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Lenten Reflection – Day 9 of the Great Lent

ByJobin

The Seed That Grows in Secret – St. Mark 3:21-34

“The kingdom of God is as if a man should scatter seed on the ground, and should sleep by night and rise by day, and the seed should sprout and grow, he himself does not know how.” (4:26–27)

We are nine days into the Great Lent, and the early intensity is beginning to settle. The first day of fasting felt sharp, dramatic, almost exciting. The first Sunday brought the joy of the leper’s healing. Yesterday we heard James’s fierce call to draw near to God with clean hands and a pure heart.

But now it is Tuesday of the second week. And nothing spectacular is happening.

This is the moment when most people start to wonder if the fast is working. The dramatic beginning has passed. The daily routine of prayer and abstinence has become, well, routine. We do not feel holier than we did last week. The sins we confessed are still lurking. The passions we thought we had subdued in Week 1 are already stirring again. The question creeps in quietly: Is anything actually changing?

Today’s Gospel reading from St. Mark answers that question. It does not reassure that everything is fine. Instead, it presents three small parables that completely redefine how we think about spiritual growth. A lamp. A seed that grows in secret. A mustard seed. Three images that say the same thing: God is at work in ways you cannot see. God works at a pace you cannot control. God works in a scale you cannot predict.

This is the word we need on Day 9. Not a louder call to effort, but a quieter call to trust.

The Lamp on a Stand (vv. 21–25)

“Is a lamp brought to be put under a basket or under a bed? Is it not to be set on a lampstand? For there is nothing hidden which will not be revealed, nor has anything been kept secret but that it should come to light. If anyone has ears to hear, let him hear.” (4:21–23)

Christ begins with a question so obvious it almost sounds silly. Does anyone light a lamp and then hide it under a basket? Of course not. A lamp exists to give light. Hiding it defeats its purpose entirely.

But what is the lamp?

A photograph of a single beam of light - from a window, a door, or an opening in a wall - falling into a darkened interior. The dust in the air catches the light, making the beam visible. The room could be a church, a monastery cell, or an ancient dwelling. The contrast between light and darkness should be dramatic but not harsh. The light is entering. It cannot be hidden. This illustrates the passage's promise: nothing hidden will remain hidden.

The Fathers read this at several levels. The lamp is Christ Himself. He is the Light of the World, who did not come to remain hidden. His purpose is to illuminate every dark corner of human existence. The lamp is also the Gospel. It is the word of truth that is meant to be proclaimed openly. And the lamp is the life of the believer. This person has received the light of Christ. They are now called to let that light shine. It should not be buried under the basket of fear, conformity, or spiritual laziness.

St. Cyril of Alexandria, in his Commentary on the Gospel of Luke, comments on the parallel passage in Luke 8:16–18. He teaches that the lamp represents the knowledge of God. This knowledge is entrusted to the believer through baptism and the life of the Church. This knowledge is not a private possession to be hoarded. It is a trust to be shared. The person who receives the light and keeps it to himself has misunderstood the nature of the gift. Light, by its very nature, is meant for others. A lamp that illuminates only itself is no lamp at all.1

For the Lenten journey, this has a specific application. The disciplines of the fast – prayer, fasting, almsgiving, repentance – are not meant to be hidden as if they are abandoned. However, they are not meant to be displayed for admiration either. They are meant to produce light. And light, when it is real, cannot be concealed.

The person who is genuinely being transformed by the Great Lent does not need to announce it. The light shows. It shows in patience. It appears in gentleness. It manifests in the way you speak to your spouse after a long day. It is evident in the way you respond to the colleague who irritates you. The lamp does not make noise. It simply shines.

“Take heed what you hear. With the same measure you use, it will be measured to you; and to you who hear, more will be given. For whoever has, to him more will be given; but whoever does not have, even what he has will be taken away from him.” (4:24–25)

This sounds harsh – almost unfair. The person who has will get more, and the person who has little will lose even that? But Christ is not talking about wealth or talent. He is talking about receptivity. The person who truly listens to the Word, who takes it in, will find increasing understanding. Acting on the Word also leads to more revelations. The person hears the Word and takes no action. As a result, even the little he understood begins to fade.

St. Ephrem the Syrian, in his Commentary on the Diatessaron, uses the image of soil and rain. The same rain falls on ploughed soil and on rock. The ploughed soil receives the water and produces a harvest. The rock lets it run off and remains barren. The rain is the same. The difference is in the receiving. Ephrem teaches that the word of God is always abundant. God does not withhold His teaching. However, the soul must be prepared by humility, repentance, and attentiveness to retain what it hears. The fast is the ploughing. It breaks up the hard ground of the heart. This prepares it for the rain of God’s word, allowing it to penetrate and bear fruit.2

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The Seed Growing Secretly (vv. 26–29)

“The kingdom of God is as if a man should scatter seed on the ground, and should sleep by night and rise by day, and the seed should sprout and grow, he himself does not know how. For the earth yields crops by itself: first the blade, then the head, after that the full grain in the head. But when the grain ripens, immediately he puts in the sickle, because the harvest has come.” (4:26–29)

This parable is found only in Mark’s Gospel. Matthew and Luke do not include it. And it may be the most important parable for anyone in the middle of the Great Lent.

Notice what the farmer does after scattering the seed. He sleeps. He rises. He goes about his ordinary life. He does not dig up the seed every morning to check whether it is growing. He does not stand over the field shouting at the soil to hurry up. He does not do anything dramatic at all. He scatters, and then he waits. And the seed grows by itself — the Greek word is automatē, from which we get “automatic.” The growth happens without the farmer’s intervention, without his understanding, without his control.

Grain at Three Stages of Growth
A photograph or illustration showing a cross-section of soil with a seedling's roots visible beneath the surface - the tiny green shoot above ground, and the root system spreading below, unseen. This is the most direct visualisation of the parable: above ground, almost nothing is visible. Below ground, the real work is happening. The image could be a real photograph (from a botanical study or a glass-walled planter) or an artistic rendering. The soil should be dark and rich; the roots should be delicate but extensive.
Roots Visible Through Soil – Cross-Section

This is revolutionary. We want to manage our spiritual growth like we manage our work projects. We aim for targets and follow timelines. We seek measurable outcomes and conduct regular progress reviews. We want to know that Day 9 of the fast has made us 18% holier than Day 1. We want to see results. And Christ says: the kingdom does not work that way. The seed grows secretly, in the dark, underground, out of sight. You do not know how. You cannot make it happen faster. Your job is to scatter and to trust.

St. Mark the Ascetic, in his treatise On the Spiritual Law, teaches that spiritual growth is almost always invisible to the person experiencing it. The monk who thinks he has made great progress is usually in danger of pride. The monk who feels he has made no progress at all may be closer to God than he realizes. Mark warns against the habit of constant spiritual self-assessment. This endless checking of the internal temperature produces either pride. It happens when we think we are doing well. Or it produces despair when we think we are failing. Both are traps. The seed does not need to understand photosynthesis in order to grow. It only needs to be in the soil. The soil is significant for us. It represents the life of the Church. This includes the prayers, the fasting, the sacraments, and the community of faith.3

The Oriental Orthodox monastic tradition has always understood this. The desert mothers and fathers did not measure their spiritual progress. They showed up every day for prayer, work, silence, and to struggle with the passions. They trusted that God was doing something in them that they could not see. Abba Moses, the great fourth-century Egyptian monk who was once a thief and a murderer before becoming one of the most revered elders of the Scetis desert (now known as Wadi El Natrun), told a brother who asked how to become holy: “Go, sit in your cell, and your cell will teach you everything.” The cell is the soil. The sitting is the scattering. The teaching is the secret growth. We do not produce it. We receive it.4

“First the blade, then the head, after that the full grain in the head.”

Growth is sequential. There is an order – blade, head, full grain – and the order cannot be rushed. You do not get the harvest on the day you plant. You do not get spiritual maturity in the first week of the fast. The blade comes first – the first small green shoot, barely visible, easily mistaken for a weed. Then the head – something more recognizable, more defined, beginning to take shape. Then the full grain – the mature fruit, ready for harvest.

We are on Day 9. We are at the blade stage. And the blade stage does not look like much. But it is the beginning of everything.

The Mustard Seed (vv. 30–34)

“To what shall we liken the kingdom of God? Or with what parable shall we picture it? It is like a mustard seed which, when it is sown on the ground, is smaller than all the seeds on earth; but when it is sown, it grows up and becomes greater than all herbs, and shoots out large branches, so that the birds of the air may nest under its shade.” (4:30–32)

The mustard seed is the smallest seed a Palestinian farmer would have handled. It is almost invisible in the palm. You could lose it between your fingers. It looks like nothing. And yet, given soil and time and the mysterious work of God in the earth, it becomes a shrub large enough for birds to nest in.

Christ is making a statement about scale. The kingdom of God does not begin with impressive size. It begins almost invisibly. A carpenter’s son in a forgotten province of the Roman Empire. Twelve ordinary men. A few women. A borrowed upper room. From the outside, it looked like nothing. From the inside, it was the seed from which the whole world would be changed.

A photograph taken from the base of a large, spreading tree, looking up through the branches toward the sky. Birds should be visible - perched, nesting, resting in the shade. The branches should spread wide, filling the frame. This is the mustard seed at full maturity - the tiny beginning made vast by the mysterious work of God. An olive tree, a sycamore, or a fig tree in a Middle Eastern landscape would be geographically and theologically appropriate.

St. John Chrysostom, in his Homily 46 on Matthew (on the parallel passage in Matthew 13:31–32), teaches that Christ deliberately chose the mustard seed to embarrass human pride. We want our beginnings to be grand. We want our spiritual life to be impressive from the start. We want the fast to produce visible, dramatic results within the first week. Christ says: it starts smaller than you can see. And that is not a failure. That is how the kingdom works. The kingdom does not need to be large to be real. It needs only to be planted.5

For us in the Great Lent, this is deeply encouraging. The small prayer you prayed this morning that felt like nothing? It is a mustard seed. The moment of patience with your child when you wanted to shout? A mustard seed. The grudge you let go of – not dramatically, not completely, but just a little, just enough to loosen its grip? A mustard seed. The meal you skipped and the money you gave instead? A mustard seed. None of these things looks impressive. None of them will make the news. But in the soil of a faithful life, watered by grace, tended by the Spirit, they grow into something larger than you can imagine.

St. Macarius the Great, in his Spiritual Homilies, uses a similar image. He compares the work of grace in the soul to a tiny spark that falls into a pile of dry wood. At first, only one twig catches fire. Then another. Then the flame spreads to the larger branches. Eventually, the whole pile is ablaze. But it began with a spark so small it could have been missed. Macarius teaches that God’s grace enters the soul in the same way – quietly, at one small point of surrender, one moment of genuine prayer, one act of humble obedience. And from that point, if the soul does not extinguish the spark by returning to old habits, the fire spreads until the whole person is alight with the love of God.6

“And with many such parables He spoke the word to them as they were able to hear it. But without a parable He did not speak to them. And when they were alone, He explained all things to His disciples.” (4:33–34)

Mark ends with a note about Christ’s method. He taught in parables – stories, images, seeds, lamps – because the truth of the kingdom is too large to be captured in propositions. It must be experienced. It must grow in you before you understand it. The disciples received private explanations, but even they did not fully understand until after the Resurrection.

This is a comfort for anyone who feels confused during the Great Lent. You do not need to understand everything that is happening in you. The seed does not understand how it grows. The soil does not understand photosynthesis. You do not need to understand the mechanics of grace. You only need to stay in the soil – to keep praying, keep fasting, keep showing up – and trust that God, who began the work, will bring it to harvest.

For Our Journey Today

Stop measuring. On Day 9, the temptation is to assess our progress – to check whether we are more spiritual than last Monday. Do not. The seed grows in secret. Our job is not to measure but to remain in the soil. Keep praying. Keep fasting. Keep being faithful in the small things. The growth will come in its own time, at a pace we cannot control.

A photograph of seeds falling from an open hand - caught mid-air, suspended between the hand and the ground. The hand is releasing, letting go. The seeds are in motion, on their way to the soil. This is the act of faith the parable describes: scattering without controlling, giving without managing the outcome. The light should be golden, the seeds backlit, the background soft and blurred.

Plant one mustard seed. Do one small thing today that looks like nothing – a kind word, a quiet prayer for someone who will never know, a moment of patience that no one notices. Do not despise the small. The kingdom is built with mustard seeds, not monuments.

Let the lamp shine. If the fast is producing anything real in us- patience, gentleness, compassion, honesty – do not hide it. Let it shine, not for our own reputation but for the sake of the people around us who need to see light. The lamp is not for the lamp. It is for everyone in the room.

Lord Jesus Christ, who sowed the kingdom in the small and the hidden and the overlooked, give us the patience to trust what we cannot see. We confess that we want dramatic results and instant transformation. We want to measure our progress and display our growth. Forgive us. Teach us the way of the seed – scattered, buried, hidden in the dark, growing by a power we do not control and cannot understand. Let the small disciplines of this fast become mustard seeds in the soil of our lives. And when the harvest comes – in Your time, not ours – may it be greater than anything we imagined. By the prayers of the Most Holy Theotokos, the holy Evangelist Mark, and all the saints, have mercy on us and save us. Amen.

Patristic References

  1. St. Cyril of Alexandria (c. 376–444) — Commentary on the Gospel of Luke, Homily 38, on Luke 8:16–18 (the parallel passage to Mark 4:21–25). Edition: Commentary on the Gospel of Saint Luke, translated by R. Payne Smith (Studion Publishers, 1983; reprinted by Astir Publishing, 2009). Excerpts also in the Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture: Luke, edited by Arthur A. Just Jr. (IVP Academic, 2003). ↩︎
  2. Saint Ephrem’s Commentary on Tatian’s Diatessaron, translated by Carmel McCarthy, Journal of Semitic Studies Supplement 2 (Oxford University Press, 1993). Excerpts also in the Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture: Mark, edited by Thomas C. Oden and Christopher A. Hall (IVP Academic, 1998). ↩︎
  3. St. Mark the Ascetic (5th century) — On the Spiritual Law (De Lege Spirituali), 200 chapters. Edition: Philokalia, Vol. 1, translated by G.E.H. Palmer, Philip Sherrard, and Kallistos Ware (Faber & Faber, 1979), pp. 110–124. The Greek text is in PG 65, cols. 905–929. ↩︎
  4. Abba Moses the Black (c. 330–405) — Sayings preserved in the Apophthegmata Patrum (Sayings of the Desert Fathers). Edition: The Sayings of the Desert Fathers: The Alphabetical Collection, translated by Benedicta Ward (Cistercian Publications / Liturgical Press, 1975; revised edition 1984). ↩︎
  5. St. John Chrysostom (c. 349–407) — Homily 46 on Matthew, on Matthew 13:31–33. Edition: Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers (NPNF), Series I, Vol. 10: Homilies on the Gospel of Matthew, translated by George Prevost and M.B. Riddle (available at newadvent.org and ccel.org). ↩︎
  6. St. Macarius the Great (c. 300–391) — Spiritual Homilies, particularly Homilies 8 and 17. Edition: Pseudo-Macarius: The Fifty Spiritual Homilies and the Great Letter, translated by George A. Maloney, Classics of Western Spirituality (Paulist Press, 1992). ↩︎

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