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When many of us read the Bible, it's filled with agricultural images. Yet here we are in a city and a suburb that couldn't be further removed from agriculture, so many of these images have little relevance to us. Few of us have lost a sheep, tended a vine, or harvested olives. So when Jesus calls himself the good shepherd, the true vine, or the lord of the harvest, it doesn't always make sense to us. And when he tells parables about farming, we often miss the significance and the meaning.
But when Jesus taught 2,000 years ago, everybody understood the images because they were connected with their lifestyle. Consider the three great Jewish festivals — Passover, Pentecost, Tabernacles — each connected to Jewish history: the freedom from Egypt, the giving of the law, and the wilderness experience. What we often don't realise is that they were also connected with agriculture:
Everything was connected to the rhythm of the seasons and the provision of God.
As someone raised on a farm, these images are not metaphorical or theoretical for me — they're real. Every single year we would have a harvest festival in our local church. People would bring their tomatoes and their marrows, decorate the church with flowers, and it was my responsibility to go to our silos, get a bag of grain as a representative of the goodness of God, and place it near the altar to thank God for his provision. Our future depended on God.
The biographer Laurie Lee wrote this in his autobiography:
"From our seats in the choir, we watched the year turn. Christmas, Easter, and Whitsun, Rogation Sunday, and prayers for rain. The church following the plow very close."
That was my childhood.
I want to pick one agricultural image and explain it this morning — one that Jesus used regularly. We find it in Luke 9:62:
"No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God."
Since most of you have never done any plowing, let's pray that God would open our eyes.
Father God, we thank you for these wonderful images through which you reveal significance and truth in your scripture. I pray that you would open our eyes this morning, and help us to understand something that you teach in the scriptures. And everybody said, Amen.
In 1565, a Dutch landscape painter named Peter Brueghel painted a picture. I know it well because we had a copy in my mother's bedroom. It's a picture of a plowman — a simple plowman right in the center of the painting, plowing behind a horse with a simple plow that's no more than a stick in the ground. You can see the careful furrows he is plowing in the fields.
It makes absolute sense until you see the title of the painting. It's called The Fall of Icarus. Icarus is a Greek myth about a man who wanted to be seen, wanted to be famous, wanted to fly. He made some wings, stuck them to his body with wax, then flew — and in his arrogance flew too near the sun. The wax melted, and he fell to his death and drowned in the sea. If you look carefully, you'll see his two legs in the corner of the painting.
So what was Brueghel saying? He was saying it's not about the hubris, the arrogance, or the great achievements. It is about the unseen, unheralded, committed plowman in the center.
If you want a title for this message, it's this: The Plough Is Central.
In England there is actually a day called Plow Monday — the Monday following Epiphany (January 6th), which marks the start of the agricultural year. Farmers in those communities would bring their plow or plowshare to church to have it blessed. Why? Because everything on the farm depends on that plow.
"Sluggards don't plow in season, so at harvest time they look, but find nothing." — Proverbs 20:4
Let's turn back to the fuller text in Luke 9:57. As Jesus walked with a crowd, a man said, "I will follow you wherever you go." Jesus replied, "Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head." He said to another, "Follow me." But the man replied, "Lord, first let me go and bury my father." Jesus said, "Let the dead bury their own dead, but you go and proclaim the kingdom of God." Still another said, "I will follow you, Lord, but first let me go back and say goodbye to my family."
All of these are perfectly reasonable excuses. But Jesus said, "No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God."
"The Son of Man has no place to lay his head." Church is not about being seen, entertainment, or even about being blessed. It's about doing what God wants us to do. Service is at the center of the community.
"Not so with you. Instead, whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be your slave — just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many." — Matthew 20:26-28
Many years ago, a man named William Tyndale translated the Bible into English from Latin, Greek, and Hebrew. At the time in the 16th century, it was illegal to even say the Lord's Prayer in English — if you taught your children the Lord's Prayer, you could be burnt at the stake. Church in those days was all about being seen, glamorous. The prelates, preachers, and bishops dressed in rich robes; like the Pharisees, they wanted to be seen.
Tyndale said, "No, I'm not having that." He said:
"If God spare my life, ere many years I will cause a boy that drives the plow to know more of the scriptures than you do."
Much of the translation you have in front of you exists because of William Tyndale — and he was burnt at the stake for translating those scriptures. What he wanted was the ordinary man, the servant, to truly understand what church was about. It's not glamorous.
"First, let me go and bury my father." Jesus said, "No, you go and proclaim the kingdom of God." We often think that's harsh. But in that culture, it was important to look after your family and your father until he died, then bury him, and only then be free to act. What Jesus was saying is: don't put your culture and your family ahead of kingdom service. Seek first his kingdom, and everything else will be yours as well.
That's why we tithe. We give our first fruits — the first tenth — to God, knowing that God will look after us. He is our source. He is our provider. It's not optional. It's not "if I feel like it." He's saying, "No, you're going to have to put me first." Why? Because he's God, and we're not.
James Rebanks, a shepherd, once asked his father — who he was taking the farm over from — how the farm worked, because farming can seem complicated. His dad said:
"Don't be confused by it all. The pattern is simple: the farm dances around the plow. Other tools follow and are used, but the plow is king."
The conference isn't about the platform, the speakers, or the music. It's about the service. The plough is king.
We live in a suburb; we go to convenience stores to buy vegetables out of season. But on a farm, you don't get any vegetables unless you've planted the crop and waited until it comes to fruition in season. It's all dependent on God. It's a primary industry. We now have secondary, tertiary, and further industries so far removed that we think we can do it on our own in air-conditioned offices. But on the field, everything depends on God.
We had a sign in our kitchen: "Making a living has been cancelled due to bad weather."
"About righteousness, self-control, and the judgment to come, Felix was afraid and said, 'That's enough for now. You may leave. When I find it convenient, I will send for you.'" — Acts 24:25
I said yes to God 52 years ago. I didn't ask whether I felt good about it. I just said, "Yes, whatever you want." In 50 years I've discovered it's not glamorous, not optional, and not convenient.
When Brueghel painted that painting, there was an expression at the time: "No plow stops for a dying man." If church is just entertainment for you, you've missed the point. We're part of a body. We've got a job to do, a part to play, a gift to offer, an encouragement to share. We're not here to be blessed by my sermon. My job happens to be speaking. What's your job? What's your role?
I've discovered over 50 years that if you have a part to play, you always turn up — even if no one notices, no one says anything. Because this is our community. This is our church. This is where we're going to make a difference.
On our farm we had a plowman called Philip. He was really committed to his role, but I hardly ever saw him doing it, because plowing usually happened early in the morning — unheralded, unnoticed, slightly boring, normal, difficult, annoying work. He would measure out his work carefully, so proud of doing a good job that no one saw, that on weekends he even entered plowing competitions so he could draw a straight furrow.
Anyone who puts their hand to the plow must ask God for the gift, for skill, for strength.
"Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God's grace in its various forms. If anyone speaks, they should do so as one who speaks the very words of God. If anyone serves, they should do so with the strength God provides, so that in all things God may be praised." — 1 Peter 4:10-11
I'm a speaker, but that doesn't make me special. It just makes me in need of the grace of God. I'm no better, worse, or different from the person shaking hands on the door. Some of you beat yourself up because you feel your contribution isn't important. But as Stanley Jones said:
"Every Christian is a called person. This puts dignity, purpose, and goal into every Christian life. There is no longer sacred and secular callings. All callings which are callings in the Lord are sacred, and any legitimate work done in his name and for his sake is sacred work."
Kingdom service is generational. On our farm we found Neolithic axe heads 6,000 years old, Roman coins 2,000 years old, a Saxon ring 1,000 years old. Our village was mentioned in the Domesday Book in 1087. When we came along, we were just a very small link in the chain.
You don't own land. In a suburb like this you think your lawn is yours — but you're a steward. On a farm you realise you've got one very small part to play, and then you pass it on. But if you don't fulfil your role, there's no future. Every one of you is a link in God's chain.
Sheila Stuart said:
"You took pride in setting a straight furrow, often following the same line of stubble seeded with pride by the man who had trod the earth before you. You became very close to the land, and they who have toiled before."
We're playing a very small part in a very long church history. As for me and my house, I want to reach the end and hear God say, "Well done, good and faithful servant" — having taken my baton from the previous generation and passed it on to the runners of the future.
Don't look back.
"Moses chose to be mistreated along with the people of God rather than enjoy the fleeting pleasures of sin... He was looking forward to his reward... he persevered because he saw him who is invisible." — Hebrews 11:25-27
When you're plowing, you don't look at the ground — you look at where you're going. When you go through the Sydney Harbour Tunnel, do not look at the wall; you'll crash into it. You look at the end of the tunnel. Some of you are in a dark place. Don't look at the dark place — look at the hope at the end of the tunnel. When you go through the routines of serving every week, every Sunday, look at the reward. Persevere.
"Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up." — Galatians 6:9
Many of you have no idea what it means to sow in tears. It means you don't put your average or worst seed in the ground — you take your very best seed and put it in the ground in the hope that God turns up and there is a future. You often do it before winter, then wait and wait, hoping for fruit. And if there isn't any, you do it all over again. Don't give up. There's a harvest out there, but it requires us to sow.
People say to me, "I tried tithing once, did it for a month, didn't work." Can I suggest you do it for the next 50 years, and then come and tell me how you get on? It requires patience.
My brother told me, "Plowing is a slow job. You plowed in the autumn, and by the spring you had a lovely tilth like biscuit crumbs." You are like biscuit crumbs — you're going to produce good fruit.
Excellence has become a bit of a bad word in some companies. But when I became a Christian, I asked God to use me — so I can hardly complain when the church uses me.
"Since you excel in everything — in faith, in speech, in knowledge, in complete earnestness, and in the love we've kindled in you — see that you also excel in the grace of giving." — 2 Corinthians 8:7
Sheila Stuart again:
"You become very close to the land when you plant your soul and plod your strength into every inch of it. A carter's reputation, and often his epitaph, be laid bare, rich in furrow."
When Philip was plowing, if he missed a bit, nobody knew until the following spring. His furrow was his epitaph. God honestly isn't interested in your gifts — he gave them to you; how can you boast about them? What he's looking for is service.
"Do your best to present yourself to God as one approved, a workman who does not need to be ashamed and who correctly handles the word of truth." — 2 Timothy 2:15
What has that got to do with plowing? The word for "correctly handles" is the Greek orthotomeō — it means to cut straight, like a plowman cutting a furrow, or a workman making a road. The NEB puts it: "cutting a straight path with the word of truth."
When I read my Bible in the morning, I'm not just flicking pages until I find something I understand and put a pink heart around it. No — I work at it. Just like a plowman works at his furrow.
Think about Philip, or the people getting up early to serve you at conference. Someone plowing in heavy soil, in heavy boots, behind a difficult ox, would walk 14 miles — 22 kilometres — every day, trudging through solid earth. Why? No one could see them, no one heralded them, no one thanked or praised them. But if they didn't do it, there would be no future.
If you volunteer in any way in this church — on Sundays, at the conference, anywhere — that's the heart of the church. That's what makes conference what it is. It's not about the speaker or the platform. It's about you.
Father God, I pray that you will give us revelation that we are privileged to be part of the body of Christ, and each of us is a significant, valuable part. Help us to understand that we, as a body of believers, are the household of faith in which God lives by his Spirit. Help us to understand that we have a glorious mission — to preach the gospel, to proclaim the King, to see the kingdom of God extend as you build your church. Help us to understand that this is not a pastime, not a hobby — this is priority; this is the most glorious and wonderful thing to be part of. And I pray for everyone who has grasped that and put their hand up for service. Bless the volunteers, the people behind the scenes, the people on the doors, the coffee makers — every single person, unheralded, often unseen, often unpraised. Bless them, Father. May this be a year where they realise they have value and can add value, in the name of Jesus. And everybody said, Amen.
