20 Sermon Illustrations on Fruitfulness

"He shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that brings forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither" (Psalms 1:3). An article out of Choice Gleanings reads as follows: "As one approaches the three-score-and-ten age, thoughts as to future usefulness to the Lord often occur. Walking through a nearby forest, I spotted a strange sight. An old, gnarled tree had been broken, but green shoots were still proceeding from it. It was also supporting a fallen tree. We can still be useful at three-score-and-ten and beyond."

A farmer was showing his fine orchard to a friend who admired its neat and regular appearance. "But," said the friend, pointing to a peculiarly shaped tree, "if that were my tree I'd root it up in order to preserve the uniformity of the orchard." The farmer smiled and said that he was more interested in the fruit than in the form. "This tree," he said, "has yielded me more fruit than any of those trees that conform to a more regular pattern." Sometimes Christian workers may become so accustomed to doing things in what they consider the traditional or time-honored way that they forget to evaluate its productiveness.

A gentleman who was arranging the grounds around his residence stumbled over a lump of earth which had rolled from a newly-unloaded heap of gravel. He kicked it aside, and bade the gardener's son remove it with other rubbish. The boy carried the clod to a spot beneath the caves of his father's cottage, where the rain fell upon it. Erelong, a beautiful vine sprang out of it, which shaded and adorned the cottage, and was annually loaded with grapes of the richest kind, which the gentleman was glad to buy, at a high price, of the gardener's son. The latent principles of a sublime growth are lying in many a clod, now quite valueless and unsightly to those who account themselves the rich and accomplished of the earth. The clod would come to life and bear fruit high above their heads, if there were only given to it a few droppings from the caves.

There is a counterfeit olive-tree in Palestine. It is called the wild olive, or the oleaster. It is in all points like the genuine tree, except that it yields no fruit. Alas! how many wild olives are there in the church! When I see a man taking up large space in Christ's spiritual orchard, and absorbing a vast deal of sunlight and soil, and yielding no real fruit, I say, "Ah! there is an oleaster!" Bones.

It is said of Rev. Dr. Franklin that he had a passion for fruitfulness. His signet-ring had for a device a fruit-bearing tree, with the motto from Ps. i. 3. And when near his end, being asked by his son and pastoral successor for some word of condensed wisdom to be treasured up as a remembrance and a prompter, he breathed into his ear the word, "FRUITFUL."

— Doues

Those who travel through deserts would often be at a loss for water, if certain indications, which the hand of Providence has marked out, did not serve to guide them to a supply. The secret wells are, for the most part, discoverable from the verdure which is nourished by their presence. So the fruitfulness of good works of the believer, amidst the deadness and sterility around him, proclaim the Christian's life. Salter.

A barren and a fruitful vine are growing side by side in the garden; and the barren vine says to the fruitful one, "Is not my root as good as yours?" "Yes," replies the vine, "as good as mine." "And are not my lower leaves as broad and spreading? and is not my stem as large, and my bark as shaggy?" — "Yes," says the vine. "And are not my leaves as green? and have I not as many bugs creeping up and down? and am I not taller than you?" — "Yes," meekly replies the vine, "but I have blossoms." — "Oh! blossoms are of no use." — "But I bear fruit." "What, those clusters? Those are only a trouble to a vine." But what thinks the vintner? He passes by the barren vine; but the other, filling the air with its odor in spring, and drooping with purple clusters in autumn, is his pride and joy; and he lingers near it, and prunes it, that it may become yet more luxuriant and fruitful. So the moralist and the Christian. Beecher.

When the Interpreter had done, he takes them out into his garden again, and led them to a tree whose inside was all rotten and gone; and yet it grew and had leaves. Then said Mercy, "What means this?" — "This tree," said he, "whose outside is fair, and whose inside is rotten, is it to which many may be compared that are in the garden of God; who with their mouths speak high in behalf of God, but in deed will do nothing for him; whose leaves are fair, but their heart good for nothing but to be tinder for the Devil's tinder-box." Bunyan.

When Mr. Gutzlaff, in his third voyage to China, went on shore for the first time at a particular place, the people were distrustful, and some of them hinted that the Christian books merely contained the doctrines of western barbarians, which were quite at variance with the tenets of the Chinese sages. Mr. G. did not undertake to contest this point with them, but proceeded to administer relief to a poor man who was almost blind; thus showing the spirit and conduct which the gospel inculcates. The man was affected with this unexpected kindness, and, turning towards Mr. G., said, "Judging from your actions, your doctrines must be excellent; therefore I beseech you give me some of your books; though I myself cannot read, I have children who can." "From this moment," says Mr. G., "the demand for the word of God increased, so that I could never pass a hamlet without being importuned by the people to impart to them the knowledge of divine things. In the wide excursion which I took, I daily witnessed the demand for the word of God."

The Rev. Thomas Jackson, of Stockwell, in the memoir of Mr. Hill, furnished to the Evangelical Magazine, states:—Perhaps no man in modern times has been more honored than Mr. Hill, as the instrument of converting souls; his talent appeared more particularly in awakening the careless; instances of which the writer has had many opportunities of witnessing; and he does not remember ever having stayed two days with Mr. H. in any town, without meeting with one person or more to whom his ministry had been made useful. One case, among many, he cannot omit: the scene occurred at Devonport, Devonshire, after Mr. H. had been preaching a missionary sermon to a crowded congregation in the large chapel in Prince's street. The people had withdrawn, and the deacons and a few friends had retired, with Mr. H., into the vestry, when two tall, venerable looking men, upwards of seventy years of age, appeared at the vestry door. After a short pause they entered, arm-in-arm, and advanced towards Mr. H., when one of them said, with some degree of trepidation, "Sir, will you permit two old sinners to have the honor to shake you by the hand?" He replied, with some reserve, "Yes, sir!" when one of these gentlemen, the other hanging on his arm, took his hand, kissed it, bathed it with his tears, and said, "Sir, do you remember preaching on the spot where this chapel now stands, fifty years ago?" "Yes, I do," was the reply. The old man then proceeded to say, "Oh, sir! never can the dear friend who has hold of my arm, or myself, forget that sermon; we were then two careless young men, in his majesty's dock-yard, posting to destruction as fast as time and sin could convey us thither. Having heard that an interesting young clergyman was to preach out of doors, we determined to go and have some fun; accordingly we loaded our pockets with stones, intending to pelt you; but, sir, when you arrived, our courage failed, and as soon as you engaged in prayer, we were so deeply moved that our purpose wavered, and as soon as you began to speak, the word came with power to our hearts; the big tears rolled down our cheeks; we put our hands in our pockets, and dropped the stones one after another, until they were all gone; for God had taken the stone out of our hearts. When the service was over, we retired; but our hearts were too full to speak, until we came near to our lodgings, when my friend at my elbow said, 'John, this will not do; we are both wrong; good night.' This was all he could utter; he retired to his apartment, I to mine; but neither of us dared to go to bed, lest we should awake in hell; and from that time, sir, we humbly hope we were converted to God, who, of his infinite mercy, has kept us in his ways to the present moment; and we thought, sir, if you would permit us, after the lapse of half a hundred years, to have the pleasure of shaking you by the hand before we go home, it would be the greatest honor that could be conferred on us." Mr. H. was deeply affected; the tears rolled down his venerable cheeks in quick succession; he fell on the necks of the old men quite in the patriarchal style; and there you might have seen them, locked in each others' arms, weeping tears of holy joy and gratitude to the Father of mercies. It was a scene at which Gabriel might have rejoiced, and infidelity must have turned pale. The writer is aware that he cannot do justice to it by his description, though he feels, at this distance of time, something like celestial pleasure in recording what he then witnessed.