Sermón 308 | La parábola del sembrador

En nuestro país, cuando un sembrador sale a su trabajo, generalmente entra en un campo cerrado y esparce la semilla de su canasta por cada surco y surco; pero en el Este, la zona productora de maíz, cerca de una pequeña ciudad, suele ser una zona abierta. Está dividido en diferentes propiedades, pero no hay divisiones visibles, excepto los hitos antiguos, o quizás crestas de piedras. Por estos descampados existen senderos, siendo los más frecuentados los llamados caminos. No deben imaginarse estas carreteras como nuestras carreteras macadamizadas; son meros caminos, transitados con bastante dureza. Aquí y allá se ven desvíos por los cuales los viajeros que desean evitar la vía pública pueden viajar con un poco más de seguridad cuando la carretera principal está infestada de ladrones: los viajeros apresurados también toman atajos para sí mismos, abriendo así nuevos caminos para otros. Cuando el sembrador sale a sembrar, encuentra una parcela redonda raspada con el primitivo arado oriental; su objetivo es esparcir allí su semilla más abundantemente; pero un sendero pasa por el centro de su campo y, a menos que esté dispuesto a abandonar un promontorio amplio, debe arrojar un puñado sobre él. Allá, una roca brota en medio de la tierra arada, y la semilla cae en su suelo poco profundo. Aquí hay un rincón lleno de raíces de ortigas y cardos, y echa un poco aquí; el maíz y las ortigas crecen juntos, y las espinas, siendo más fuertes, pronto ahogan la semilla, de modo que no produce fruto perfecto. El recuerdo de que la Biblia fue escrita en Oriente, y que sus metáforas y alusiones deben ser explicadas por los viajeros orientales, a menudo nos ayudará a comprender un pasaje mucho mejor que si pensamos en las costumbres inglesas.

El predicador del evangelio es como el sembrador. Él no hace su semilla; le es dado por su divino Maestro. Ningún hombre podría crear el grano más pequeño que jamás haya crecido sobre la tierra, y mucho menos la semilla celestial de la vida eterna. El ministro va a su Maestro en secreto y le pide que le enseñe su evangelio, y así llena su canasta con la buena semilla del reino. Luego avanza en nombre de su Maestro y esparce la preciosa verdad. Si supiera dónde se encuentra el mejor suelo, tal vez podría limitarse a aquel que había sido preparado por el arado de la convicción; pero como no conoce los corazones de los hombres, le corresponde predicar el evangelio a toda criatura: echar un puñado sobre el corazón endurecido y otro sobre la mente que está cubierta por las preocupaciones y placeres del mundo. Tiene que dejar la semilla al cuidado del Señor que se la dio, pues él no es responsable de la cosecha, sólo es responsable del cuidado y diligencia con que realiza su trabajo. Si ninguna espiga alguna vez alegra al segador, el sembrador será recompensado por Su Maestro si ha plantado la semilla correcta con mano cuidadosa. Si no fuera por este hecho, ¿con qué desesperada agonía deberíamos pronunciar el grito de Isaías: "¿Quién ha creído a nuestro anuncio? ¿Y a quién se ha revelado el brazo del Señor?" Nuestro deber no se mide por el carácter de nuestros oyentes, sino por el mandato de nuestro Dios. Estamos obligados a predicar el evangelio, ya sea que los hombres escuchen o dejen de hacerlo. A nosotros nos corresponde sembrar junto a todas las aguas. Que los corazones de los hombres sean lo que quieran; el ministro debe predicarles el evangelio; debe sembrar la semilla tanto en la roca como en el surco, tanto en el camino como en el campo arado. Ahora me dirigiré a las cuatro clases de oyentes mencionados en la parábola de nuestro Señor. Tenemos, en primer lugar, a los que están representados al borde del camino, a los que son "sólo oyentes"; luego los representados por el pedregoso; éstos quedan impresionados transitoriamente, pero la palabra no produce fruto duradero; luego, aquellos entre espinos, en quienes se produce buena impresión, pero los cuidados de esta vida, y el engaño de las riquezas, y los placeres del mundo ahogan la semilla; y, por último, esa pequeña clase de oyentes de buena base, en quienes la Palabra produce frutos abundantes.

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 road-side, 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 way-side 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.

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 sepulcher, and thin, "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.

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 out-grow 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 briars have become intertwisted 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 soiree, 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 Savior 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.

Ahora cierro con el último personaje, es decir, la Buena Tierra. De la buena tierra, como podrás comprobar, sólo tenemos una de cada cuatro. ¿Recibirá la Palabra uno de cada cuatro de nuestros oyentes, con el corazón bien preparado? La tierra se describe como "buena": no es que sea buena por naturaleza, sino que ha sido hecha buena por gracia. Dios lo había arado; lo había agitado con el arado de la convicción, y allí yacía, en lomas y surcos, como debía estar. Cuando se predicó el evangelio, el corazón lo recibió, porque el hombre dijo: "Esa es precisamente la bendición que quiero. Misericordia es lo que requiere un pecador necesitado". De modo que la predicación del evangelio era lo que daba consuelo a este suelo perturbado y arado. La semilla cayó para echar buenas raíces. En algunos casos produjo fervor de amor, amplitud de corazón, devoción de propósito de tipo noble, como semilla que produce cien veces más. El hombre se convirtió en un poderoso siervo de Dios, se gastó y se gastó. Ocupó su lugar en la vanguardia del ejército de Cristo, estuvo en lo más intenso de la batalla y realizó actos de audacia que pocos pudieron realizar: la semilla produjo cien veces más. Cayó en otro corazón de carácter similar: el hombre no podía hacer más, pero aun así hizo mucho. Se entregó a Dios y en sus negocios tenía una palabra que decir en nombre de su Señor; en su caminar diario adornó silenciosamente la doctrina de Dios su Salvador, y dio a luz sesenta veces más. Luego recayó en otro, cuyas habilidades y talentos eran pequeños; no podría ser una estrella, pero sería una luciérnaga; no podía actuar como el más grande, pero se contentaba con hacer algo, por humilde que fuera. La semilla había producido en él diez veces, tal vez veinte veces más. ¿Cuántos hay de este tipo aquí? ¿Hay alguien que ora dentro de sí mismo: "Dios, ten misericordia de mí, pecador"? La semilla ha caído en el lugar correcto. Alma, tu oración será escuchada. Dios nunca hace que un hombre anhele misericordia sin tener la intención de dársela. ¿Otro susurra: "Oh, si pudiera ser salvo"? Cree en el Señor Jesucristo, y tú, incluso tú, serás salvo. ¿Has sido el primero de los pecadores? Confía en Cristo y tus enormes pecados desaparecerán cuando la piedra de molino se hunda bajo el diluvio. ¿No hay nadie aquí que confíe en el Salvador? ¿Será posible que el Espíritu esté completamente ausente? ¿Que no se mueve en una sola alma? ¿No engendrar vida en un solo espíritu? Oraremos para que ahora descienda, para que la palabra no sea en vano.