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There's a kernel of wheat sitting in my office right now. It's been there for three weeks, resting safely on my desk. It hasn't changed. It hasn't deteriorated. It's completely preserved.

It's also completely useless.

That single kernel represents what I see in far too many Christians today—including, if I'm honest, seasons of my own life. Safe. Preserved. Isolated. Unfruitful.

This week, I've been wrestling with one of Jesus' most challenging statements: "Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit" (John 12:24).

Let me tell you why this passage won't let me go—and why it shouldn't let you go either.

When Curiosity Isn't Enough

The context of this verse matters. Some Greeks—Gentiles who had come to Jerusalem for the feast—approached Philip with a simple request: "Sir, we would see Jesus."

On the surface, it sounds like a reasonable ask. They'd heard about this miracle-working rabbi. They wanted to check Him out, maybe get an audience, satisfy their philosophical curiosity.

But here's what strikes me: Jesus didn't give them what they expected. They wanted to see a King. He showed them a seed. They came seeking answers to their questions. He confronted them with the question that matters: Are you willing to die?

I wonder how many people sitting in our churches every Sunday are exactly like those Greeks—curious about Jesus, interested in spiritual things, but fundamentally unwilling to move from observation to participation.

Curiosity doesn't save anyone. Connection does.

You can study theology, attend Bible studies, listen to sermons, and follow Christian influencers on social media—and still remain a spectator. You can accumulate spiritual knowledge without ever experiencing spiritual transformation.

The Greeks wanted to "see" Jesus—and the word carries the meaning of perceiving with the mind, comprehending deeply. But Jesus makes it clear: if you truly want to perceive Him, you must see Him through the lens of the cross. You must see Him as the Seed who was willing to be buried so that a harvest could be born.

The Granary vs. The Ground

Here's the uncomfortable truth Jesus presents: The seed that stays safe stays alone.

Think about what happens to that kernel of wheat if it remains in the granary. It's protected from the elements. It's preserved from decay. It maintains its form, its identity, its autonomy. It never has to surrender to the soil. It never has to experience the violence of being broken open. It never has to lose its outer shell.

And it never, ever produces anything.

Now contrast that with the seed that falls into the ground. Everything about its experience looks like loss. It's buried in darkness. It's subjected to moisture that begins breaking down its outer shell. The life within it can't emerge without the death of what contains it. From every earthly perspective, this seed is losing everything.

But that's where multiplication happens. That's where one seed becomes thirty, sixty, a hundredfold.

This is the logic of the Kingdom, and it's exactly backward from the logic of the world.

The world tells you to protect yourself, preserve yourself, promote yourself. Build your brand. Secure your future. Never let anyone take advantage of you. Look out for number one.

And Jesus says: That path leads to isolation.

What Are You Protecting?

I need to ask you something directly, and I want you to answer honestly, even if it's just to yourself: What are you protecting that needs to die?

Is it your reputation? Are you so concerned with what people think that you've never taken a risk for the Kingdom?

Is it your comfort? Have you built such a safe, predictable life that there's no room for God to do anything unexpected?

Is it your control? Do you struggle to surrender areas of your life to God because you're convinced you know better than He does?

Is it your plans? Have you mapped out exactly how your life should unfold, and you're terrified of what might happen if God's plan looks different?

Is it your rights? Are you constantly fighting for what you deserve, what you've earned, what you're entitled to?

Here's what I've learned in my years of pastoral ministry: The things we're most afraid to lose are usually the things that are keeping us from the life God wants to give us.

That relationship you're clinging to that's pulling you away from Christ—it needs to die.

That ambition that's become an idol—it needs to die.

That bitterness you've been nursing—it needs to die.

That self-image you've constructed that requires constant maintenance—it needs to die.

That pattern of living for the weekend, for the next vacation, for retirement—it needs to die.

I'm not saying these things to be harsh. I'm saying them because I care about you, and I've seen too many people reach the end of their lives and realize they spent decades protecting seeds that never produced anything of eternal value.

The Troubled Soul

Here's what I appreciate about this passage: Jesus doesn't pretend this is easy. He acknowledges His own troubled soul: "Now is my soul troubled; and what shall I say? Father, save me from this hour."

The path of surrender isn't a skip through a meadow. It's a battle. It's a struggle. It involves saying no to legitimate human desires for safety, comfort, and self-preservation.

Jesus felt that. He experienced the full weight of what it means to choose the Father's will over His own preferences. And He gives us permission to acknowledge our struggle.

But—and this is crucial—He doesn't give us permission to camp out in the struggle without resolving it.

Too many Christians I know are perpetually "wrestling" with God's call. They're always in the process of "praying about it" or "seeking clarity" or "waiting for the right timing." And while there's certainly a place for wisdom and discernment, sometimes these are just sophisticated forms of disobedience.

Jesus resolved His troubled soul quickly: "But for this cause came I unto this hour. Father, glorify thy name."

The resolution came through an act of will. A decision. A surrender.

Is your soul troubled today? Good. That means you're taking this seriously. But don't let that inner turmoil become an excuse for inaction. Follow Jesus' example: acknowledge the struggle, then choose God's glory over your comfort.

The Clock Is Ticking

What bothers me most about this passage is its urgency. Jesus says, "Yet a little while is the light with you. Walk while ye have the light, lest darkness come upon you."

There's a window of opportunity, and it doesn't stay open forever.

I've watched people procrastinate spiritually. They hear God's call and think, I'll deal with that later. Once I get through this busy season. Once the kids are older. Once I retire. Once I have more time.

But here's what happens: Later never comes. Or when it does come, their hearts have grown harder. Their consciences have become more seared. Their ability to hear God's voice has diminished.

The Light that's shining in your life right now—you don't know how long it will shine. You don't know when the conviction you're feeling will fade. You don't know when the opportunity to respond will pass.

And I'm not just talking about eternal salvation, though that's certainly part of it. I'm talking about the abundant life Jesus promised. The fruitful life. The life of purpose and meaning that comes from being planted in God's will rather than preserved in your own.

A Personal Confession

I need to be honest with you: I've been the seed in the granary more times than I'd like to admit.

There have been seasons when I've chosen safety over obedience. Times when I've protected my reputation instead of speaking difficult truth. Moments when I've said no to God because I was afraid of what people would think, or what I might have to give up, or how my life might change.

And you know what I discovered? That "safe" place was the loneliest place I've ever been.

When you're protecting your life, you're isolated by default. You can't let people get too close because they might see your weaknesses. You can't be vulnerable because vulnerability feels like loss of control. You can't fully invest in Kingdom work because you're too busy managing your own kingdom.

The seeds that transformed my ministry—and my life—were the ones I finally let die. The ministry plan I surrendered when God called me in a different direction. The church growth strategy I abandoned when God showed me He was after depth, not just numbers. The reputation as "the guy who has it all together" that had to die before I could minister to broken people with authenticity.

Every death felt like loss. Every surrender felt like defeat. But from each burial came life I never could have produced on my own.

What Dies, What Lives

Let me be clear about something: When Jesus talks about hating your life in this world, He's not calling you to despise yourself or become a doormat or neglect legitimate responsibilities.

He's calling you to refuse to make this temporary life your ultimate treasure.

He's calling you to hold loosely the things this world clutches tightly.

He's calling you to be willing to lose what cannot last so you can gain what will never end.

Here's the trade Jesus offers: Your now for His eternal. Your plans for His purposes. Your way for His way. Your kingdom for His Kingdom.

And it's not an equal trade. What you gain infinitely surpasses what you lose.

When you let your need for control die, you gain peace.

When you let your self-promotion die, you gain genuine significance.

When you let your comfort-seeking die, you gain adventure.

When you let your self-sufficiency die, you gain God's strength.

When you let your isolation die, you gain community.

When you let your fruitlessness die, you gain multiplication.

The Invitation

So here's where I land with this passage, and here's what I'm asking you to consider:

Stop treating Jesus like a subject to study, and start pursuing Him like someone you're desperate to know.

Stop protecting the life that's keeping you alone, and start surrendering to the death that leads to fruitfulness.

Stop camping in your troubled soul, and start resolving the battle through an act of will.

Stop procrastinating, and start walking in the Light while you have it.

The Greeks came to the feast wanting to see Jesus. What they got was an invitation to become like Him—seeds willing to be buried so that life could emerge.

That same invitation stands before you today.

I can't make this decision for you. No one can. This is between you and God. But I can tell you this: I've never met anyone who regretted surrendering everything to Christ. I've met countless people who regret waiting so long to do it.

A Final Word

That kernel of wheat is still sitting on my desk. It's a reminder to me every day of the choice we all face: the granary or the ground, isolation or multiplication, safety or fruitfulness.

I don't know what needs to die in your life. But I suspect you do. You've probably known for a while. You've just been afraid to let go.

Can I encourage you today? The God who calls you to die to self is the same God who specializes in resurrection. He's not asking you to die so you'll stay dead. He's asking you to die so you can truly live.

The seed that stays safe stays alone. But the seed that's willing to be buried? That seed becomes a harvest.

Which one will you be?

Grace and peace,

Pastor John

Your Turn:

What's one area of your life where you've been choosing the granary over the ground? What would it look like to surrender that to God today? I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments below—or if you'd rather talk privately, my door is always open.

Remember: The Light is with us for only a little while. Walk while you have the Light.

If this post resonated with you, I encourage you to share it with someone who might need to hear it.