Welcome to From the Pulpit in Classic Sermons.
Each week we bring you a different message
from some of history's greatest speakers in the
Christian faith, and powerful sermons from modern preachers
too.
This week we have A.
W.
Tozer with his message, Miracles that Follow the
Plow.
So to yourself in righteousness, break up your
hallowed ground, for it is time to seek
the Lord, till he come and rain righteousness
upon you.
First thing I say about it is that
this text is a favorite of mine, and
I have referred to it and introduced it
before, but tonight I want to bring a
message on it.
The second thing is that there is only
one word here that has to be explained.
Sowing is understood by everybody.
Reaping is understood by everybody.
Breaking up the ground is understood by everybody.
And the raining upon the broken ground is
understood by everybody.
But there is one word here, and it's
the word fallow.
F-A-L-L-O-W.
Now, I have a sense in which I
plan to use this.
I think it's a Biblical sense.
I think it's a sense that Hosea had
in mind.
But if in your part of the country,
or your part of the world where you
might have come from, the word fallow ground
means something else other than what I make
it to mean in my sermon.
Don't put it down to ignorance, because I
grew up between the handles of a plow,
and I could hardly see over.
So this is not a city slicker, like
the young fellow from the seminary I heard
about who went to the farm.
He got into a little country church, and
there was a whole congregation of farmers there.
He wanted to show them that he was
no city man, that he knew about farming.
So he preached on the prodigal son, and
he came to the fatted calf.
And he said, now, just in case you
don't understand the importance of this, he said,
Remember, that wasn't an ordinary calf.
That was the one they'd had in the
family for years and years and years.
So it's entirely possible when you're off of
your own territory to say some things that
will get you in trouble.
But I just wanted to say that so
you will understand that I know what I
mean when I talk about fallow ground.
In this text, God is speaking to us
from the countryside.
A great Englishman wrote a book called Natural
Law in the Spiritual World.
He tried to show that the natural laws
of God, or the laws of God as
known in nature, extend upward and are the
same in the spiritual world.
That was Henry Drummond.
And another man said that earth was only
the shadow of heaven thrown downward and made
material.
That the laws of God above, thrown down
into nature, became the laws of nature.
That was Emerson who said that.
And I believe both of those statements.
I believe that the God who made his
heaven made also his earth.
And except for the blindness of sin, if
we knew earth very well, we'd know heaven
pretty well.
Because heaven and earth are the front yard
and the backyard of God's palace.
And God is as much at home in
one as in the other.
God is saying here to us, He's saying,
Be not proud, humble yourselves, and learn from
the field and the soil and the rain.
Let earth instruct you about heaven and about
life and death.
And let the sod and the clay and
the plow and the seed and the rain.
And let these things speak to you because
I made them.
And they have their place in my scheme,
certainly as the silver sea and the throne
have.
So hear me now, says God.
You who have ears to hear, hear what
God will say to us, what he will
say about spiritual things by means of natural
things.
So we present here two kinds of fields.
The fallow field and the plowed field.
The fallow ground and the plowed ground.
Now, the fallow ground, as it is meant
here, and as I understood it in earlier
life, is not what agriculturalists now call it,
quite.
But we'll define fallow ground.
Fallow ground is fertile soil which has been
tilled, and crops have been taken from it.
And then one time the farmer says, We're
going to let it lie a year.
So he lets it lie a year, but
he gets lazy and lets it lie two
years, and three years, and four years, and
pretty soon he gives up that field.
And while it is fertile, it is not
plowed, nor sown, nor cultivated.
And pretty soon the green briar takes over,
and the skunk cabbage, and the burdock, and
the briar rose.
I didn't say briar rose before, because I
always think of the briar rose, always comes
in and takes over in a field that
isn't plowed.
Now, this was one time a field where
there were good crops.
But it's being now, it's lying now, un
-plowed, and because it's un-plowed, it's barren.
And I want you to get a hold
of this idea, for if you miss this,
you've missed it all.
If it is un-plowed, it is also
barren.
Barren as far as the farmer's needs are
concerned.
Barren not of dandelions, and briars, and burdock,
but barren of pumpkins, and corn, and wheat,
and the rest that we need to keep
us alive.
Now, there lies our field.
I've seen many of them.
We used to have them on our farm.
My father didn't farm all of his farm.
He only farmed certain favored parts of it.
And there were fields there on that farm
that hadn't been plowed within my memory.
And I was there 15 years, and allowing
for two years that I wasn't noticing things.
That would make 13 years that there hadn't
been a plow in that field.
And it just went to ragweed, and wild
carrots, and whatever happened to be around there.
And the sun baked it, and the rain
softened it, and the sun baked it again.
It got harder, and even the field mice
couldn't dig into it, it was so hard.
And pretty soon it was just forgotten.
A cow walked through it to get to
something richer.
It was an old, fallow field, an old,
neglected field.
But the one thing about that field that
I want you to note, and that was,
it didn't have the travail of the plow.
And it didn't have the peril of the
farmer coming early in the morning with his
team.
They didn't have any of those abominable things
that belched smoke.
Now, in those days, and they didn't have
in the days of Hosea, they had living
things that could pat and pet and feed
sugar, and curry and brush and put to
bed at night.
The old farmer comes out in the morning
and he gets the fence down, and he
comes in and he has his plow, and
he hitches it up, hitches the team to
the plow and starts plowing.
But for years, since this old field had
had any plow down it back, not one,
not a plow.
It had gotten snug by this time.
It knew it was fertile, and it knew
that it was a Christian alright.
But there it was, self-satisfied and at
rest, at ease in Zion.
Tying a cord, it had now become a
landing field for woodpeckers and blue jays and
any other birds that happened to get tired
on their way over.
Groundhog would come up and look around a
bit, go back knowing he was perfectly safe.
There would be no plow in that field.
And so it was a safe, snug, self
-satisfied field, but the curse of barrenness was
upon it.
It wasn't worth its salt.
It produced nothing.
There it lay, no wonder, no miracle of
life, no harvest, no fruit, no contribution to
the life of the world.
That was that foul ground.
And there's the plowed ground, can be that
same one.
Now, here comes the farmer with his plow.
It's a kind plow if you look at
it down the years, but it's a very
cool plow also.
The old plowshare, which my father faithfully called
plowshare until he died, the old steel plowshare
would bite down into that ground, bite down
in there.
And the horses would lean forward and their
tendons would stand out, and their blood vessels,
you could see them under their finely groomed
skin while they pulled that old plow through
the ground, turning it over.
And oddly, when you turned it over, it
was pretty good soil, really pretty good soil.
Why hadn't it been used before?
Somebody had neglected it, and there it lay.
So the plow goes through, cutting and tearing
and turning over and rearranging and disturbing and
bruising and causing travail and pain.
But it isn't very long until the kind
reins of God come on that field, and
the cutworms and the angleworms go to work
on it, and other little creatures that God
has put down there to keep it soft.
And the seed that the farmers put in
begins to grow.
And pretty soon, wonderful nature goes to work,
and that field now becomes a green thing.
And the miracle of life becomes, first there's
the pushing up of the little green things,
and then the spreading out of those same
little green sprouts into the kind of grain
or whatever it was that's planted there.
And so the dormant powers are released, the
dormant powers are released, and there's bursting seed
and life and growth and God.
Because that field that lay contented so long
and snug and protected so long now feels
the bite of the cruel plow, and hears
the commotion of the shouting farmer, and feels
the impact of the horses as they move
over it.
All this is necessary, but it's necessary before
there can be any fruitfulness.
Now says the Holy Ghost, So to yourselves
in righteousness, reap in mercy.
Break up your fallow ground, for it's time
to seek the Lord, till he come and
reign righteousness upon you.
Two kinds of lives correspond to these two
kinds of grounds.
There is the fallow life, and there are
so many of them, church members and people
who have had some kind of spiritual experience
somewhere back down the line.
They, I suppose, have been converted, but now
they're at ease in Zion.
They've decided that they didn't like the bite
and the sting and the pain of the
plow.
They've decided it would be better to take
it easy and protect themselves.
So they became proper, poised, self-contained church
members, Orthodox and Evangelical and Alliance.
They give to admissions once a year properly
a certain amount, but they don't let it
bite.
They pray some, but they don't let any
pain follow it.
They go to church pretty often, but they
don't let it get hold of them and
protect themselves.
They are at ease in Zion.
Here we have whole churches of them.
Don't you know that some preachers take a
church like that when they are young, and
they live in that church and go all
along with the congregation, preaching every Sunday to
fallow grounds?
The people who are religious and righteous, if
not self-righteous, but contented, and they never
have any worry, they are never bothered by
anything spiritual.
It doesn't bother them, however hot the sun,
when they go home, joking along the highway
or along the street as they go, and
have their tea and go to bed.
But they haven't been bothered, and there has
been no blood drawn, and they have gotten
through to nothing.
No plow has gone into their souls.
They are the fallow ground of the church.
And yet there is no fruit there, and
no growth there, and no wonder there, and
no glory there, and no life there.
They are not bad enough to go to
hell, but they are certainly not good enough
to go to heaven.
And there they are caught in between.
I would that thou wert a hotter cold,
for cause thou art neither hot or cold,
I will spew thee out of my mouth.
That's the fallow ground.
Then there are the plowed ones, the discontented,
those who are filled with contrition.
If they listen to a Sunday school teacher
or a preacher, or they get a hold
of a book and it disturbs them, they
are bothered until they get right about it.
If truth is brought to bear on their
consciences, they are not restful until they get
their conscience straightened out.
That's the plowed kind.
And contrition is a part of their very
nature.
Some people haven't wept over their sins for
God knows how many years.
They're the fallow field.
Some haven't humbled themselves under God's hand for
years.
They're the fallow field.
But the plowed field is the field that
has felt the stirring up, the plow, the
confessing and the seeking.
They are the plowed fields.
That's the plowed Christian.
And the difference between the two is that
this latter one feels the pulsations of new
life and the miracles of grace and power
and fruitfulness.
And it always results from a state of
heart that is plowed up.
And where there's confession and where there's contrition
and where there's spiritual discontent, contented cows, says
the Carnation Milk Company.
Our milk is from contented cows.
Well, it's in the nature of a cow
that she should be contented.
That's why she's a cow, that she should
be contented.
You never heard of a discontented cow.
But God didn't say, You are my cows.
He said, Break up your fallow ground.
It's time to seek the Lord.
You're to be a fruitful people.
Look in the big soulful eyes of a
cow.
John Burroughs wrote something about cattle, and he
said about a cow, He said, Her moist
breath and her luminous eyes and her long
trombone blast in the morning over the meadow.
I like the sound of that.
I like the sound.
I'd rather hear cowball, a good cow that
does it right, than to hear a lot
of these orchestras.
They're called orchestras now.
But here she is, and she can't do
anything else.
God made her like that, so we'll excuse
her and say, It's all right, go ahead,
we like your milk.
But this isn't the way Christians should live.
God doesn't say anything about a Christian being
a cow.
He says that we are sheep, and the
Lord leads us into deep and green pastures
and fights our battles ahead of us and
leads us out.
Then he says we're soil.
He says there are two kinds of soil.
The fallow soil, which is contented and at
ease with itself, and the plowed soil, which
is discontented and contrite and humble and filled
with confession and restitution and seeking God.
Religious history shows these two phases in religious
life.
The dynamic, which is the plowed life, and
the advanced, victorious, miraculous life.
And then the static, which is the fallow
phase, which has safety and caution and quietness
and barrenness.
Look at your Bible.
These two phases may be traced in the
history of Israel.
Israel and Egypt, there she was.
She had been there 400 years, and she
had gotten adjusted to herself.
She had become adjusted.
She was well adjusted.
Every little boy that went to school, without
any doubt, he got on his report card,
he adjusted well.
So they were adjusted.
Everybody was adjusted to the land of Egypt.
A few of them weren't, and a few
of them cried, but the masses were adjusted.
And God heard the few, the relative few,
that weren't adjusted, that never could get over
it that they were slaves in Egypt when
they should have been free men in Palestine.
So God sent a man named Moses.
Do you know what the plow did to
Egypt?
How the plow came in there, and one
terrible, grown after another, the lice and the
frogs and the blood, the water and the
blood and the darkness, and finally the death
of the firstborn.
All of this came as the plow going
through the land.
And then when Israel was plowed up, God
let her out.
And then under the judges later, under the
judges she settled down to her living.
She was just living.
They were all Orthodox, they were all Jews,
they were all right and fundamental and all
that, but they were living far from God.
Cold-hearted men, God would raise up judges,
and then they'd go back into their bondage
again.
Then came David and Solomon, and God Almighty
sent his power upon David and upon his
son Solomon in the lesser measure.
But the Jews came out of this fallow
phase into the dynamic phase, the plowed phase.
And then before Christ came to the world,
it had been 400 years when Jesus appeared,
since there had been a prophet in Israel.
Imagine that.
400 years since Malachi, the servant and messenger
of God, prophesied in Israel.
And then for 400 years there was not
a prophet.
For 400 years not a voice was heard
from God.
And so the teachers took over, and they
codified and systematized their theology.
And the rabbis began to pull the casuistry
and the sophistry trick on the law.
And pretty soon they had a pile of
commentary on the law called the Talmud, which
was bigger ten times ten and a hundred
times bigger than the law itself.
And they counted their phylacteries and measured them,
they counted the length of time they prayed,
and they went to the synagogue regularly and
they went to the temple regularly.
And there were good, shallow people living their
untroubled lives.
Nobody was bothering them.
The only trouble came from the outside.
They had no internal trouble at all.
One of them stood one day in the
temple and said, Oh God, I'm glad I'm
as good as I am.
Amen.
I'm wonderful, God.
I fast and I live right.
Aren't you glad?
Aren't you proud of me, God?
That was the one Jesus talked about.
There, that's the kind of people they were.
And then came Jesus Christ.
Then came John the Baptist first.
Then he began to preach.
And then he baptized Jesus and Jesus came
teaching and came doing his miracles.
And then the whole country went into ferment.
And all the hatreds crystallized in one place
and all the love crystallized in another.
As the plow of God went through that
land.
And then came the Gospels and the Acts
and the Epistles and the singing church and
the dying church and the missionary church and
the glorious church without spot or wrinkle.
But first there had to come the plow.
First there had to come the terrible preacher,
John.
Then there had to come that strange, wonderful,
awesome man, Jesus.
And as they lived their lives and wrought
their great and terrible deeds and preached their
awesome and terrible sermons, it was like plowing
up ground.
And then the church began her long march
down the years.
But the church settled down after a while.
And then came the long, long darkness, the
long darkness we call the dark ages.
And then a great big German with a
thick neck who wasn't afraid of anybody, including
the Pope and the devil, was climbing up
the steps of a church one time on
his knees, hoping that if he punished himself
enough, God would forgive him.
And he heard a voice saying to him
out of heaven, he probably had read it
somewhere, but it was brought back vividly to
his memory, that just shall live by their
faith.
He jumped to his knees a converted man
and went out and began to preach the
gospel.
And that man was Martin Luther, and we
had the Reformation.
When the plow of God went through Germany,
the Reformation was born.
All those long, static periods have been followed
by plowing times, times of plowing.
The days of John Wesley, that was, of
course, after the Reformation.
The days of John Wesley, they sold their
pulpits.
That is, a young fellow wanted a pulpit,
they called it a living.
Practical, down to earth, they called it a
living.
He said, Now, can you furnish me with
a living?
They said, You can take this church down.
He just given the man a job.
The Holy Ghost wasn't in it.
He took his living.
And they paid their tithes into the church,
so everybody did, and he lived.
Sometimes they would be so drunk that two
boys would have to hold them up, history
tells us, while they preached their sermons.
They would hit and lean over, and one
boy would grab them, and the Reverend Godly
Most Venerable Brother was two sheets in the
wind.
Well, he was preaching his sermon, you know.
And there was adultery, and there was drunkenness,
and there was gambling, and there was every
kind of bacchanalian revel all through the night.
And there was fighting and all the rest.
And then came a man, an Oxford man,
whose mother had 17 children, and I think
he, if I recall, was the 15th.
And his name was John Wesley.
And he got converted, and his heart was
strangely warm.
And he went out and began to use
the plow on England.
He used that plow, and he plowed deep,
and he called on them to do their
plowing.
And the result was a great awakening, an
awakening that joined with the Moravians to go
around the world, an awakening that gave us
the Salvation Army, an awakening that has given
us almost all of the great missionaried societies
of the present day.
That is, some were more recent and grew
out of it, but their spiritual lineage goes
back to those marvelous times of the Wesleys
and the Moravians when God Almighty used the
plow on men, and the men used plow
on each other and on themselves.
Miracles always follow the plow, and God's power
waits on the plow.
God's power waits on the plow right here
in this church, my dear friends.
The Spirit never falls on a fallow ground,
but power is released when the plow comes
along.
If you're satisfied, you're fruitless.
If you're satisfied, you're barren.
If you're satisfied, you're not growing.
If you're satisfied, you're not ready for the
coming of the Lord.
If you're satisfied, you're not a holy person.
Any local church will play at religion for
a lifetime.
Play for a lifetime.
Pastor comes in, bless him, and he's put
a lot into his training now, and he's
got a couple of degrees, and he has
a family coming along now, and he has
economic interests involved.
So he's careful because he has to keep
his money coming in.
Besides that, the baby needs shoes, and his
wife insists on a new coat.
So he smiles and smiles and smiles and
lets the board push him around and brings
his church into such an order that nobody
is disturbed.
The old deacon that habitually sleeps through the
sermon, he's not disturbed.
And the gossipy old girl that has cursed
the church for 40 years, she's not disturbed.
Nobody is disturbed.
Everybody just goes the way they are.
And the church goes on playing at religion.
But we give our tithe, don't we?
And don't we?
Don't we appear at church so many times
every week, don't we?
And besides that, we don't gamble, do we,
and race horses and play cards, and you
never saw us drinking, did you?
So the church plays at religion.
And her entity is church entity instead of
Christianity.
And then, bumped awake somehow or other by
somebody, by the sovereign grace of God, but
maybe through some poor voice that isn't very
eloquent, what rouses such a church as that?
And then they forsake the old ease and
the old comfort and throw down the old
protective fences and beg the plow to come
in and go to work on them.
So they forsake safety for the peril and
the pain of living and the miracle and
the wonder of a revived church and a
new life.
And the lone Christian, he lives his protected
life.
You know, we're pretty slick, we people.
We're pretty slick.
I read an article one time about aging.
Now, it didn't bother me personally, but I
was just reading an article about it.
And this fellow pointed out that an older
person moves in straight lines.
A child will twist in every direction and
then suddenly sit down flat.
Never hurt him a bit.
But an older person, instead of twisting around
to do something, they turn and flip around
because they're not as limber and supple as
they used to be.
And Christians can do that.
The older fellow, as he gets older, he
protects himself.
And instead of bending down supplely, he does
it angularly, watching his sacroiliac and all the
rest.
Now, churches can fall into the same state.
We can protect ourselves, learn to take it
easy, and we can build cautious fences around
ourselves.
But we're weak and barren and cold.
And then that individual Christian, an individual Christian
breaks up his fallow ground, he gets discontented.
It's so wonderful to be discontented in spiritual
things.
And he rouses himself, and he gets contrite,
and he humbles himself, and he stirs himself
up, and he concesses, and he gets right,
and he straightens out.
And oh, he's broken up the fallow ground,
and in comes the wonderful life and joy
and fruitfulness and blessing and the nearness of
God and the wonder of a blessed spiritual
life that he never knew before.
But you know what always hurts?
It means the plow there.
Now, what does the plow mean in the
private life?
I'll bring it to you in five minutes.
I'm done.
What does this plow life mean?
Well, it means bringing out into the open
and getting rid of bad, private, secret habits.
The secret habit has an effect of hardening
the field, that habit nobody knows about, that
we keep quiet.
Out into the open it comes.
It's confessed, it's forsaken, and then that bad
feeling against other Christians.
Churches are paralyzed for a lifetime because of
bad feeling against other Christians.
We have a bad feeling.
They were wrong, of course, and until they
apologize, that bad feeling is going to remain
there.
But our Lord said, if you bring your
offering to the altar and there remember that
thy brother has ought against thee, leave there
thy sacrifice, thy gift at the altar, and
go hunt up your brother and get straightened
out and get rid of the bad feeling,
and then come back and offer your sacrifice.
Five thousand dollars given to foreign missions with
bad feeling in the heart doesn't affect God
nor impress ever.
And a prayer twenty minutes long doesn't mean
anything to God if there's bad feeling there.
Let's get rid of the bad feeling, the
censorious spirit that kills off the lambs and
quenches the life-giving Holy Ghost.
And then there's fear, and fear always brings
bondage.
What kind of fear?
Fear to pray in public, for instance.
What a difference it would mean if some
of us would be willing to begin praying
in public.
Say, from here on, every time I get
an opportunity, I'm going to break out in
prayer.
I'm not going to pray half an hour
and crowd everybody else out.
It's just as discourteous to pray too long
in a public meeting and prevent others who
want to pray from praying, as it is
to talk too much around the table and
usurp the conversation.
But it isn't a question that we're praying
half an hour, it's a question of our
praying, letting our voice be heard.
I say to you young Christians, in God's
name, let your voice be heard.
When there's a prayer meeting, you be one
to stand up and pray.
I remember the first time I prayed in
public.
I got up scared stiff and said, God
bless the missionaries, and sat down.
They're the best I did, but God knew
I did it and he knew I meant
it, and so he blessed me.
And I say, fear to pray in public.
Fear to pray at home.
There are homes that are in a state
of semi-spiritual paralysis because everybody's afraid to
pray.
Outside of mumbling a half-minute prayer at
the table, nobody prays in public, prays at
home.
Afraid to.
And then afraid to witness.
Fear.
Terrible thing.
The bondage of fear is an awful thing.
Fear to witness.
Fear to witness to relatives.
And witness to friends.
You're a Christian, but you haven't witnessed.
The man went up into the north woods
of Canada from the United States.
He's a young convert.
He'd just been saved a short time.
And he went up to cut some timber.
You know, west and north there's a great,
I suppose, more timber in Canada than any
other country in the world.
And they cut it every year.
I don't have to tell you this, but
trying to get my illustration straightened out.
And this young fellow decided he would go
up there for a winter and work.
And they said to him, now remember, you'll
find those woodmen pretty tough boys.
And your Christian life is going to take
a beating up there.
He said, all right, I'll go.
I want to go anyhow.
So he went.
And he stayed out to sea and came
back.
And they said to him, how did you
get on with the woodmen?
Oh, he said, wonderfully well.
He said, no trouble at all.
The lumbermen treated me well.
He said, you didn't get persecuted?
Not at all.
He said, you see, I never let them
know I was a Christian.
You can avoid persecution if you just keep
your mouth shut.
And some people do that very thing because
of the bondage of fear.
Let's drag it out into the open.
Fear can harden the soil and all that
grows, a few green briars, wild cabbage, no
fruit comes because we're afraid.
Afraid to obey the commandments of Christ.
Afraid.
A friend of mine was a chemist for
the Kool-Aid company.
That is, he was head chemist for that
particular plant where they make this stuff, you
know, to pour water on, drink, if you
would like it.
And he used to have their office parties,
or they used to have their conventions.
And he came to me about it.
And I told him, I said, you can't
have part in that.
He said, no, I know it.
So he went to their conventions, but he
hadn't understood.
When they passed around the liquid refreshments, he
took a cola, a lemonade.
They kidded him a bit, but they found
out they couldn't budge him.
They couldn't move that man.
Now, how about it?
Are we going to lie fallow and barren,
contented, undisturbed, not bothered religiously, or are we
going to listen to the voice of God
and do something about our fallow lives?
Can we go on without fruit, without blossoms,
without barrenness?
Imagine if winter stayed all the time in
Canada.
Imagine if your backyard was always brown and
barren.
Imagine if that tree out in front of
the house never blossomed.
Imagine if the parks were brown and the
leaves were off the naked trees all year
round.
No, no.
Here's what the farmers called green-up.
Green-up!
The time when spring comes and the birds
return.
I believe that according to this text here
tonight, we can have that and can bring
it about ourselves.
Break up your fallow ground for it's time
to seek the Lord.
Spring is ready to come and you don't
know it.
Break up your fallow ground so to yourselves
in righteousness and then you can reap in
mercy later on.
And he will come and reign righteousness upon
you.
Now that's for the individual.
Somebody says, I pray that God will revive
the church.
God can't revive a company except he revives
the individual that make up the company.
He can't bless Avenue Road Church unless he
blesses you.
So are we going to obey God in
this and listen to him?
And if we are, then let's do it
practically.
Let's stop petting that secret habit, that sin
that nobody knows about.
Let's stop believing that that bad feeling we
have against another Christian is simply grief.
Oh, I'm so grieved with Brother so-and
-so.
You mean you're mad at him.
And that sincerest, and that fear, that terrible
fear.
Let's put the plow to it.
God didn't say, I'll break up your fallow
ground.
He said, you do it.
You grammarians know that there is a there
is a subject, an implied subject.
You break up your fallow ground for it's
time to seek the Lord.
I have confidence, I believe this will be.
And I believe one after the other will
find as they break up their fallow ground
that there will be a visitation from God
that will spill over on others.
And slowly but certainly, surely, we're going to
have a rich harvest in Avenue Road and
we're going to have a church that will
be spiritually fruitful and green with the leaves
of God that are for the healing of
the nations.
You have been listening to the From the
Pulpit in Classic Sermon series.
This week you heard A.
W.
Tozer with his message, Miracles that Follow the
Plow.
Tune in again next week to hear Tim
Keller talk about Absolutism.
Don't we have to find the truth for
ourselves on the From the Pulpit in Classic
Sermons.