Unless a Grain of Wheat Falls

Unless a Grain of Wheat Falls

“Verily, verily, I say unto you, Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth 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 shall keep it unto life eternal.
If any man serve me, let him follow me; and where I am, there shall also my servant be.”
— John 12:24–26

There is a profound order in these words of Jesus. Before there can be new life, there must first be a death.

Jesus uses something ordinary—a grain of wheat—to reveal something eternal. As long as the grain remains by itself, protected and unchanged, it remains only a single grain. It contains the possibility of life, but that life cannot be multiplied until the grain is surrendered to the earth.

It must fall. It must be buried. In a sense, it must die.

Only then does the life hidden within it begin to emerge.

This was not simply an agricultural lesson. Jesus was speaking about Himself. His own life was moving toward the cross. He would be rejected, put to death, and placed in a tomb. Yet His death would not be the end. Out of that death would come resurrection, and through His resurrection would come life for many.

But Jesus does not leave this pattern with Himself alone. He immediately turns to those who would follow Him: “If any man serve me, let him follow me.”

The pattern of the Master becomes the pattern of the disciple.

There is something within us that must also be surrendered. The life that insists upon preserving itself, ruling itself, and belonging only to itself cannot simply be carried unchanged into the life Christ offers. Jesus speaks of losing one’s life in order to find it. This does not mean that human life has no value. On the contrary, it means that true life is discovered when the old claim of self-ownership is surrendered to God.

The grain teaches us that surrender is not destruction for destruction’s sake. The grain dies so that something greater may live.

This is one of the deepest truths of the Christian faith: resurrection is preceded by death.

Before the empty tomb came the cross. Before new life comes the surrender of the old.

Buried With Him in Baptism

“Know ye not, that so many of us as were baptized into Jesus Christ were baptized into his death?
Therefore we are buried with him by baptism into death: that like as Christ was raised up from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life.”
— Romans 6:3–4

Baptism, then, is not merely a public ceremony. It is a picture of death, burial, and resurrection.

When a person is lowered beneath the water, there is an image of burial. The old life is being surrendered. The former self—the life lived apart from Christ, governed by its own desires and its own will—is being identified with the death of Christ.

And when that person is raised again from the water, the image changes. Burial gives way to resurrection. Death gives way to life.

Paul says that we are buried with Christ so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead, we too might “walk in newness of life.”

The Christian message is not simply that we become better versions of our former selves. The gospel speaks of something deeper. It speaks of death and new birth. It speaks of an old life being put away and a new life beginning in Christ.

The water of baptism becomes a visible declaration of an inward surrender.

I go down identifying with His death. I rise identifying with His life.

This is the same order we saw in the grain of wheat. The grain first falls into the earth. It disappears from sight. What it was must be surrendered before what it may become can appear.

So it is with the follower of Christ. The way to resurrection is through death—not necessarily the death of the body, but the death of the old claim upon our lives, the insistence that we belong entirely to ourselves.

His death becomes the pattern of our surrender. His burial becomes the picture of our baptism. His resurrection becomes the promise of our new life.

The Old Man Crucified With Him

“For if we have been planted together in the likeness of his death, we shall be also in the likeness of his resurrection: Knowing this, that our old man is crucified with him, that the body of sin might be destroyed, that henceforth we should not serve sin.”
— Romans 6:5–6

Here Paul gives language to what baptism signifies.

The “old man” is crucified with Christ.

This is stronger language than reform, improvement, or correction. A crucifixion is not an attempt to repair the old life. It is the putting to death of something whose rule has come to an end.

The old man is that self which existed under the dominion of sin—the self that lived as though it belonged only to itself, answered only to itself, and could determine good and evil for itself.

Christianity, therefore, is not simply an invitation to make the old man more religious. It is not the old man learning better manners. It is not the old man attending church. It is not the old man decorating himself with Christian language while remaining upon the throne of his own life.

Paul says the old man must be crucified.

Christ did not only die for us. In Paul’s language, we are also called to understand ourselves as having died with Him.

The old man may still try to speak. Old desires may still appear. Old habits may still attempt to return. But they no longer possess the same rightful claim. The believer is no longer under the old dominion. A death has taken place.

“Likewise reckon ye also yourselves to be dead indeed unto sin, but alive unto God through Jesus Christ our Lord.”
— Romans 6:11

Dead unto sin. Alive unto God.

There is something we die to, and there is Someone we become alive to.

What Must Die?

If the old man is to be crucified with Christ, then we have to ask a difficult question: What, exactly, must die?

The answer is not our personality. It is not our humanity. It is not the gifts, abilities, affections, or individuality that God has placed within us.

What must die is the old claim that our lives belong entirely to us.

At the center of the old man is self-rule.

It is the inward voice that says, I will decide what is right for me. I will determine the direction of my life. I will hold on to what I want. I will forgive when I am ready. I will obey when it is convenient. I will surrender only what does not cost me too much.

This is the old life. And this is what the cross confronts.

Self-denial does not mean self-hatred. It means that self is no longer master. The throne has changed hands.

The old man wants to remain in control. He wants Christ as Savior, but not necessarily as Lord. He wants forgiveness without surrender. He wants resurrection without crucifixion.

But the pattern of the gospel does not allow us to separate the two.

Pride must die. Not healthy dignity, but the pride that refuses correction, must always defend itself, would rather be right than reconciled, and cannot bow.

Self-will must die. The part of us that continually says, “My way,” must learn to say, “Thy will be done.”

The need to control must die. Surrender means acknowledging that we are not God.

Resentment must die. The old man keeps records, rehearses offenses, and finds identity in what others have done to him. The life of Christ calls us toward forgiveness.

The demand to be seen must die. There is freedom when we no longer need every person to understand, praise, or justify us.

Fear must lose its rule. Fear itself may still be felt, but it cannot remain master. The old man says, “Protect yourself at all costs.” Christ says, “Trust Me.”

And perhaps most deeply, our claim of ownership over our own lives must die.

The old man says, “This is my life.” The new man says, “This life has been given back to the One who gave it.”

That is what baptism declares.

We may come out of the water in a moment, but learning to live as one who has died with Christ takes a lifetime. The old man continually tries to climb down from the cross.

Day after day, decision after decision, the follower of Christ returns to the same question: Who is going to rule this life?

The answer of faith is the same answer Jesus gave in Gethsemane: “Nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done.”

The old man says, “My will.” The surrendered life says, “Thy will.”

And once again we return to the grain of wheat.

The grain does not negotiate with the soil. It yields itself to it. And from that surrender, life begins.