Leader’s guide: Talks to the Farmer (For Teens)

Solomon says the sluggard never did anything wrong to his field. So how did it end up overgrown?

By neglect. He simply left it alone, and ground never stays empty: if you don’t grow wheat, weeds plant themselves. Solomon calls him “a man lacking sense” — not evil, just someone who couldn’t be bothered.

Spurgeon says if you are idle in God’s work, you are busy in the devil’s. What does the field teach about “doing nothing”?

That doing nothing is not neutral or safe. There’s no third option where nothing grows: the untended parts of your life fill up with something, and good intentions alone weed nothing.

What corner of your life with God have you been “meaning to get to”? What small action could you take today?

The chapter asks for one real action in the next hour — not a plan. The sluggard’s whole disease is the word “later,” and the only cure is “now.”

What stones does the chapter say make up the wall around a Christian’s life?

What you were taught, knowing what you believe, habits like set times of prayer, Bible reading and church, being openly a Christian, and the ability to say “No.”

What three things does a broken wall cost, according to the chapter?

You lose the line between what’s yours and the world’s, you lose protection as every bad influence wanders in, and eventually you can lose the field itself — like soil washed off a terrace until you can’t care anymore.

Is there a stone that’s fallen out of your wall — a prayer you stopped, a “no” you stopped saying?

The chapter says you don’t need a dramatic comeback. Find the one stone that’s out and put it back this week. That’s how a wall gets rebuilt: one stone at a time.

According to Psalm 147, who sends the frost and who melts it?

God does both, directly and personally. The psalm doesn’t say “the weather froze”; it says he gives snow, scatters frost, and sends out his word to melt them.

What do the frost and the thaw picture in how God works on a heart?

The frost is the cold truth about yourself — you were wrong and can’t fix yourself. The thaw is the warm news that God forgives and Jesus paid for it. Frost alone hardens into despair; the same God sends both.

If you feel caught-out or ashamed right now, how does this chapter suggest you respond?

Don’t warm yourself with excuses or freeze into “I’m hopeless.” Treat the frost as the first half of the weather and ask God to send the thaw: “I can’t melt my own heart. Send the warm wind.”

What happens to a grain of wheat that stays safe on a shelf, compared to one that falls into the ground?

The shelved grain stays alone — exactly one grain a year later. Only the grain that goes into the ground and dies becomes a field and bears “much fruit.”

What does the buried seed teach about Jesus, and about following him?

Spurgeon says Jesus’ dying, not just his teaching, produced the harvest; he refused to stay alone. For us, gripping your life tight loses it, while letting it go keeps it.

Where do you usually “grab” — the credit, the last word, the front of the line?

The chapter suggests letting one of those go on purpose this week — burying that one seed — and watching what grows. The thing that has to die is usually just self.

What two answers does Spurgeon give to “Does the ploughman plough all day to sow?”

Yes — he ploughs patiently from sunrise to sundown, a picture of God’s patience. And no — he doesn’t plough forever, because the whole point of ploughing is to sow.

What does it mean to be a field that is ploughed over and over but never sown?

It’s the person who feels guilty or stirred again and again but never actually trusts Jesus — like running for a train and arriving just as the doors shut. Close, and still missing it.

Have you been stuck feeling moved without ever actually trusting Jesus?

The chapter says don’t wait for the perfect moment or feeling. Spurgeon told a young man to “tumble” into Christ’s arms — you don’t have to do faith gracefully, only get there.

Why does no one try to plough solid rock with oxen?

Because it’s hopeless: the blade skips and chips, the equipment gets torn up, and nothing gets planted. Amos uses it as a warning about a hardened heart.

What does Spurgeon mean by “The sun that softens wax hardens clay”?

The same truth can soften one heart and harden another. Hearing true things again and again without acting on them can make you numb, until familiarity turns into armour.

Do you ever feel you’ve heard it all so often that nothing lands anymore?

The chapter’s hope: rock doesn’t worry about being rock, so if it bothers you, you’re not fully stone. Act on even a small stirring today with a real prayer, rather than waiting for a bigger feeling.

What happens to the seed on each of the four kinds of ground?

On the path, birds take it; on the rock, it shoots up fast but withers without roots; among thorns, it’s choked by worries, money and pleasures; in good soil, it takes root and bears fruit.

The seed was good every time. What does that tell us the parable is really asking?

Not “is the message true?” but “what kind of ground are you?” Also, good soil doesn’t mean producing the most — a hundredfold, sixty or thirty all count as fruit.

Which kind of ground have you honestly been lately?

The chapter says don’t rush to call yourself good soil. If you see yourself in the first three, that recognition is the plough already going in — ask God to break the ground up.

How does a wise farmer treat his “principal wheat” compared with his other crops?

He decides it matters most — it’s the bread his family lives on — so it gets the best field, the most care and first place, while side crops get the leftovers.

Why does Spurgeon say knowing God belongs in the best field?

It’s the most necessary thing, like bread, and the most profitable, good for this life and the next. Worldly success he calls “only smoke,” and we’re made for God like a fish for water.

What’s your actual main crop — the one your time and attention prove?

The chapter asks you to name it honestly, then ask whether it’s what you want in the best field. If knowing God isn’t getting your best soil, start moving it there this week.

What is the green blade in spring, and why is it easy to overlook?

It’s the tiniest blade of wheat pushing through cold, bare ground. It’s so small you could mistake it for a weed or miss it, but it’s alive and the start of the whole harvest.

What does the green blade look like in a person’s faith, and how does God treat it?

A faint desire to know God, a prayer that’s just a sigh, wanting to be where God is talked about. God waters and blesses it, as shepherds watch newborn lambs and as a tree in blossom is lovely.

Do you ever feel your faith is too small or shaky to count?

The chapter says you’re on schedule — “first the blade, then the ear.” Stop measuring against someone else’s full field and keep growing toward the light: say the small prayer, show up where God is.

In 1 Corinthians 3, who plants, who waters, and who makes it grow?

Paul planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth. The field is God’s field; the workers just work faithfully at their part.

Why is it a relief that we can’t do the “main part” of the farm work?

Because changing a person’s heart was never our job. Like the seed growing “he knows not how,” growth is God’s department, so we can work hard and then truly rest, like Jesus asleep in the storm.

Is there someone you’re anxious about spiritually? What would it look like to plant and not dig up?

The chapter suggests doing your one faithful thing — a word, an invite, a prayer — and then handing the outcome to God. Don’t dig the seed up on Friday to check; some things grow slowly, like oaks.

Why does Spurgeon call Jesus’ silence before his accusers a display of power?

He could have called legions of angels and answered every charge, but he restrained himself on purpose. The few words he spoke included “Father, forgive them” — no complaint against his enemies or his Father.

What does the sheep before the shearers teach about going through loss?

The sheep gets hurt by struggling, not by the shears; the shearer picks the right season; what’s cut was on loan anyway; and new wool grows back.

Is something being “cut away” in your life right now? How might you handle it?

The chapter doesn’t say pretend it doesn’t hurt. It suggests being still and trusting the Shepherd, asking God to “wash” trouble before it cuts, and calling good things loans — held, not owned.

Why does Spurgeon reject the idea that grass just grows “naturally”?

Because “nature” is a word we use to avoid saying God; a law can’t do anything on its own. The psalm says God causes the grass to grow.

What do the mountain grass and the drop of dew teach about God’s care?

God grows grass where only a passing bird sees it, and gives every blade its own drop of dew. His care is personal, including for hidden people no one notices.

When do you feel most invisible or forgotten?

The chapter suggests finding something small God is keeping alive — grass by the path, a weed in a crack — and letting it remind you: if he tends that unseen, he is tending you.

What harvest-joys does Spurgeon list for a Christian?

The joy of telling others, of answered prayer like Hannah’s, of beating a temptation, and, biggest of all, of helping someone find God.

What does a ripe stalk of wheat bowing its head teach about mature faith?

The heavier and riper it gets, the lower it hangs. Spurgeon says grown-up faith looks humble and ready, not proud and showing off.

What are you sowing now that you’ll reap later?

The chapter warns you reap what you sow, and invites you to aim at one harvest-joy on purpose, especially helping one person toward God. Spurgeon said he wouldn’t trade that for an angel’s harp.

What did Boaz tell his workers about Ruth the gleaner?

To let her gather among the good sheaves, not make her feel small, and quietly drop extra grain on purpose where she’d find it.

Spurgeon says proud people go home from the richest field empty-handed. Why?

Because a gleaner has to stoop. God’s good things lie low, within reach of anyone humble enough to bend; those too proud to reach starve in a full field.

Do you “crop” lots of spiritual content but digest little? What would chewing the cud look like for you?

The chapter suggests taking one true thing about God and returning to it three times this week, then carrying some home to someone else, as Ruth did.

What picture does Amos 2:13 use, and who is speaking?

An overloaded harvest cart, groaning and cutting ruts under its sheaves. God is the one who says he feels pressed like that — by our sin.

Why does Spurgeon say “we’ve got the weights exactly backwards”?

The whole universe is no strain to God, yet sin is the one thing pictured as almost too heavy. We shrug off as small the very thing that weighs most.

Is there a weight you’ve been telling yourself is no big deal?

The chapter says stop pretending the load is light, name it, and hand it to Jesus, who already got under the wagon. That’s not weakness; it’s putting the weight where it’s been paid for.

What is threshing, and what is it for?

Beating harvested grain with a flail, rod or roller. The point isn’t to destroy the grain but to free it from the useless husk clinging to it.

How does the threshing picture answer the “why me?” question in hard times?

The farmer only threshes the wheat, not the weeds, so it signals there’s real grain in you. He matches the tool to the seed, sets a limit — ten troubles, not eleven — and “does not thresh it forever.”

How could asking “what husk is this loosening?” change the way you face a hard season?

The chapter says you’re allowed to hate it — it’s meant to sting. But hold onto two promises: the farmer only threshes wheat, and he does not thresh forever.

In Jesus’ parable, why are the wheat and weeds left to grow together until harvest?

Because they’re tangled in the same soil and hard to tell apart for a while. At the harvest they’re sorted: the wheat gathered into the barn, the weeds bundled off.

What do the words “gather” and “into my barn” promise the wheat?

A rescue: the reapers miss no true grain, gathering people from every country and century into one barn. Heaven is pictured as total safety — no frost, drought or threshing — so a Christian’s death is also a gathering-in.

Spurgeon asks whether you are wheat “sown by the Lord” or “self-sown.” How would you honestly answer?

The chapter’s test isn’t being nice, but whether your faith is something God planted and you depend on Christ. Settle that, and the harvest is nothing to fear — it’s being brought home.