Well. my friends, you’ve waited a long time for this.
We’re used to hearing that God is like a Father raising his children,
or a shepherd minding his sheep.
We know that in other places
he’s described as a potter working the clay,
or a lover pursuing his beloved.
We’re familiar with him in the roles of King, Judge and Master.
But in today’s reading, God is likened to: a farmer.
Take a moment to bask in the glory, those of you who work the land!
A farmer.
Maybe it’s because, like a farmer, his work’s never done and he gets precious little thanks for it!
More likely it’s because the hard work and organisation and planning that go into farming tell us something important about who God is.
Isaiah the prophet is trying to get a message across to his listeners in the passage we read this morning. Israel had been settled in the promised land for years. Moses and the Exodus were distant history. But in the centuries that followed, the nation had split into two, and a succession of wretched kings had brought them to the brink of destruction.
Babylon had already pillaged most of the country, and what little was left was in danger of being crushed as Egypt and Assyria struggled to become top dog in the Middle East.
The future was unremittingly bleak. Where was God in all of this, the people wondered? Had he washed his hands of them?
“Listen” says the prophet as he walks through the towns and villages.
Look around you. What do you see?
Ordered fields.
Walls and ditches.
Byres and barns.
Gates and fences.
There’s a structure there. A plan. If that's how farmers look after the land, do you think God will be any less structured in his plans for us, and for the world? Do you think he’s going to let it all just go to rack and ruin? No! He’s in control, even though at times it may not seem like it.
I know it feels like we’re being dug up and turned over time and time again, but you need to understand that something good can come out of that pain.
When we get ploughed up and broken, those gashes expose fertile soil where good things can take root and grow if we let them.
This won’t last forever. The ploughing’s never an end in itself. Growth is the end. New life is the end.
The farmer knows that. Only a lunatic would plough endlessly up and down without planting something. The farmer digs what he has to and then he sows. And he works with such respect for the individuality of what’s being sown.! The right kind of seed at the right depth in the right soil given the right care and the right harvesting with the right tools. And in the end, an abundance of different foods for the table.
Do you get the point? If the farmer knows how to plant and harvest all these different kinds of crops, do you think God doesn’t understand the particular circumstances of his people?
Do you think God doesn’t know the detail of your life and mine? Doesn’t understand the challenges each person faces and what each one requires thrive and to grow?
Well you’re wrong! God’s like a farmer. He knows what we are, and he knows what we need.
Sometimes that’s feeding, sometimes it’s pruning, sometimes it’s waiting. But in the end, it all works together for the good.
God knows you, in all your individuality. So trust him.
That’s the main thing Isaiah wanted his people to hear; and it’s good for us to hear it today also.
God knows the things you carry with you every Sunday as you cross the threshold of this church. The worries, the disappointments, the doubts, the failures, the hopes. He knows. He knows before you open your mouth or send a thought in his direction.
You can’t spring something on God… he knows!
And there are two ways we can go with that. We can spend our days trying to hide from him – which is exactly what humanity’s been doing since Adam and Eve first sported fig leaves. Some hide outside the church; others hide inside the church. The location doesn’t matter. Hiding is hiding.
But faced with God’s complete knowledge of them, there are others who raise their hands and say – “God – for better or for worse, this is who I am. Can you find it within yourself to love me anyway?”. To which God always answers “Sure I can. Sure I can.”
And that’s when growth in the way of Christ begins; that’s when the seed enters the soil.
Faith begins when we stop trying to commend ourselves to God and realise that because of what Christ did on the cross, God’s first word to us is not one of condemnation, but acceptance. Can you love me? Sure I can.
Sure you need to change; we all do. But that’s work God will do in you because he loves you; not work you have to do to earn his love. Grace comes first and change will follow.
The farmer knows his seeds. He knows which are blight resistant; the strains that are awkward to grow; the plants that are high-maintenance and those that more-or-less see to themselves. And he loves them all, and persists with them all because in the end he wants them to be fruitful. That’s why he’s a farmer.
Well, God’s like a farmer, says Isaiah: He knows what’s locked away within you, waiting to get out. He knows what you need to grow to your full potential. And he loves looking out over the field he calls his church, and seeing the marvellous variety of people who are rooted there and bearing fruit in their own particular way.
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