. The minister goes to his chamber, and
casts himself on his face before God, and cries, "I have been deceived;
my converts are fickle, their religion has withered as the green herb."
In the ancient story Orpheus is said to have had such skill upon the
lyre, that he made the oaks and stones to dance around him. It is a
poetical fiction, and yet hath it sometimes happened to the minister,
that not only have the godly rejoiced, but men, like oaks and stones,
have danced from their places. Alas! they have been oaks and stones
still. Hushed is the lyre. The oak returns to its rooting-place, and the
stone casts itself heavily to the earth. The sinner, who, like Saul, was
among the prophets, goes back to plan mischief against the Most High.
If it is bad to be a wayside hearer, I cannot think it is much better to
be like the rock. This second class of hearers certainly gives us more
joy than the first. A certain company always comes round a new minister;
and I have often thought it is an act of God's kindness that he allows
these people to gather at the first, while the minister is young, and
has but few to stand by him; these persons are easily moved, and if the
minister preaches earnestly they feel it, and they love him, and rally
round him, much to his comfort. But time, that proves all things,
proves them. They seemed to be made of true metal; but when they are put
into the fire to be tested, they are consumed in the furnace. Some of
the shallow kind are here now. I have looked at you when I have been
preaching, and I have often thought, "That man one of these days will
come out from the world, I am sure he will." I have thanked God for him.
Alas, he is the same as ever. Years and years have we sowed him in vain,
and it is to be feared it will be so to the end, for he is without
depth, and without the moisture of the Spirit. Shall it be so? Must I
stand over the mouth of your open sepulchre, and think, "Here lies a
shoot which never became an ear, a man in whom grace struggled but never
reigned, who gave some hopeful spasms of life and then subsided into
eternal death?" God save you! Oh! may the Spirit deal with you
effectually, and may you, even you, yet bring forth fruit unto God, that
Jesus may have a reward for his sufferings.
III. I shall briefly treat of the third class, and may the Spirit of God
assist me to deal faithfully with you. "And some fell among THORNS; and
the thorns sprang up with it, and choked it." Now, this was good soil.
The two first characters were bad; the wayside was not the proper place,
the rock was not a congenial situation for the growth of any plant; but
this is good soil, for it grows thorns. Wherever a thistle will spring
up and flourish, there would wheat flourish too. This was fat, fertile
soil; it was no marvel therefore that the husbandman dealt largely
there, and threw handful after handful upon that corner of the field.
See how happy he is when in a month or two he visits the spot. The seed
has sprung up. True, there's a suspicious little plant down there of
about the same size as the wheat. "Oh!" he thinks, "that's not much, the
corn will outgrow _that_. When it is stronger it will choke these few
thistles that have unfortunately mixed with it." Ay, Mr. Husbandman, you
do not understand the force of evil, or you would not thus dream! He
comes again, and the seed has grown, there is even the corn in the ear;
but the thistles, the thorns, and the briers have become inter-twisted
with one another, and the poor wheat can hardly get a ray of sunshine.
It is so choked with thorns every way, that it looks quite yellow; the
plant is starved. Still it perseveres in growing, and it does seem as if
it would bring forth a little fruit. Alas, it never comes to anything.
With it the reaper never fills his arm.
We have this class very largely among us. These hear the word and
understand what they hear. They take the truth home; they think it over;
they even go the length of making a profession of religion. The wheat
seems to spring and ear; it will soon come to perfection. Be in no
hurry, these men and women have a great deal to see after; they have the
cares of a large concern; their establishment employs so many hundred
hands; do not be deceived as to their godliness--they have no time for
it. They will tell you that they must live; that they cannot neglect
this world; that they must anyhow look out for the present, and as for
the future, they will render it all due attention by-and-by. They
continue to attend gospel-preaching, and the poor little stunted blade
of religion keeps on growing after a fashion. Meanwhile they have grown
rich, they come to the place of worship in a carriage, they have all
that heart can wish. Ah! now the seed will grow, will it not? No, no.
They have no cares now; the shop is given up, they live in the country;
they have not to ask, "Where shall the money come from to meet the next
bill?" or "how shall they be able to provide for an increasing family."
Now they have too much instead of too little, for they have _riches_,
and they are too wealthy to be gracious. "But," says one, "they might
spend their riches for God." Certainly they might, but they do not, for
riches are deceitful. They have to entertain much company, and chime in
with the world, and so Christ and his church are left in the lurch.
Yes, but they begin to spend their riches, and they have surely got over
that difficulty, for they give largely to the cause of Christ, and they
are munificent in charity; the little blade will grow, will it not? No,
for now behold the thorns of pleasure. Their liberality to others
involves liberality to themselves; their pleasures, amusements, and
vanities choke the wheat of true religion; the good grains of gospel
truth cannot grow because they have to attend that musical party, that
ball, and that soirée, and so they cannot think of the things of God. I
know several specimens of this class. I knew one, high in court circles,
who has confessed to me that he wished he were poor, for then he might
enter the kingdom of heaven. He has said to me, "Ah! sir, these
politics, these politics, I wish I were rid of them, they are eating the
life out of my heart. I cannot serve God as I would." I know of another,
overloaded with riches, who has said to me, "Ah! sir, it is an awful
thing to be rich; one cannot keep close to the Saviour with all this
earth about him."
Ah! my dear readers, I will not ask for you that God may lay you on a
bed of sickness, that he may strip you of all your wealth, and bring
you to beggary; but, oh, if he were to do it, and you were to save your
souls, it would be the best bargain you could ever make. If those mighty
ones who now complain that the thorns choke the seed could give up all
their riches and pleasures, if they that fare sumptuously every day
could take the place of Lazarus at the gate, it were a happy change for
them if their souls might be saved. A man may be honorable and rich, and
yet go to heaven; but it will be hard work, for "It is easier for a
camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter
into the kingdom of heaven." God does make some rich men enter the
kingdom of heaven, but hard is their struggle. Steady, young man,
steady! Hurry not to climb to wealth! It is a place where many heads are
turned. Do not ask God to make you popular; they that have popularity
are wearied by it. Cry with Agur, "Give me neither poverty nor riches."
God give me to tread the golden mean, and may I ever have in my heart
that good seed, which shall bring forth fruit a hundredfold to his own
glory.
IV. I now close with the last character, namely, the GOOD GROUND. Of the
good soil, as you will mark, we have but one in four. Will one in four
of our hearers, with well-prepared heart, receive the Word?
The ground is described as "good"; not that it was good by nature, but
it had been made good by grace. God had ploughed it; he had stirred it
up with the plough of conviction, and there it lay in ridge and furrow
as it should lie. When the gospel was preached, the heart received it,
for the man said, "That is just the blessing I want. Mercy is what a
needy sinner requires." So that the preaching of the gospel was THE
thing to give comfort to this disturbed and ploughed soil. Down fell the
seed to take good root. In some cases it produced fervency of love,
largeness of heart, devotedness of purpose of a noble kind, like seed
which produces a hundredfold. The man became a mighty servant for God,
he spent himself and was spent. He took his place in the vanguard of
Christ's army, stood in the hottest of the battle, and did deeds of
daring which few could accomplish--the seed produced a hundredfold. It
fell into another heart of like character; the man could not do the
most, but still he did much. He gave himself to God, and in his business
he had a word to say for his Lord; in his daily walk he quietly adorned
the doctrine of God his Saviour--he brought forth sixtyfold. Then it
fell on another, whose abilities and talents were but small; he could
not be a star, but he would be a glow-worm; he could not do as the
greatest, but he was content to do something, however humble. The seed
had brought forth in him tenfold, perhaps twentyfold. How many are there
of this sort here? Is there one who prays within himself, "God be
merciful to me a sinner"? The seed has fallen in the right spot. Soul,
thy prayer shall be heard. God never sets a man longing for mercy
without intending to give it. Does another whisper, "Oh that I might be
saved"? Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou, even thou, shalt be
saved. Hast thou been the chief of sinners? Trust Christ, and thy
enormous sins shall vanish as the millstone sinks beneath the flood. Is
there no one here that will trust the Saviour? Can it be possible that
the Spirit is entirely absent? that he is not moving in one soul? not
begetting life in one spirit? We will pray that he may now descend, that
the word may not be in vain.