01.06. Chapter 5. The Blade, the Ear, and the Full Corn

Chapter 5.
The Blade, the Ear, and the Full Corn Or, Growth in the Kingdom Gradual and Slow. In the culture of grain there are two busy seasons, the seed time and the harvest. Between the sowing and the reaping intervenes a period of comparative inactivity, during which the husbandman is very much a mere spectator looking on while the earth bringeth forth fruit of herself, first the blade, then the ear, and finally the full ripe corn in the ear. Is there any analogy, one naturally asks, in this respect between the kingdom of nature and the kingdom of heaven? The Great Teacher gives us to understand that there is. Jesus said: So is the kingdom of God as if a man should cast the seed into the ground and should sleep and rise, night and day, and the seed should spring and grow, how knoweth not he.[1] Spontaneously the earth bringeth forth fruit, first blade, then ear, then is full corn in the ear[2] But when the fruit permits,[3] immediately he putteth forth[4] the sickle, because the harvest is at hand.—Mark 4:26-29.

[1] On this clause vide remarks at p. 124.

[2] The true reading seems to be πλήρης σῖτος, ἐστι being understood. The reading in the T. R., πλήρη σῖτον, has all the appearance of a grammatical correction by scribes. The R. V., however, retains it, also Westcott and Hort, who think that all the variations would be accounted for if the original reading were πλήρης σῖτον, πλήρης being indeclinable in the accusative, as "in all good MSS. of Acts 6:5 except B." For the import of the change of construction vide the exposition.

[3] That is, by being ripe. This rendering of πapaδοῖ (or παραδῶ) is suggested by Meyer and approved by Weiss (’Das Markus-Evangelium,’ p. 159), Bleek (’Synoptische Erklärung’), Bisping (’Exegetisches Handbuch’), and Volkmar (’Die Evangelien,’ p. 289). The rendering can be justified from classical usage. Meyer cites the expression τῆς ὥρας παραδιδούσης—the season of the year permitting, from Polybius, 22, 24, 9. The majority of commentators prefer the rendering, "when the fruit yields" (supple. ἐαυτόν), a sense of the word for which no certain voucher can be cited from Greek authors, but to which a parallel can be cited from Latin, e. g. the line: Multa adeo gelidd melius se nocte dederunt, from Virgil’s Georgics, I. 287. Unger (’De Parabolarum Jesu natura, interpretatione, usu,’ p. 110) alludes to a similar usage in the German language. In a note he remarks: Verbum vexatum neque cum Fritsch. suppleverim voce ἑαυτόν neque cum Winero, θερισμόν vel καιρόν, sed voce σῖτον vel grana, quam quidem nostrates etiam ita omittunt, ut tanquam verbum impersonale dicant: es giebt her.

[4] So in R. V., and approved by Dr. Field, (’Otium Norvicense,’ pars Tertia). He refers to Joe 3:13, where the verb occurs in the Sept. as = ‏שָׁלַח‎, which means not only to send but to put forth, as the hand.

According to a recent writer, the didactic aim of this parable was to teach the disciples not to expect the complete development of the new life springing out of the word of the kingdom, as the result of the exercise of an external power on the part of the Messiah, but rather to regard it as a problem for the spontaneous moral activity of the believing hearer.[1] This, however, is by no means the whole, or even the chief, doctrinal significance of the parable. It is meant to teach a doctrine of passivity not merely with reference to Christ, the First Sower of the word, but also with reference to those whose minds are the soil into which the seed of truth is cast; a doctrine to the effect that growth in the kingdom proceeds spontaneously by fixed laws, over which the subject of growth has little or no control. Of course, in uttering a parable of this import, Jesus did not mean to teach that men have nothing whatever to do in the way of promoting growth in themselves and others. In proof of this it is enough to refer to the parable of the Sower, in which total or partial failure of the spiritual crop in certain cases is attributed to preventible causes, such as the cares of life, the deceitfulness of riches, and the lusts of other things. And even without the aid of that parable we might have been sure that it could not be the intention of Christ to teach a doctrine which would encourage men in vices to which they are only too prone, viz. indolence, indifference, and thoughtless security. But why then, it may be asked, speak a parable which even seems to look that way? To check vices of a different description to which men of earnest spirit are prone. Active devoted labourers in the kingdom are tempted to exaggerate their own importance as instruments; they are apt in a busybody spirit to interfere when it were wiser to stand still and see God work; they are prone to despondency if they see not immediate results, and to impatience when they discover how slowly growth in the kingdom proceeds onward towards its consummation. And Jesus desired by this parable to check such evil tendencies in His disciples, and to foster in them the virtues of humility, dependence, faith, and patience.

[1] Goebel. That this parabolic gem, so natural and so significant, should be found only in Mark, is one of the surprises of the Gospel history. But we are not therefore to doubt either its genuineness or its importance. It is evidently a genuine logion of Jesus, and one too at first hand, in its original form, not a modification of some other parable such as that of the Tares.[1] It is also a parable of great didactic value, indispensable to a full doctrine concerning the nature of the Divine kingdom, and of much practical utility to its citizens. How important to know what to expect in reference to the growth of the seed of the Word, whether in the individual or in the community, to prevent Christians being scandalised when things turn out altogether contrary to expectation! None the less important is the parable, that it proclaims a truth men are slow to understand or be reconciled to; a fact whereof we have sufficient evidence in the way in which this portion of Christ’s parabolic teaching has often been handled. The law of growth in the spiritual world not being duly laid to heart, has therefore not been found here; and the parable consequently has been misinterpreted, or rather scarcely interpreted at all. Few of our Lord’s parables have been more unsatisfactorily expounded, as there are few in which a right exposition is more to be desired for the good of believers. It may seem presumptuous to say this, by implication censuring our brethren and commending ourselves. But a man’s capacity to expound particular portions of Scripture depends largely on the peculiarities of his religious experience; for here as in other spheres, it holds true that we find what we bring. Suppose, e.g., that the experience of a particular Christian has made him intimately acquainted with the momentous business of waiting on God for good earnestly desired and long withheld. The natural result will be an open eye for all Scripture texts, and they are many, which speak of that exercise, and a ready insight into their meaning. The case supposed is the writer’s own, and therefore the parable now to be studied has been to him for many years a favourite subject of thought and fruitful source of comfort, viewed as a repetition in parabolic form of the Psalmist’s counsel: Wait, I say, on the Lord.[2]

[1] So Hilgenfeld after Strauss; vide his ’Einleitung in Das neue Testament,’ p. 516. Volkmar (’Die Evangelien,’ p. 288), on the other hand, holds Mark’s parable to be an original utterance of Jesus which Matthew could not accept without modification; the necessary transformation being supplied in the parable of the Tares. With him agrees Holtzman, ’Die Synoptische Evangelien,’ p. 107. These differences of opinion are connected with the views entertained by the writers as to the order of time in which the Gospels were written; Hilgenfeld contending for the priority of Matthew, Volkmar and Holtzman for the priority of Mark. Volkmar represents the three parables of the Sower, the Mustard, and the Seed growing gradually, as an original group which together teach the spirituality of the kingdom. Neander remarks: "This parable wears the undeniable stamp of originality both in its matter and form; so that we cannot consider it as a variation of one of the other parables of the growing seed." ’Life of Christ,’ Bonn’s Edition, p. 346.

[2] Psa 27:14. In this light we have ever regarded this parable. That the progress of growth in the Divine kingdom, in all spheres, is such as to call for waiting, being gradual and slow, and fixed down to law, seems to us its scope and burden. Hence our title for the parable, the blade, the ear, and the full corn, which suggests progress according to natural law, and by stages which must be passed through in succession, none being over-leapt. And though it is often true that there is little in a name, in this case we deem it important to direct attention even to the title. For the title usually given to this parable in English books is unfortunate, as tending to set the mind off on a wrong tack. It is, The seed growing secretly, which emphasises a true but subordinate feature in the parable, with most pernicious effect upon the interpretation. In illustration of the mischief wrought by this falsely-placed emphasis, we may refer to the fact that Greswell treats the part of the parable which describes the spontaneous growth of grain[1] as a parenthesis,[2] though that it is in reality the very kernel is sufficiently shown by the deliberate and pointed enumeration of the stages through which the grain has to pass.[3] Equally instructive illustrations may be found in the pages of Trench and Arnot, whose exceptionally meagre discussions are mainly devoted to the question, Who is the person who sows the seed, Christ, or an ordinary minister of the word?—a question which the very opening of the parable shows to be altogether unimportant; the formula, "So is it with the kingdom of God," signalising the fact that the agent is not in this case the centre—that the stress lies not on the person, but on the objective facts of the case.[4] The former of these two writers finds himself in a dilemma on the point, from which he frankly confesses he "can see no perfectly satisfactory way of escape."[5] His perplexity is caused by the twofold statement concerning the husbandman, that he knoweth not how the grain grows, and that he putteth in the sickle when the grain is ripe, the former appearing to the writer not to suit Christ; and the latter to suit Him alone. The Scotch commentator, on the other hand, finds an escape from the dilemma by denying what the English commentator had assumed, viz. that the "reaping means the closing of all accounts in the Great Day," which makes it "the exclusive prerogative of the Lord;" and maintaining that it rather means the ingathering of souls in conversion, a function within the competency of ordinary ministers of the word.[6] If the harvest consist in conversions, one naturally wonders what is to be understood by the appearing of the blade! It is surprising that writers who are driven to such shifts, or who have to confess themselves shiftless, should not be led by their perplexities to suspect that they have missed their way altogether in the exposition of the parable.[7] Such unquestionably is the fact These idle, barren discussions as to the agent in the parable all arise from misapprehending the main point, which we repeat is not the secretness of the growth, but its gradualness in accordance with natural law. The key to the interpretation is to be found, not in the expression "he knoweth not how," but in the statement that "the earth bringeth forth fruit of herself, first the blade, then the ear, after that the full corn in the ear." The truth of this assertion will appear from a cursory examination of the leading clauses of the parable.

[1] Mark 4:28.

[2] ’The Parables,’ vol. ii. p. 125.

[3] So Weiss, ’Das Markus-Evangelium,’ p. 159.

[4] So Nippold, ’Die Gleichnisse Jesu von der Wachsenden Saat, vom grossen Abendmahl, und vom Sterbenden Weitzenkorn,’ p. 12.

[5] ’Notes on the Parables,’ p. 290.

[6] ’The Parables of our Lord,’ p. 316.

[7] Still another instance of the perplexity produced by the false point of view from which the parable has been contemplated, may be found in the suggestion of Grotius that οὐκ οἴδεν αὐτός should be rendered it, i. e. the grain, knoweth not how, to avoid the ascription of ignorance is Christ! The first point to be noticed is the description of the farmer’s behaviour after he has finished the work of seed-sowing. And should sleep and rise, night and day. It is not to be supposed that these words serve no purpose except to give verisimilitude and picturesqueness to the parable; they are essential to its didactic drift. They happily describe a physical and mental habit in accordance with the situation, that of one who has to pass through a protracted period of comparative idleness. The farmer sleeps and rises, sleeps and rises, night and day, and day after day, for many days in succession. There is plenty of time for the monotonous repetition of these actions. And there is, comparatively speaking, little else to do but sleep and rise; time hangs heavy on the husbandman’s hands. He rises in the morning because he has had as much sleep as he can take; otherwise he might as well lie in bed all the day long for all that he has to do. Having passed through the waking hours in a listless mood, he retires to rest in the evening again, glad to take refuge for a while from the ennui of an idle life in the unconsciousness of sleep. Then the mood of the man corresponds to his circumstances. He knows that his part is done, and that the rest must be left to the soil; therefore he resigns himself contentedly to an easy-minded passivity, leaving the earth to bring forth fruit of itself. He knows also that growth is a process that cannot be hastened; therefore he is patient, or, as St James expresses it, "hath long patience for it."[1] Finally, he believes that the harvest season will come eventually, having faith in the soil and the seasons; therefore he is free from feverish anxiety, and is in a state of happy, healthy security as to the result of his sowing, which allows him to sleep soundly by night. And it is this mood of mind, corresponding to the physical habit so felicitously described, which the parable is intended to inculcate. Christ would have His disciples understand that they must study to resemble the farmer in these respects, and that they will have need and opportunity to do so in connection with the progress of the kingdom in themselves and in the world; need and opportunity for passivity, patience, and faith. While the kingdom progresses they will find it takes its own time, and proceeds according to its own laws; and finding this it will be their wisdom, instead of fretting or trying to force on growth, to have an easy mind, and, like the husbandman, sleep and rise night and day. The mood recommended is not utter indifference or carelessness, but that which is natural to one who is interested in a process whose completion requires time. And in this mood Christ could be and was an example to His disciples; so that this part of the parable at least imposes on us no need to inquire whether the Head of the Church, or one of His servants, be the agent referred to. Christ’s behaviour as the founder of the kingdom, during His earthly ministry, was in the spirit of the farmer. He sowed the seed of the kingdom, and waited patiently for the result, not expecting it soon. No need, in order to make the parable applicable to Him, to interpret this part of it as signifying that between the sowing of the seed during His sojourn on earth and the reaping time at the end of the world, He should no longer be visibly present in the field.[2] During the earthly ministry itself we can see Jesus playing the part of the man who sowed the seed, then slept and rose, night and day. We can see Him playing that part in all departments of His ministry, and very especially in that most important department which consisted in the training of the twelve. How patient He was with those men! His manner towards them was that of one who did not expect the ripe fruit of enlightened and sanctified Christian character to appear in them forthwith, but was fully aware that between the ripe fruit and the beautiful blossom of enthusiastic devotion, under whose inspiration they left all and followed Him, must intervene a more or less protracted period during which they should be as green ears, or crude fruit, of no value except as a promise of something better to come.

[1] Jas 5:7.

[2] So Grotius: Sensus mihi videtur perspicuus, Christum a facta semente ad messis tempus agro adspectabiliter non adfuturum. The next important feature in the parable is the representation of the growth of grain as a thing of which the farmer has no cognizance. And the seed should spring, and grow up, he knoweth not how. The point intended to be emphasised here is not the mere fact of the farmer’s ignorance, but his contentment therewith. This clause simply adds another trait in the description of the manner or mood of the man. Apart from any consideration of the terms employed this is antecedently probable. In a description of a farmer’s way of life one hardly expects to find a grave statement to the effect that he is ignorant of the laws by which seed sown in the earth springs and grows. Of course he is, but why make so superfluous an observation? Scientific knowledge of the laws of growth is not in his line. Life and growth are to a large extent mysteries to all, learned or unlearned, but especially to the practical-minded agriculturist, to whom it probably never occurs once in his whole life-time to ask himself, How does the seed I have sowed germinate and braird?—what is the physical cause of growth? And when we come to consider closely the words of the parable, we find reason to conclude that it is no such grave statement concerning the scientific ignorance of the farmer that they are intended to convey. The words may be rendered either "when he knoweth not," or "how, knoweth not he."[1] In the former case they simply mean that the husbandman does not observe the growth. The seed springs and grows up, he taking little or no notice; which is just what we should expect of a man in the easy mood ascribed to the farmer in the previous clause. The words so taken simply repeat in a different form of language the statement that between the sowing and the reaping the farmer is in a listless frame of mind. Taken the other way, the words do seem at first to contain a grave statement to the effect that the farmer is ignorant as to the cause of growth; but on closer consideration one discovers that they more probably contain a reference to an ostentatious indifference on his part to all such questions. How knoweth not he, so run the words; the pronoun standing at the end and being emphatic there, "as much as to say, Whoever else may know it, it is all unknown to him by whom, and for whose benefit, the seed was sown."[2] The sower of the seed is stolidly, we may- say ostentatiously, indifferent to the cause of growth; only that the ostentation is not conscious, but is betrayed unconsciously in his manner. And what is the cause of this indifference? It is the consciousness that the growth of the seed is not under his control. The farmer is a practical man, and the only consideration that would lead him to take an interest in the question as to the cause of growth would be the possibility of his influencing the process. If it could be shown that it was in his power to accelerate growth, the air of stolid indifference would speedily vanish; but as that is not possible, he takes no thought of the matter; and his carelessness is the sign that he is aware of the impossibility. And it is in this point of view that that carelessness is referred to in the parable. The statement, "the seed springeth and groweth up, how knoweth not he," really means, "the seed springeth and groweth up independently of him, and he being conscious of the fact taketh no heed."[3] The farmer’s indifference is signalised as the visible index of habitual and unqualified recognition of the truth that growth is subject to a natural law entirely beyond his control.

[1] The ὡς may be taken in the sense either of quum or of quomodo. The former rendering is favoured by Kuinoel. ὡς, he says = cum, ut in Luc. iv. 25; and the phrase, per participium reddendum est, ipso nesciente, non animadvertente.

[2] ’The Gospel according to Mark Explained,’ by Joseph Addison Alexander, D.D.

[3] Principal Campbell, ’The Four Gospels/ translates, without his minding it. The motive of the parabolic representation at this point is to inculcate the duty of practically recognising a similar truth in the spiritual sphere. Christ’s purpose was not merely to proclaim the general truth that the beginnings and progress of life in the kingdom of God are mysterious. This, of course, is true, and in a purely homiletic treatment of this parable it would be quite legitimate to make that truth a topic of discourse. We do well at times to meditate on the mysterious miraculous character of all life, and especially of the Divine life in the soul of man, and more particularly of the beginning of that life in the new birth. Christ Himself invites us to such meditation in another of his sayings, that spoken to the Jewish ruler: "The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh and whither it goeth; so is every one that is born of the Spirit." And we should contemplate the mystery of a new Divine life in the soul of man with the feelings with which it becomes us to contemplate all miracles; with awe, yet not with incredulity, but rather with believing wonder. When a human being begins to seek after God, to concern himself about salvation, to hunger after righteousness and wisdom, let us behold with reverent, awestruck eye a spiritual miracle being wrought before our face. We may not look on the spectacle listlessly as if it were a thing of course, or of little significance. On the other hand, we are to beware of so magnifying the mystery as to become unbelievers in it; to take heed lest by allowing our minds to dwell unduly on the greatness of the change which takes place in regeneration we become at length unwilling to admit that in any particular case a regenerating work has been wrought, because what we observe seems small, insignificant, and far from overwhelmingly wonderful. In all probability what we observe is very small indeed, resembling the tiny blade which springs up through the earth from the seed buried beneath; but we must not forget that even the blade is in its way as wonderful as is the appearance at a later stage on the top of the stalk of a hundred grains in place of the one which has been thrown into the ground.

Such thoughts are very edifying, and practically very useful; but it was not, we imagine, such thoughts that Christ wished to suggest when He uttered this parable, and in particular that part of it now under consideration. His aim rather was to impress on his hearers that as in the kingdom of nature, so in the kingdom of God, there is a law of growth and a fixed order of development which must be recognised and respected by them, as it is by the farmer when he takes little notice of the growth of his grain, because he knows that it is entirely beyond his control. He himself habitually recognised and respected that law and order; so that the words "how knoweth not he," in the sense explained, may with perfect propriety and truth be applied to Him. He ever acted as one who knew that there was a fixed order, a course of nature, so to speak, in the Divine kingdom which could not be materially modified or set aside even by His will. He showed his respect for law and order on various occasions and in various ways. When the two sons of Zebedee desired the places of distinction in His kingdom He replied: "To sit on my right hand and on my left is not mine to give, except to those for whom it is prepared of my Father."[1] In this case He showed respect for the moral order of the kingdom. When asked to do works of mercy beyond the bounds of the chosen people, He declined, saying, "I am not sent but unto the lost sheep of the house of Israel."[2] Here was respect for the political order of the kingdom. He was fully aware that His religion was destined to be the religion of humanity, but He knew also that in order to an eventual spiritual conquest of the world a firm footing must first be gained in Palestine; and He acted accordingly. Once more, Christ’s whole conduct and His whole teaching were influenced by the belief that the kingdom which He was engaged in founding was to have a lengthened history, and to pass through a gradual, secular process of development onwards, towards its final consummation; and here we see His respect for what we may call the physical order of the kingdom. He was not surprised, disappointed, or chagrined because the success attending His personal ministry was small; consisting in little more than the collection of "a little flock" of twelve men, in spiritual understanding and character "babes." He looked to the future for His reward, and saw there fields white to the harvest, the outgrowth of the seed which He had sown. It is unnecessary to prove that His teaching is pervaded by the idea that the kingdom of God should ’come’ only slowly, gradually, as the result of a development proceeding according to law. We find the thought in this parable, and in the two parables which inculcate perseverance in prayer, and in all the texts, and they are not few, which contain exhortations to watch.

[1] Mat 20:23.

[2] Mat 15:24. But what the Master ever bore in mind, the disciples were slow to understand and lay to heart, and hence the parable before us. They were ready to ask at all times the question. Why cannot the kingdom come at once, in ourselves, or in the world? They did ask at the close of their intercourse with their Lord: "Wilt Thou at this time restore again the kingdom of Israel?"[1]—as if feeling that after years of weary waiting, now at length the time for the fulfilment of their hope had arrived. The thought contained in our parable does not appear ever to have got a firm lodgment in their minds even in the period of their apostolic activity; and the same statement may be made with regard to the whole Christian Church during the first apostolic generation.[2] The lapse of ages has opened our minds to the truth which was hidden from the apostles, so far as the duration of the Christian dispensation at large is concerned. But there is reason to believe, that the bearing of the doctrine of the parable on the sanctification of the individual, is yet far from being generally understood. Recognition of, and respect for, the law of growth in this sphere, are still desiderata of the average Christian intelligence. The thoughts of many in regard to this subject are like those of children who cannot grasp the idea of growth subject to law, and see no reason why out of an acorn should not at once, as if by magic, come a full-sized oak. They have yet to learn that sanctification is a work carried on after the analogy of the works of nature, in which the law of slow insensible growth, development, or evolution universally obtains.

[1] Acts 1:6.

[2] Greswell thinks the point of the parable is, that the Christian Church should continue to exist and thrive through its own vitality and the providence of God; but the aim of the parable is rather to remove a feeling of surprise that in its earthly state it should last so long. The next important part of our parable is that which enunciates the great law of growth with reference to the production of grain. "Spontaneously the earth produceth fruit, first blade, then ear, then is full corn in the ear." This is but the explicit statement of a truth which on a right view of the parable has already been implicitly taught in the previous clause. The sentence just quoted simply gives the formal explanation of that feature in the farmer’s behaviour vividly and quaintly expressed by the words "how knoweth not he." It answers the natural question, why is he so indifferent to the growth of his grain? He who spake the parable might have left his readers to divine the answer for themselves, as we have already done. But He knew how slow His hearers were to understand the analogous truth in the spiritual sphere; therefore He takes the trouble to state with the utmost deliberation the familiar fact with regard to the natural sphere, saying in effect: "The farmer is so indifferent to the growth of his grain because he knows, as you all know, that he has no control over, that he cannot accelerate, the growth, seeing that the earth of its own accord bringeth forth fruit, first the blade, then the ear, and then the full corn in the ear. Understand ye that the same law holds in the kingdom of God, and cultivate the temper of the farmer, that naturally produced by a due recognition of and respect for the law of growth." When this, the true connection of thought, is pointed out, it becomes apparent how far this part of the parable is from being a mere parenthesis; how, on the contrary, it is the very kernel of the parable in reference to its didactic import. But in order to recognise the true connection of thought, men must be willing to receive the truth, which unfortunately many are not, with the inevitable result that the teaching of the parable is evaded rather than unfolded. A distinguished American theologian, who has done more than perhaps any other writer to throw light on "the true problem of Christian experience," remarks with reference to the text from which he discourses on that important theme: "There are some texts of Scripture that suffer a much harder lot than any of the martyrs, because their martyrdom is perpetual; and this, I think, is one of the number. Two classes appear to concur in destroying its dignity—viz. the class who deem it a matter of cant to make anything of conversion, and the class who make religion itself a matter of cant, by seeing nothing in it but conversion."[1] To the class of martyred texts belongs this verse of our parable, not to say the parable altogether. Men will persist in treating the verse as a parenthesis, or as an irrelevance, telling us that "in this respect there is not uniformity: the spiritual growth from spring to maturity sometimes requires more than one natural season, and sometimes is accomplished in less,"[2] all because they have not the courage to grasp and boldly proclaim the truth, that in the kingdom of God, as it reveals itself in the individual soul, growth is slow not less than in the sphere of nature; nay, not only not less, but, as another distinguished American theologian has pointed out, more; it being a law that the higher the thing which grows in the scale of being, the slower its growth.[3] We must insist, therefore, that in respect of the slowness of growth there is an analogy between the kingdom of nature and the kingdom of God, and that it was our Lord’s direct purpose to teach that there is. Not only so; we must further insist that there is an analogy not only in regard to the rate of growth, but also in regard to the stages through which the grain passes from its initial condition to maturity. This is implied by the very circumstance of the stages being so carefully enumerated, and also by the manner in which the last stage is referred to. Christ says, the earth produces, first blade, then ear; then, changing the construction, he adds, then is full corn in the ear: meaning evidently to say, then, and not till then, not till the blade and the green ear have been passed through, does the stage of the full ripe ear come. The full ripe ear is what the husbandman desires, it is the end of all his labours, of all that precedes—blade, and green ear, being merely means towards that end; and its importance as the end of all is fully recognised by the manner in which it is spoken of. But because it is the end, we are not to be impatient of the preliminary stages which lead up to it, but must be content to reach the end step by step, passing on from blade to green ear, and from green ear to ripe ear. That is what the Lord would teach us in this verse with reference to the things of the kingdom in general, and specially with reference to the sanctification of the individual.

[1] Bushnell, ’The New Life,’ p. 161, cheap edition.

[2] Arnot, ’The Parables,’ p. 321.

[3] H. W. Beecher, in a Sermon on Waiting on God. Our view, then, is that the analogy between growth in the natural world and growth in the spiritual world must be maintained in its integrity, with regard at once to spontaneity, slowness, and gradation. Growth in the spiritual world as in the natural is spontaneous, in the sense that it is subject to definite laws of the spirit over which man’s will has small control. The fact is one to be recognized with humility and thankfulness. With humility, for it teaches dependence on God; a habit of mind which brings along with it prayerful-ness, and which, as honouring to God, is more likely to insure ultimate success than a self-reliant zeal. With thankfulness, for it relieves the heart of the too heavy burden of an undefined, unlimited responsibility, and makes it possible for the minister of the Word to do his work cheerfully, in the morning sowing his seed, in the evening withholding not his hand; then retiring to rest to enjoy the sound sleep of the labouring man, while the seed sown springs and grows apace, he knoweth not how. Growth in the spiritual world, as in the natural, is, further, a process which demands time and gives ample occasion for the exercise of patience. Time must elapse even between the sowing and the brairding; a fact to be laid to heart by parents and teachers, lest they commit the folly of insisting on seeing the blade at once, to the probable spiritual hurt of the young intrusted to their care. Much longer time must elapse between the brairding and the ripening. That a speedy sanctification is impossible we do not affirm; but it is, we believe, so exceptional that it may be left altogether out of account in discussing the theory of Christian experience. Once more, growth in the spiritual world, as in the natural, is graduated; in that region as in this there is a blade, a green ear, and a ripe ear. Those who demur to this view may ask us to specify the distinctive marks of the several stages, so that our hypothesis may be verified. We accept the challenge, and shall endeavour to discriminate the successive phases of experience which manifest themselves in the life of a Christian in the course of his growth in grace; though conscious that in the performance of the task we shall receive small help from the commentators. But before we proceed to this topic we must make a few observations on the last sentence of the parable. But when the fruit permits (being ripe), immediately he putteth forth the sickle because the harvest is at hand. The point of importance here is not the question what or when is the harvest, but rather the marked change in the manner of the farmer from listlessness to energetic activity.[1] The man who erewhile slept and rose and walked about during waking hours, so to speak, with his hands in his pockets, is now all alive, moving about with nimble feet, giving his orders to his servants, saying, Go forth, with sickle in hand, for, lo, the harvest is upon us; see there the whitened fields ready to be reaped. In connection with this change of mood and manner the word παραδοῖ taken in the sense of permits, is very significant. It implies that the advent of harvest removes a restraint from pent-up energy, and lets it at length escape in action; and thus it throws an interesting light on the nature of the antecedent indifference. It was, after all, not a real radical indifference or apathy. It was latent energy biding its time; it was fervent desire well controlled by the patience of hope. That seeming listlessness was but the sluggishness of dammed-up waters, which rush forth in an impetuous current when the temporary embankment is removed; or the languor of the race-horse, who flies like an arrow in the race when the signal to start is given.

[1] The verse, however, taken along with the preceding part of the parable, does point at a great truth concerning the moral order of the world. Growth slow, harvest sudden (εὐθέως), holds good of all Divine action in Providence. Historical movements are slow in progress but sudden in their crisis. On this truth we shall have occasion to speak in next chapter And such is the patience of Christians during that time in their spiritual history when they wait on God for the fulfilment of their desire in an enlightened and sanctified character. Their mood may seem to others, and even to themselves, apathy, indifference, death; but at worst it is but the mood of the man in whom hope deferred maketh the heart sick. They wait not in real indifference, but as they who in darkness wait for the dawn; as Paul and his shipwrecked companions waited in the Adriatic Sea that night when they cast out four anchors and wished for the day.[1] How much spiritual life and energy were latent in them all along becomes apparent when the spiritual harvest season arrives, the time of illumination and enlargement Then the apparently apathetic one becomes active in all good. Then the man who seemed to care for nothing but himself gives himself up in self-abandonment to a life of love. Then the Church, for the law applies on the great scale as well as on the small, awakes from seeming sleep, shakes herself from the dust which has gathered about her, looses herself from the bonds of human ordinances and traditions, puts on the beautiful garments of holiness, and clothes herself with the strength of a new creative time in which she reaps the results of forces which have been slowly and secretly working, and also sow the seeds of a future harvest. For it is in such great epochs that the harvest spoken of in our parable is to be sought, not merely at the end of the world. The harvest is the result of any historical development whether in the individual or in society; and there may be as many harvests in the history of the Church as there are definite spiritual movements in her career.

[1] Acts 27:29. And now we return to the topic of the Stages, that we may characterise them more definitely than we have yet done, though we have thrown out stray hints here and there. And here we shall confine ourselves to the experience of the individual, though sensible that the history of the kingdom of God at large is a far greater theme than that of any individual Christian, and ready to admit that it was probably the former which our Lord had chiefly in His thoughts when He uttered the parable. Our apology for restricting our inquiry to the minor subject is, first, that we understand it better; second, that while the larger subject is the more inviting theme to the speculative mind, the lesser may prove the more useful to ordinary Christians; and third, that while the parable in its first intention may have the wider scope in view, it does not exclude the narrower. That Christ in uttering this parable had the spiritual growth of the individual in view, as well as the larger growth of the kingdom as a whole, will seem improbable to no one who considers these three things: first, the very general terms employed in the introduction of the parable, "So is the kingdom of God," without qualification or limitation; the implied doctrine being, that wherever the kingdom of God appears there growth is in accordance with the representation in this parable; second, the fact that in the first parable, that of the sower, the growth contemplated is exclusively that which takes place in the individual hearer of the word; third, that in the lesson on perseverance in prayer, recorded in the eleventh chapter of Luke’s Gospel, reference is made to the Holy Spirit[1] as an object of desire to individual disciples; showing that the sanctification of His disciples individually was a topic which occupied Christ’s thoughts.

[1] Vide on this next chapter.

First the blade—or, the blossom: for it is convenient in considering the stages of spiritual growth to employ both emblems, the second having its root in Scripture not less than the first, as e.g. in that suggestive expression in the first Psalm, fruit in his season. Blade, green ear, ripe ear; blossom, green fruit, ripe fruit: such are the alternative series of stages. What we have now to do is to determine the characteristics of the incipient stage, that of the blade or the blossom. The blade or the blossom signifies the conscious apparent beginning of the Divine life in the soul. We use the epithets conscious and apparent to qualify beginning, because we do not hold that Divine life necessarily dates from the moment when it becomes a matter of consciousness and observation. There may be grace in the heart before it is understood by the subject of its influence, or recognised by others as such. This is the case in most instances of sanctification from childhood, and the fact should be borne in mind by parents and teachers more than it is. For there is a very common and increasingly prevalent tendency to disbelieve in gracious influence unless when it is seen under its ordinary form as exhibited in adults; and those who have the charge of children, taking for granted the absence of grace from the absence of marked manifestation, set themselves with a kind of desperate earnestness to develop prematurely, by a system of forcing appliances, the usual symptoms of conversion as they exhibit themselves in persons of mature years. The result of this system in the after history of children so manipulated we believe to be calamitous, consisting in effect in the premature consumption of all the spiritual fuel in the soul of a child, leaving for manhood nothing but ashes. When the life that is in the soul begins to appear it does not manifest itself always in the same manner. It appears sometimes as a corn-blade, and sometimes as a fruit-blossom. In the former case it attracts less notice than in the latter. It may be observable to those who look attentively, but it does not arrest attention; it does not catch the eye of even the inobservant, as the blossom of an apple tree attracts the notice of even the most careless wayfarer. "The signs of new life are not obtrusive, consisting merely in a certain quiet thoughtfulness, a deepening seriousness, a tendency to shun society and court solitude congenial to meditation and prayer. There is a feeling of emptiness, a longing after the object of infinite love, a melancholy craving for love, a deep drawing of the spirit towards the unknown Divine which can satisfy the craving, an indifference towards the world, a delight in earnest. reading, instruction, and meditation, a liking for the company of pious men."[1] When the kingdom of God comes like the blossom on the fruit tree the signs of its coming are much more marked. There is in such cases greater emotional excitement; great sorrow it may be first, then great joy, the joy of the soul’s espousal to the mystic Bridegroom, accompanied with a love full of rapture. "The love is consciously first love, a new revelation of God in the soul, a restored consciousness of God, a birth of joy and glorified song in the horizon of the soul’s life, like that which burst into our sky when Jesus was born into the world."[2] And as the blossom is beautiful, so this beginning of the new life is altogether lovely, and may easily create the impression of an already completed sanctification. Hence the notion that spiritual maturity may be attained per saltum, without any process of growth; hence the conceit of perfection in some who are merely beginning the Divine life. When one considers that the watchword of the mature and experienced Christian is aspiration, and his motto "I press on," it may seem strange and presumptuous in the beginner to be otherwise minded, and to think he has already attained. But, in truth, it is quite natural, that "in this flowering state of beauty" the soul should discover and even have "in its feeling the sense of perfection,"[3]. because the flower is perfect in its way, and the beginner has no means of knowing that this is not the kind of perfection which he is called to reach as his goal. Inexperienced, initial Christianity is but a blossom, and what it is to come to is ripe fruit, and it is to come to that through sourness and unripeness. But the blossom knows nothing of fruit either ripe or unripe; it is conscious only of itself. And ft is conscious of itself as something beautiful, really perfect in its kind, even fairer to look on than the ripe fruits which hang on the tree of life in the old age of Christian experience. How beautiful the first love of the heart for Christ, the newborn passion for Christian virtue, the devotional spirit which constantly dwells in the breast, sending the youthful disciple to solitary spots to pray, and setting him on efforts to think holy, heavenly thoughts all the day long I Who that has felt this, possibly at a very early period of life, does not look back en it as something hallowed, though, alas, he knows too well that it cannot be relied on as a guarantee against the commission of many faults, and the entrance into the mind of many unbelieving, bitter, bad thoughts. Across the interval of years, in spite of much that is humbling and disappointing, in spite of lapses, backslidings, heresies, scepticisms, blasphemies, he looks back on that time as an Eden in his spiritual history, as a soft balmy spring-tide when the soul blossomed into Christian faith and feeling, and the tongue was attuned to new songs. If then, even after the sobering influence of experience, a mature Christian thinks thus tenderly of his earlier state, what wonder if the inexperienced should mistake the beginning for the end, the blossom for the fruit, spring for harvest, holy feeling for holy living, ideals for performances, gushing first love for stern fidelity temptation-proof? It is a mistake, and a very great one, but do not laugh at it; do not be angry at it; do not waste time preaching against it. It is a mistake that will be soon enough corrected by experience.

[1] Arndt, ’Die Gleichnissreden.’ In his treatment of this parable, this thoughtful and eloquent German author shows more insight than we have met with in any other writer on the parables.

[2] Bushnell, ’The New Life,’ p. 162.

[3] Bushnell, ’The New Life,’ p. 163 For the second stage, that of the green ear, or green fruit, will certainly come; whereof we must now speak, with no assistance from the commentators, for scarcely one of them gives a single hint as to what is meant by the green ear. All one can glean from their pages is a stray remark by one that the intermediate time between the brairding and the leaping is often a time of trial;[1] and by another, that the time when there is no apparent growth is a time of inward growth.[2] Now as to the characteristics of this second stage, it follows of course from the simple fact of its being the time of waiting, of unfulfilled desire, of unrealised ideals, of green ears and crude, sour, unpalatable fruit, that it is a time which brings experiences more profitable than pleasant. The fruit of the Spirit tastes very acid at this stage. Its experiences are such as Bunyan’s pilgrim had in his passage through the Valley of Humiliation and the Valley of the Shadow of Death; such as Bunyan himself had in the years of gloom before he attained to cleat light and settled peace, and abundant joyful Christian fruitfulness. It is a time of temptation and struggle, of doubts and fears, of sadness, depression, and gloom, of stagnation and torpor. It is that phase in the believer’s history whereof Newton sings, when prayers for growth in faith, and love, and every grace are answered in such a way as almost to drive one to despair.[3] The author of the hymn represents the bitter experiences described in it as an answer to his prayer for growth. And so it really is. The green ear, the crude fruit, is really a stage in advance of the blossom, which looks so much better, as is confessed by all, in regard to natural growth. No one looking on an apple tree after the blossom is deadened and the fruit set, thinks of remarking, What a degeneracy! But men are very ready to commit such a mistake in regard to spiritual growth. The tendency is to regard transition from the blossom to the green fruit as a simple declension, or falling away from grace, and to characterise the antecedent experience as a merely temporary excitement; which in many cases is about as wise as if one were to say with regard to an apple tree when the flowering stage is past, it was only a little temporary blossom. From ignorance of the law of growth young Christians at this stage are apt to form very unfavourable judgments of themselves. As it is characteristic of the incipient and final stages to entertain hopeful views of one’s condition, so it is equally characteristic of this stage to take desponding gloomy views. The fruit of the Spirit’s work is so bitter and unpalatable that it is readily mistaken for poisonous fruit of the devil’s growing. The mind clouded with sceptical and evil thoughts, the conscience afflicted with all manner of morbid scruples, the heart cold and self-centred, too engrossed with its own miseries to interest itself in anything beyond, how unlike these spiritual phenomena to the love, joy, and peace of which the apostle speaks!—how natural that one in whose soul they manifest themselves should think himself an unbeliever, an apostate, even a blasphemer guilty of sin utterly unpardonable! The subject of these experiences being so liable to mistake their true character, it is all the more to be desired that others should be able to judge them more correctly. Yet how often is it otherwise! Bunyan’s history supplies an instructive illustration. When he was in that stage of his religious experience which answers to the green ear, he believed he had committed the unpardonable sin, and in his distress consulted a Christian friend who was thought to be endowed with superior spiritual insight, with what result may best be told in his own words. "About this time I took an opportunity to break my mind to an ancient Christian, and told him all my case. I told him also that I was afraid I had sinned a sin against the Holy Ghost; and he told me he thought so too. Here, therefore, I had but cold comfort; but talking a little more with him, I found him, though a good man, a stranger to much combat with the devil."[4] What an egregious blunder to mistake the painful discipline by which Bunyan was being prepared to write the ’Pilgrim’s Progress,’ for blasphemy against the Holy Ghost! How many mistakes of a similar kind may be committed in every generation by men of reputed wisdom and sanctity, but "strangers to much combat with the devil." In the light of Bunyan’s story we can see the utility of more acquaintance with such warfare, were it only to fit Christians for speaking a word in season to him that is weary.

[1] Olshausen, ’Commentar.’

[2] Arndt, ’Die Gleichnissreden.’

[3] In the well-known hymn, "I asked the Lord that I might grow."

[4] Vide ’Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners.’

Yet there is some excuse for perplexity in judging of such experiences as are incident to the stage of the green ear. For while these experiences are not to be resolved into simple declension or apostasy, they are very apt to be accompanied by, and even to produce, moral retrogression. In a joyless state it is not easy to hold one’s ground. When doubts assail one either as to the fundamental truths of religion, or as to personal relations with God, it is not easy to hold fast a good conscience, and to keep oneself unspotted from the world. Hence, as a matter of fact, few do get into a dull, cheerless, doubting state of mind, without losing ground spiritually. And when the conscience is troubled the Christian can see nothing in his own case but sin. His doubts are sin; his dryness and deadness in religious duties, his joylessness, depression, and inactivity are all sin. And, on the whole, this is a safe view for one to take of himself, provided he do not so utterly misunderstand the course of religious experience as to be without hope concerning himself, like Bunyan. But, while a practically safe view, it is far from being a complete account of the matter. The word backsliding does not by any means sum up the experience of one who is passing through the Valley of the Shadow of Death; and to speak as if it did, as is too often done, is simply to break the bruised reed, and quench the smoking taper. It is quite possible that there may be very little sin in the whole experience, but only the morbidity inseparable from the stage of development in which it appears; as in the case of Bunyan, who was never more in earnest in the fear of God, and the love of Christ, than when he thought himself guilty of blasphemy. He thought there was no fruit of the Spirit in him then, because there was none yet ripe. But there was that in him, only in crude form, whose natural outcome in due course was to be a rich harvest of wisdom and love—the fruit of which still remains treasured up in his immortal volume.

Only one remark more need be added on this topic. It may be supposed that the experiences described as incidental to the second stage are exceptional. We believe the contrary to be the fact. The experiences peculiar to this phase are indeed by no means stereotyped in their form, but manifest themselves under very diverse aspects in different men. But something of the kind happens to all men of definite decided religious character. And let it not be supposed that the more piety the less of these experiences. This were in effect to say, that the cause of the green ear is the presence of thorns in the soil, so that if the soil were perfectly clean, the heart altogether good and noble, the seed would reach maturity without passing through the green stage. But the true distinction between the thorny soil and the good soil is not that in the one the green ear appears, while in the other it is never seen, but rather that in the one the grain never gets beyond the green ear, while in the other it passes on from greenness to maturity. It is no sin to be in the green ear: the sin is never to pass beyond it; and as it is no sin to be in the green ear, so neither is it any privilege to be conferred on faithful souls, to escape passing through it. No; it is not the privilege of faithful noble souls to overleap the green ear. Rather it is their lot to know more of its peculiar experiences than others, as all religious biography attests. They who reap in greatest joy sow most in tears. They who know best what it is to mount up on wings like eagles, to run and not weary, to walk and not faint, know also better than others what it is to have to wait on the Lord. For those who faithfully and patiently wait the full corn in the ear comes without fail. But how shall we describe this last highest stage, so as at once to convey an adequate and yet a sober view of its peculiar characteristics? It is not easy; but in a few broken sentences let us try at least to suggest a rudimentary idea of what has been variously named Christian perfection, Christian maturity, the Higher Christian Life. Bunyan gives us his idea of the state in that part of his allegory where he represents the Pilgrim as arriving at the Land of Beulah, where the sun shines night and day, the land lying beyond the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and out of the reach of Giant Despair, and from which one cannot so much as see Doubting Castle; where Christians are within sight of the city they are going to—that is, have a lively hope of eternal life—where they renew their marriage contract with their God, where they have no want of corn and wine; but meet with abundance of what they have sought for in all their pilgrimage. In the day when a Christian arrives at this stage the promise of Jesus to His disciples is fulfilled: "Ye now, therefore, have sorrow, but I will see you again, and your heart shall rejoice, and your joy no man taketh from you."[1] The early joy of a believer is passionate and transient, this final joy is tranquil, and abides. It is the joy of a conscience enlightened, and freed from bondage to scruples without loss of tenderness, of a mind established in religious conviction, and in which faith and knowledge are reconciled, and of a heart delivered from concern about self and its interests, whether temporal or eternal, to serve God and man with generous devotion, and taught by sorrow to sympathise. Now at length there does appear the ripe fruit of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance. A well-known writer on the religious affections says: "The Scripture knows no true Christians of a sordid, selfish, cross, and contentious spirit; nothing can be a greater absurdity than a morose, hard, close, high-spirited, spiteful true Christian."[2] The statement indicates a lack of due discrimination between sincerity and maturity. There are sincere Christians of the character described, but there are certainly no mature Christians of such a character. For the mature are loving, wise, benignant, humble, patient, rich in well-doing, willing to communicate, heartily and supremely interested in the progress of the Divine kingdom, and loyal subjects of its King. Yet, withal, the mature Christian is characteristically free from self-complacency. It is not possible for him, as it is possible for the immature disciple, to think that he hath attained the goal of perfection. His ideal of the Christian life is pitched too high to allow such a fancy to enter his mind. "I know not how to describe the grandeur and simplicity of the state that is no longer self-bounded, self-referring; how great a thing to such a freed rejoicing spirit the life in Christ Jesus seems!—a temple truly ’not of this building,’ too great to be mapped out and measured; too great to be perfect here?"[3]

[1] John 16:22.

[2] Jonathan Edwards, ’Treatise on the Religious Affections,’ Part iii. sect. 8.

[3] ’The Patience of Hope,’ p. 102. This little work by the late Miss Greenwell is full of true insight into the law of growth in the spiritual world. From these brief hints it. will be seen that the last stage of Christian growth cannot be regarded as a mere repetition of or return to the first, as if the Divine life consisted in a perpetual see-saw between falls and conversions. There is an affinity but not an identity; for that which springs out of experience can never be identical with a state which precedes experience. A writer already referred to puts the relation between the two thus:—"The real object of the subsequent life as a struggle of experience is to produce in wisdom what is then begotten as a feeling, or a new love; and thus to make a fixed state of that which was initiated only as a love. It is to convert a heavenly impulse into a heavenly habit. It is to raise the Christian childhood into a Christian manhood—to make the first love a second or completed love; or, what is the same, to fulfil the first love and give it a pervading fulness in the soul; such that the whole man, as a thinking, self-knowing, acting, choosing, tempted, and temptable creature, shall coalesce with it, and be for ever rested, immovably grounded in it."[1] But, perhaps, the relations between the initial and final stages by way both of resemblance and of contrast can be better understood by examples than by any abstract statement. We shall therefore conclude with a few extracts from the autobiography of one in whose religious history all the three phases of spiritual growth were well marked, and than whom no one was ever more competent to speak on the subject of Christian sanctification, or has ever spoken more wisely. In a section of that work, the author, Richard Baxter, draws a contrast between his earlier and his later views, which is altogether very instructive, and in which the following passages, taken at random, occur:—"In my younger years my trouble for sin was most about my actual failings in thought and deed, but now I am much more troubled for inward defects." "Heretofore I placed much of my religion in tenderness of heart, and grieving for sin, and penitential tears, and less of it in the love of God, and studying His love and goodness, and in His joyful praises, than now I do." "I was once wont to meditate most on my own heart, and to dwell all at home and look little higher. I was still poring either on my sins or my wants, or examining my sincerity; but now, though I am greatly convinced of the need of heart acquaintance, yet I see more of a higher work; that I should look oftener upon Christ, and God, and heaven, than upon my own heart. I would have one thought at home upon myself and sins, and many thoughts above upon the high, and amiable, and beatifying objects." "Heretofore I knew much less than now, and yet was not half so much acquainted with my own ignorance. I had a great delight in the daily new discoveries which I made, and of the light which shined in upon me (like a man that cometh into a country where he never was before). But I little knew either how imperfectly I understood these very points whose discovery so much delighted me, nor how much might be said against them, nor how many things I was yet a stranger to." "At first I was greatly inclined to go with the highest in controversies on one side or the other. But now I can so easily see what to say against both extremes, that I am much more inclinable to reconciling principles." "I am not so narrow in my special love as heretofore. Being less censorious I love more as saints than I did heretofore." "My soul is much more afflicted with the thoughts of the miserable world, and more drawn out in desire for their conversion, than heretofore. Yet am I not so much inclined to pass a peremptory sentence of damnation upon all that never heard of Christ." "I am deeper afflicted for the disagreements of Christians than I once was. Except the case of the infidel world nothing is so sad to my thoughts as the case of the divided churches." "I do not lay so great stress upon the external modes and forms of worship as many young professors do. I cannot be of their opinion that think God will not accept him that prayeth by the Common Prayer Book, and that such forms are a self-invented worship which God rejecteth. Nor yet can I be of their mind who say the like of extempore prayer." "I am much more sensible than heretofore of the breadth, length, and depth of the radical, universal, odious sin of selfishness, and of the excellency and necessity of self-denial and of a public mind, and of loving our neighbour as ourselves." "I am more solicitous about my duty to God, and less solicitous about His dealings with me."[2] In these precious fragments we recognise the marks of spiritual maturity: a conscience tender, yet free from superstition and legalism; a heart, which to brotherly kindness adds charity; an understanding enlightened with sober, well-balanced views of truth, refusing to call any human teacher master, yet in harmony in all essentials with the wise and good of all ages.

[1] Bushnell, ’The New Life,’ p. 166.

[2] ’Reliquiæ Baxterianæ,’ Part I.