Often, when I prepare a sermon, I begin with a question—usually one that doesn’t have a clean or easy answer. I let that question sit at the center of the text and then begin the slow work of listening. I research history and commentaries, trace connected streams of thought and allow different voices to either confirm or challenge my initial assumptions.
Typically, the first half of the week is filled with study. Then I step away. I take my hands off the material, pray, rest, and let it settle. By Friday, I return with fresh eyes and a quieter spirit, ready to shape what has been forming beneath the surface.
The unanswerable question I began this year with was this: Is the “first fruit” genetically superior to all other fruit—and therefore the preferred offering or sacrifice?
Whether financially, agriculturally, or spiritually, we often emphasize the idea of first fruits. And my curiosity was simple: Why? My initial assumption was that the first seed must be stronger because it carries the original DNA—pure, undiluted, and therefore superior. Everything after it, I assumed, must be a reduction of that original form.
But what I uncovered was far more layered—and honestly, far more hopeful.
First, I was wrong.
The strength of a seed is not determined by its place in the lineage. The strength of a seed is determined by the soil and environment in which it matures. Better soil produces stronger plants. Healthier environments produce better fruit.
What often makes the first fruit appear superior is not genetics—it’s context. Early fruit grows in soil that has not yet been depleted, in conditions that have not yet been stressed, before pests and pressures have settled into their rhythms. The first fruit comes from the first soil—soil that is rich, rested, and well-nourished.
That’s the invitation for us as we begin this year.
Instead of focusing solely on our seed—what we produce, what we accomplish, what we give, what we achieve—we are invited to focus on our soil.
Where we spend our time.
What nurtures us.
What feeds our minds, hearts, and spirits.
What we allow to shape our emotional and mental landscape.
When we tend the soil, strength follows naturally.
Jesus names this truth plainly in Gospel of Matthew 13:8, when he speaks of seed falling on good soil and producing a harvest beyond expectation. The seed is the same. The difference is the ground.
As we begin this year, may we be mindful of what is feeding us—emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. May we be intentional about where we plant ourselves and what we allow to surround us. And may this be a good soil year, so that whatever we sow—our prayers, our labor, our love—bears the best fruit possible.
Take care of your soil. Pay attention to what sustains you. Be gentle and honest about what drains you.
And trust this promise: when the soil is good, the fruit will come.
Amen
Your Pastor, Dr. Ron Bell II
