But to return to what I meant to say at the beginning: this was the field when it was small and poor. To outward appearances, it was not a field fit for God, who has cultivated and still cultivates the whole world with the good seeds and teachings of true faith. It did not seem fit even for a poor man of modest means. In fact, it hardly deserved to be called a field at all. It was not worth building a barn or threshing floor for, or even taking a sickle to. There was no stack and no sheaves—or only a few small, unripe sheaves, like crops grown on rooftops, filling neither the reaper’s hand nor drawing a blessing from those who passed by.
Such was our field, such our harvest. Yet to the One who sees what is hidden, it was great, with full heads of grain, and rich—a harvest worthy of such a farmer, growing abundantly in valleys of souls well cultivated by the word. But it was not known to the many or gathered into one place. It was collected little by little, like a single stalk at harvest or a few grapes gleaned at vintage when no cluster remains.
I think I can add these images too, and very appropriately: “I found Israel like a fig tree in the wilderness.” It was also like one or two ripe grapes in an unripe cluster, preserved as a blessing from the Lord and consecrated as firstfruits—still few and scarce, not enough even to fill a mouth. It was like a banner on a hill, a pole on a mountain, or anything else standing alone and seen by only a few. Such was our former poverty and discouragement.