The Parable Of The Sower

The sower scatters seed freely, yet not all soil receives it. Hearts may be hardened, distracted, or entangled, preventing growth. God’s Word calls for receptive ground, patience, and perseverance, reminding us that fruit depends on divine grace, not human effort.

“And when a great crowd was gathering and people from town after town came to him, he said in a parable: ‘A sower went out to sow his seed. And as he sowed, some fell along the path and was trampled underfoot, and the birds of the air devoured it. And some fell on the rock, and as it grew up, it withered away, because it had no moisture. And some fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up with it and choked it. And some fell into good soil and grew and yielded a hundredfold.’ As he said these things, he called out, ‘He who has ears to hear, let him hear.’” Luke 8:4–8.

In our country, when a farmer goes out to sow, he usually works in an enclosed field, scattering seed from his basket along every ridge and furrow. But in the East, near small towns, farmland was often an open stretch of ground. It was divided into different properties, but there were no visible fences—only ancient boundary markers or perhaps small ridges of stones.

Footpaths ran through these open fields. The most traveled paths were called highways, though they were nothing like our paved roads—just well-worn tracks, hardened by constant use. There were also smaller side paths, made by travelers seeking safer routes or shortcuts. Over time, these too became worn and firm.

When the sower went out to sow, he worked soil that had been scratched by a simple, primitive plow. He aimed to scatter most of his seed there. But since a path ran through the middle of the field, unless he left a wide strip unused, some seed would fall on the path. In another place, a rock might rise close to the surface, covered only by a thin layer of soil. Seed would fall there as well.

In yet another corner, the ground might be tangled with the roots of nettles and thistles.

The farmer would scatter seed there too, and both the grain and the weeds would grow together— until the stronger thorns choked the young plants so that they produced no mature fruit.

Remembering that the Bible was written in the East, and that its images come from that setting, often helps us understand its meaning more clearly than if we picture only English farming customs. The preacher of the Gospel is like that sower. He does not create the seed; it is given to him by his divine Master. No one can create even the smallest grain that grows in the earth, much less the heavenly seed that gives eternal life. The minister goes to his Master in private prayer and asks to be taught the gospel. In that way, he fills his basket with the good seed of the kingdom.

Then he goes out in his Master’s name and scatters the precious truth. If he knew exactly where the best soil was—where hearts had already been prepared by conviction—he might focus only there. But since he cannot see into human hearts, he must preach the gospel to every creature. He must scatter seed on hardened hearts, on distracted minds, and on those entangled in the cares and pleasures of this world.

He must leave the results to the Lord who gave him the seed. He is not responsible for the harvest; he is responsible only for faithfully and diligently doing his work. Even if not a single ear of grain should ever make the reaper glad, the sower will still be rewarded by his Master if he has planted the right seed with careful hands. Without this assurance, how could we avoid crying out with the prophet, “Lord, who has believed what he has heard from us? And to whom has the arm of the Lord been revealed?” (Isaiah 53:1, ESV).

Our duty is not determined by the character of our hearers but by the command of our God. We must preach the gospel whether people listen or refuse. We must sow beside all waters. Whatever condition hearts may be in, the minister must preach—to the rock as well as the furrow, to the path as well as the plowed field.

Now I will speak about the four kinds of hearers described in our Lord’s parable. First, those like the path—hearers only. Second, those like rocky ground—briefly moved, but without lasting fruit. Third, those among thorns—where the word begins to grow, but is choked by life’s cares, the deceitfulness of riches, and worldly pleasures.

And lastly, that small group—may God greatly increase it—the good soil, in whom the Word produces abundant fruit.

I. The Path “Some fell along the path and was trampled underfoot, and the birds of the air devoured it.” Many of you do not come to worship seeking a blessing. You do not intend to worship God or to be changed by what you hear. You are like the path, never meant to be a field of grain. If even one seed of truth were to grow in you, it would be as surprising as wheat growing in the middle of a busy street.

If the seed is skillfully scattered, some may rest briefly on your thoughts. You may not understand it fully, but if it is presented attractively, you might discuss it for a time—until something more entertaining captures your attention. Even that small benefit is short-lived. Soon you forget everything you heard.

We wish we could hope that the Word would remain with you, but your heart is so hardened by constant traffic that there is no place for the seed to take root. Satan continually passes over it with blasphemies, lusts, lies, and empty distractions. Pride rolls across it like heavy wheels. Greed tramples it down until it becomes hard as stone.

The seed finds no resting place. Thoughts rush back and forth constantly. Your soul has become a marketplace where everything is traded. You are busy buying and selling, yet you do not realize that you are selling the truth and buying your own destruction.

You say you have no time to think about spiritual things. The road of your heart is so crowded that there is no room for the seed to grow. If it ever begins to sprout, some new amusement or distraction crushes it before it matures. Just as grain could never grow in the busiest streets of a city, so truth cannot grow in a heart filled with constant noise, pride, worry, and rebellion against God.

We have looked at this hardened roadside; now let us consider what becomes of the good word when it falls on such a heart.

The seed would have grown if it had fallen on proper soil. But it has landed in the wrong place, and it remains as dry as when it first left the sower’s hand. The word of the gospel lies on the surface of that heart but never enters it. It is like snow falling on a busy street: it touches the wet pavement, melts, and disappears at once. The word has no time to awaken life in the soul. It rests there briefly, but it never takes root or produces any lasting effect.

Why do people come to hear if the word never enters their hearts? That question has often puzzled us. Some would not miss a Sunday for anything. They enjoy gathering for worship. Yet no tear falls from their eyes. Their souls never rise to heaven in praise. They do not truly join in confession of sin. They do not think seriously about coming judgment or the future state of their souls. Their hearts are like iron; the minister might as well preach to a heap of stones.

What brings such unfeeling sinners here? At times it seems we would have as much hope of converting wild beasts as these untamed, unresponsive hearts. Has all feeling vanished? Do people attend worship merely because it is respectable? Or does coming help them feel more comfortable in their sins? If they stayed away, conscience might trouble them; but by attending, they persuade themselves that they are religious.

Oh, my hearers, your condition could make an angel weep. The sun of the gospel shines on your face, yet your eyes remain blind. The music of heaven sounds in your ears, yet you do not truly hear it. You can appreciate a turn of phrase. You can admire an illustration. But the spiritual meaning—the living power within the message—you do not grasp. You sit at the wedding feast, but you do not taste the food. Heaven rejoices over redeemed souls, yet you remain unredeemed, without God and without Christ. Though we plead with you, pray for you, and weep over you, you remain as hardened and careless as ever. May God have mercy on you and break up your hard heart so that his word may dwell within you.

The picture is not yet complete. The passage tells us that the birds of the air devoured the seed. Is there a wayside hearer here? Perhaps he did not intend to listen carefully today. When the sermon ends, someone invites him into questionable company. He goes along, and the good seed is quickly devoured.

There are many influences ready to snatch the gospel from a heart. The devil himself—whom Scripture calls the “prince of the power of the air”—is always eager to steal away a good thought.

And he does not work alone. He has countless helpers. A spouse, children, friends, enemies, customers, creditors—any of these may become instruments to consume the seed, and they often succeed. What a tragedy that heavenly seed should become food for the devil—that God’s grain should feed unclean birds.

If you have heard the gospel since childhood, how many wagonloads of sermons have been wasted on you? In your younger days, you may have heard a faithful preacher who prayed for his congregation until his eyes were red with tears. Do you remember the Sundays when you said to yourself, “I will go to my room and pray”? But you did not. The birds devoured the seed, and you continued in sin.

Even now, you are rarely absent from church. Yet the gospel falls on your soul as if it dropped onto iron. The law may be preached with thunder—you do not mock it, but neither are you moved.

Christ may be lifted up before you. His wounds may be described. His blood may be set before your eyes. You may be urged earnestly to look to him and live. But it is like sowing seed along the seashore.

What shall I do for you? Shall I stand here and weep over this hardened path? My tears cannot soften it; it has been trampled too long. Shall I bring the plow of the gospel? The blade cannot penetrate soil so compacted. What then? O God, you alone know how to melt the hardest heart through the precious blood of Jesus. Do it now, we pray. Glorify your grace by causing the good seed to live and produce a heavenly harvest.

Now consider the second kind of hearer. Some seed fell upon rock, and as it grew up, it withered away because it lacked moisture. You can picture that rock in the middle of the field, covered only by a thin layer of soil. The seed falls there as it does everywhere else. It sprouts quickly. It grows rapidly. Then it withers and dies.

Only those who deeply love souls can understand the hopes, joys, and bitter disappointments that these rocky places have caused. There are hearers whose hearts seem soft and responsive. While others feel nothing, these are visibly moved. Whether the message speaks of judgment or of Christ’s love at the cross, they are stirred. Strong impressions are made.

They resolve to change, yet they delay. They are not hardened opponents of God. They appear open and eager. Rejoicing, we direct the message toward them, and it seems to penetrate. But there is hidden armor beneath the surface. No lasting wound is made.

Scripture describes them this way: “And these are the ones sown on rocky ground: the ones who, when they hear the word, immediately receive it with joy. And they have no root in themselves, but endure for a while; then, when tribulation or persecution arises on account of the word, immediately they fall away” (Mark 4:16–17, ESV).

Have we not seen many who receive the word with joy? They have no deep conviction of sin, yet they quickly profess faith in Christ. Their belief appears genuine. The seed has sprouted. There is a green blade. We thank God, thinking a soul has been saved. But our joy is premature. The same lack of depth that made them respond quickly also causes them to wither when difficulty comes.

We see this often. Someone asks to join the church and tells us how deeply a sermon moved them.

They say they believed at once and have never felt such happiness. We ask about conviction of sin. They believe they were convicted. What they know for certain is that religion brings them great pleasure.

We ask if they will continue, and they are confident that they will. Everything seems new. They claim to hate what they once loved. And all of this has happened suddenly, without deep plowing of the heart. It is as if a field were instantly covered with wheat by magic. Perhaps they are received into fellowship. Within weeks they are less regular. When gently corrected, they explain that opposition has made things difficult. Soon they disappear entirely. A little ridicule or inconvenience has driven them back. The minister feels like a farmer who saw his field green and flourishing, only to wake and find every shoot destroyed by frost.

If it is tragic to be a wayside hearer, it is hardly better to be like the rock. This second group gives more initial hope. They gather eagerly, especially around a new minister. They seem devoted. But time tests everything. What appeared strong proves shallow. When trials come, they fade away.

Some of you may belong to this group. You have felt deeply. You have resolved often. Yet years pass, and nothing changes. There is no depth, no steady work of the Spirit. Must it remain so?

Shall one day your life be remembered as a plant that sprouted but never ripened? God forbid.

May the Spirit work deeply and effectively in you, so that you may yet bear fruit for God and bring honor to Christ.

III. I shall briefly treat of the third class, and may the Spirit of God help me to deal faithfully with you.

“And some fell among thorns; and the thorns sprang up with it, and choked it.” Now, this was good soil. The first two characters were bad; the wayside was not the proper place, the rock was not a suitable situation for the growth of any plant; but this is good soil, for it grows thorns.

Wherever a thistle will spring up and flourish, there wheat would flourish too. This was rich, fertile soil; it was no wonder therefore that the farmer dealt generously there, and threw handful after handful upon that corner of the field. See how happy he is when in a month or two he visits the spot. The seed has sprung up. True, there is a suspicious little plant down there of about the same size as the wheat. “Oh!” he thinks, “that is not much, the corn will outgrow that. When it is stronger it will choke these few thistles that have unfortunately mixed with it.” Ah, Mr. Farmer, you do not understand the power of evil, or you would not dream like this! He comes again, and the seed has grown, there is even corn in the ear; but the thistles, the thorns, and the briers have become intertwined with one another, and the poor wheat can hardly get a ray of sunshine. It is so choked with thorns on every side, that it looks quite yellow; the plant is starved. Still it keeps on growing, and it does seem as if it would bring forth a little fruit. Alas, it never comes to anything. With it the reaper never fills his arm.

We have this class very largely among us. These hear the word and understand what they hear.

They take the truth home; they think it over; they even go so far as to make a profession of religion.

The wheat seems to spring up and form an ear; it will soon come to perfection. Do not be in a hurry; these men and women have a great deal to look after; they have the cares of a large business; their establishment employs so many hundreds; do not be mistaken about their godliness—they have no time for it. They will tell you that they must live; that they cannot neglect this world; that they must somehow look after the present, and as for the future, they will give it proper attention by and by. They continue to attend gospel preaching, and the poor little stunted blade of religion keeps on growing in a fashion.

Meanwhile they have grown rich; they come to the place of worship in a carriage; they have all that heart can wish. Ah! now the seed will grow, will it not? No, no.

They have no cares now; the shop is given up, they live in the country; they no longer have to ask, “Where shall the money come from to meet the next bill?” or “How shall we provide for an increasing family?” Now they have too much instead of too little, for they have riches, and they are too wealthy to be gracious. “But,” says one, “they might spend their riches for God.” Certainly they might, but they do not, for riches are deceitful. They have to entertain much company, and go along with the world, and so Christ and his church are left behind.

Yes, but they begin to spend their riches, and they have surely overcome that difficulty, for they give generously to the cause of Christ, and they are liberal in charity; the little blade will grow, will it not? No, for now look at the thorns of pleasure. Their generosity to others involves generosity to themselves; their pleasures, amusements, and vanities choke the wheat of true religion; the good grains of gospel truth cannot grow because they must attend that musical party, that ball, and that soirée, and so they cannot think about the things of God. I know several examples of this class. I knew one, high in court circles, who confessed to me that he wished he were poor, for then he might enter the kingdom of heaven. He said to me, “Ah, sir, these politics, these politics, I wish I were rid of them, they are eating the life out of my heart. I cannot serve God as I would.”

I know of another, burdened with riches, who said to me, “Ah, sir, it is an awful thing to be rich; one cannot keep close to the Saviour with all this earth around him.”

Ah, my dear readers, I will not ask that God lay you on a bed of sickness, that he strip you of all your wealth, and bring you to poverty; but, oh, if he were to do it, and you were to save your souls, it would be the best bargain you could ever make. If those mighty ones who now complain that the thorns choke the seed could give up all their riches and pleasures, if those who live in luxury every day could take the place of Lazarus at the gate, it would be a happy change for them if their souls might be saved. A man may be honorable and rich, and yet go to heaven; but it will be hard work, for “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God.” God does cause some rich people to enter the kingdom of heaven, but hard is their struggle. Steady, young man, steady! Do not hurry to climb to wealth! It is a place where many heads are turned. Do not ask God to make you popular; those who have popularity are wearied by it. Cry with Agur, “Give me neither poverty nor riches.” God grant that I may walk in the golden mean, and may I always have in my heart that good seed, which shall bring forth fruit a hundredfold to his own glory.

IV. I now close with the last character, namely, the good ground. Of the good soil, as you will notice, we have but one in four. Will one in four of our hearers, with a well-prepared heart, receive the Word?

The ground is described as “good”; not that it was good by nature, but it had been made good by grace. God had ploughed it; he had stirred it up with the plough of conviction, and there it lay in ridge and furrow as it should lie. When the gospel was preached, the heart received it, for the man said, “That is exactly the blessing I want. Mercy is what a needy sinner requires.” So the preaching of the gospel brought comfort to this disturbed and ploughed soil. Down fell the seed to take good root. In some cases it produced fervent love, largeness of heart, and devotedness of purpose of a noble kind, like seed which produces a hundredfold. The man became a mighty servant for God; he spent himself and was spent. He took his place in the front ranks of Christ’s army, stood in the hottest part of the battle, and did deeds of courage which few could accomplish—the seed produced a hundredfold. It fell into another heart of the same kind; the man could not do the most, but still he did much. He gave himself to God, and in his business he had a word to say for his Lord; in his daily walk he quietly adorned the doctrine of God his Saviour—he brought forth sixtyfold. Then it fell on another, whose abilities and talents were small; he could not be a star, but he would be a glow-worm; he could not do as the greatest, but he was content to do something, however humble.

The seed had brought forth in him tenfold, perhaps twentyfold. How many are there of this sort here? Is there one who prays within himself, “God be merciful to me, a sinner”? The seed has fallen in the right place. Soul, your prayer shall be heard. God never sets a person longing for mercy without intending to give it. Does another whisper, “Oh that I might be saved”? Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and you, even you, will be saved. Have you been the chief of sinners? Trust Christ, and your great sins shall vanish as a millstone sinks beneath the flood. Is there no one here who will trust the Saviour? Can it be possible that the Spirit is entirely absent? that he is not moving in one soul? not giving life in one spirit? We will pray that he may now descend, that the word may not be in vain.