“Amen, amen I say to you, unless the grain of wheat falling into the ground die, itself remaineth alone. But if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit. He that loveth his life shall lose it; and he that hateth his life in this world, keepeth it unto life eternal. If any man minister to me, let him follow me; and where I am, there also shall my minister be. If any man minster to me, him will my Father honour. Now is my soul troubled. And what shall I say? Father, save me from this hour. But for this cause I came unto this hour. Father, glorify thy name…”—John 12: 24-28
It was the season of harvest, when the corn in the fields cures; its stalks drying from living green to skeleton of tan that speaks and crackles in world’s winds, when ears droop and fall then bow to the earth when dried and ready for mechanical reaping; when the early beans have lost their leaves and stand naked in defoliation of bright and brief yellow change; when the late beans still grow, filling and finishing their pods before the first and coming frost arrives to put an end to annual season’s life.
A rain fell light on the land putting pause to the combines and dust clouds of chaff in wake. With the sun, the fields would run again tomorrow, but today was a day of rest.
Ryan worked in the farm’s shop, using day to service and address necessary matters in equipment so that the harvest, when resumed, would not be paused for unpreparedness.
To Ryan, there was always a magic in autumns change; the colors one only sees before the death and surrender of green’s life season; the measure of a life in the bounty that grows from its roots, foilage, and blooms. Every life, season, crop, and harvest is different. There are commonalities, yes, but it is the nuances and the variables one fails to understand that made each year meaningful—and interesting—to Ryan. Why, in drought and heat, do some fields fail, an others flourish in the stress? Why is it the same for others in years of heavy rains?
Ryan thought of his own season, its difference than those before. In his season, there was neither drought nor excess rains, and yet his spirit felt the disappointment of a hope that failed to reach the bounty of a dream.
He stared on the rows of harvested corn, lines of broken stalks and the spread of husks and tassels and stalks cast in loose bed between, darknened and matting in the fall of the rain; all the field would yield and not a single kernel planted to sustain a lineage of life; all to be crushed, fed, and consumed—exhausted—for another life, far away.
Was that the end of so many men? The bounty and consumption and absorption for the life of something else far away? Was it still possible to live as the parable? Could man create a bounty that endures, surrendering not the idols of the immanent but still in fear and honor of a God who, even in times of wrath and judgment, remains merciful and loving towards believing, striving, and often erring, man?
What is surrender to God, and what is simply giving up, letting life run a course? When is surrender abandonment to divine providence? What is it denial and determined dismissal of God’s command and calling? Is one fool to believe faith and trust will truly lead and guide one in discernment?
The parable is easy to understand but hard to live; but such is the way with most simple things. For this, man seeks complexities and sophisms to obfuscate and confuse what, lived and seen simply, possesses only clarity.
Ryan thought of his own life. Would it be crushed and used only for the enrichment of a greater immanent man; or could, in surrender, he still bear life hundredfold for the purpose and glory of God?
It is easy to speak of surrender, of growth from a dead and changed grain. It is far more difficult when one is the seed; to surrender a life one knows with no hope and promise for an after enrichment and gain—only faith.
Was that enough, or foolish as the nihilists who dismiss the entire humanity and history that affords their derisions in idle opulence pontificate?
Man will never become gods. The nearer one comes to becoming, the fuller one manifests their devil. That is the lesson of the fall; and it is forgotten, dismissed: made complex when it should be and remain simple to see.
“He that loveth his life shall lose it; and he that hateth his life in this world, keepth it…”
Absurd! But such is the mystery, and paradox, of faith.
Ryan thought of his season, all he stood potentially to lose with no promise of new spring. Do you let it die or fight, knowing the frost is near? What does one gain for those last final days of toil?
“Vanity of vanities…”
What is man’s will to God’s Destinies? What is the power of pride to humility in surrender and acceptance to God’s intent? Why fight for a lesser when a Greater is intended?
Is it foolish even to believe and hold such faith?
Still, Ryan believed.
He looked to the harvested field, the half-full bin to the south to be hauled and sold for another season of life in toil, thought on all likely to change next year, should spring arrive to life and spirit as he knew it would for the world.
He had seen the light. He knew her face, her glow, that signs and cast of rays were more than felicities through strata of sky and cloud; how their appearance, shift, and change spoke affirmations and redirections in contemplations posed to a Universal without speech but only soul as medium. Universal received, and there were moments when Universal answered.
Ryan believed.
He had followed her light, and in time of trial wavered—just as in the present moment, afraid of the final step, as Dante in the final flames before mountain top.
Only in full surrender does God set us truly free—to live as He inspires.
He stared into the overcast of the low, light rains, and through its grey, light broke in line through cloud of the east. Rain fell, struck in light, as treasure of gold and silver from the heavens onto earth beneath.
Dread and resignation are requisites to confrontation of fates and destinies. Only in acceptance, and continued faith, may the full miracle live.
“Now is my soul troubled. And what shall I say? Father, save me from this hour. But for this cause I came unto this hour…”
Ryan surrendered.
Should all he knew die, fail and fall away: may it glorify thy name.
His spirit spoke in contemplation, no words and only soul as medium.
In moment of surrender, last of the light rain ceased and sun scattered in prismed gold in descension to the earth.
The season may die, and the life it made with it; but the Light of the World endures, and by it; resurrection of Spirit and Spring.
Ryan believed.
“…Yet a little while, the light is among you. Walk whilst you have the light, that the darkness overtake you not. And he that walketh in darkness, knoweth not wither he goeth. While you have the light, believe in the light, that you may be the children of light.”—John 12: 35-36