01.05. Chapter 4. The Mustard Seed and the Leaven

Chapter 4.
The Mustard Seed and the Leaven Or, the Kingdom of God Destined to Grow to Greatness in Numbers and in Influence. In three of our Lord’s parables the kingdom of heaven is represented as the subject of growth. These parables are the two above-named, and the parable of the Blade, the Ear, and the Full Corn, preserved in Mark’s Gospel. The first of the three teaches that the kingdom is destined to increase in outward bulk as a visible society; the second, that it will manifest itself as a spiritual power exercising a progressive moral influence, and gradually transforming the character of the individual or the community by whom or which it has been received; the third, that in its growth the kingdom will resemble corn which groweth secretly, spontaneously, gradually, passing in the course of its growth through various stages in accordance with a fixed law which cannot be set aside, and yielding fruit only in the proper season, which cannot be hurried on, but must be patiently waited for. The three parables might very legitimately be considered in one chapter, as together exhibiting Christ’s teachings on one important theme. That the Evangelists regarded them as of kindred import appears from the manner in which they connect them in their narratives, the first and third Evangelist joining together the parables of the Mustard Seed and the Leaven, and the second connecting the former of these with the parable of the seed growing gradually, which he alone has recorded. And a hasty glance suffices to show that as the three parables have a common didactic purpose, so they serve one practical aim. They are designed to inspire hope and patience amid circumstances fitted to breed despondency and discouragement. In presence of the small and insignificant beginnings of the kingdom, Jesus says to His disciples: Fear not, that which now appears so small and weak will one day be a great fact and a mighty power.[1] And lest disciples should despair of that day ever appearing because it tarried longer than they expected, or should seek to hurry it on by impatient earnestness, their Master speaks to them the third parable to teach them what to expect in regard to the kingdom of heaven from the analogy of growth in the kingdom of nature.

[1] His parabolis (Mustard Seed and Leaven) discipulos suos animat Christus, ne humilibus evangelii exordiis offensi, resiliant—Calvin, Comment.’

It will be convenient to confine our attention for the present to the first two of the three parables concerning the growth of the kingdom, reserving the third for a future chapter. The two parables of the Mustard Seed and the Leaven form a pair which have for their common object to exhibit the prospects of the kingdom on the hopeful side, in contrast to the parables of the Sower and the Tares, which present the dark side of the picture. Both proclaim the important truth that the kingdom of heaven is destined to advance from a small beginning to a great end. But the two parables present this common truth under diverse aspects. The one predicts the extensive, the other the intensive growth of the kingdom. Each parable, also, has Its own way of conceiving the kingdom answering to its peculiar mode of viewing the growth. In the one parable, that of the Mustard Seed, the kingdom is conceived of as a visible society, which is susceptible of increase in its bulk by addition to the number of its membership. In the other parable, that of the Leaven, the kingdom is conceived of as a moral or spiritual power, which is susceptible of increase in the transforming influence which it exerts on those who are subject to its operation. From the point of view of the one parable, the disciples of Jesus, few in number, a "little flock," are the kingdom in its initial stage, destined to grow from that nucleus, small as a grain of mustard seed, into the dimensions of the Christian Church. From the point of view of the other parable, not the disciples themselves, at least in the first place, but rather that which makes them disciples, the faith in their hearts, is the kingdom, they being in the first instance at least the mass to be leavened by its renewing influence. For the parable of the Leaven admits of two applications, a narrow and a wide, an individual and a social. The mass to be leavened may be a single Christian or a whole community, just as we have occasion to regard it; because what is intended to be taught in the parable is the transforming power of Christianity, and that may be illustrated either in the individual man or in society at large. The parable of the Mustard Seed, on the other hand, admits properly only of the wider application, for the point of the parable is, that the kingdom of heaven as a phenomenon taking its place in the world is destined to increase in outward bulk, which can take place only by addition to the numbers of a society already existing, though small and insignificant to the world’s eye as a grain of mustard seed. We may, of course, easily make this parable also susceptible of application to the individual, if with some we make the mustard seed represent the same thing as the leaven, that is, not the insignificant company of Christ’s disciples, but the faith through which they became disciples. For such a view plausible ground may be found in those gospel texts in which faith is compared to a grain of mustard seed. We are persuaded, however, that the best way to understand these two parables and to extract the greatest amount of instruction from them is not to run them into each other, but to keep their points of view as distinct as possible; understanding the one to represent the kingdom as a society destined to extend itself more and more over the earth, and the other to represent the same kingdom as a spiritual influence destined to pervade, with ever-increasing completeness, the whole of human life whether individual or social. Thus viewed, these parables teach not only distinct, but mutually supplementary lessons, which must be taken together in order to yield a view of the Divine kingdom and its prospects which can satisfy intelligent and earnest minds. For neither an extensive society of imperfectly sanctified men, nor a small society of men completely sanctified, answers to our ideal of what the kingdom should be. What we desiderate is a commonwealth, at once vast in extent and holy in its character. Such a society it is which is offered to our hope in these two parables. The one predicts that the kingdom of heaven will eventually be a society of great dimensions, taking rank in this respect with the kingdoms of this world; the other that it will be a society animated in all its parts by the Holy Spirit, and in this respect not of this world. The Mustard Seed The parable as it stands in Matthew is as follows: The kingdom of heaven is like to a grain of mustard seedy which a man took, and sowed in his field: which indeed is the least of all seeds, but when it is grown, it is the greatest among herbs, and becometh a tree, so that the birds of the air come and lodge in the branches thereof.—Mat 13:31-32; parall.: Mark 4:30-32, Luk 13:18-19. The variations in the other Gospels are of no great importance. In Mark’s version we observe a tone of exaggeration in reference both to the smallness of the seed and to the greatness of the plant which springs from it. The seed is said to be the least of all the seeds that are upon the earth,[1] and the tree is represented as shooting out great branches,[2] so that the fowls of the air can lodge under its shadow. These peculiarities may be set down to account of the pictorial graphic style, characteristic of the second Evangelist. Luke on the other hand, makes no mention of the smallness of the seed, but adverts only to the growth of the plant into a tree large enough to be a lodging-place for the birds. This may be due in part to the connection in which he introduces the parable. Immediately before stands a narrative which exhibits Jesus triumphing over Pharisaic censors of one of His Sabbatic miracles, and winning by His reply to their objections the hearty applause of an ingenuous multitude. In the honest joy of the people over the marvellous works wrought by Jesus, and the unanswerable words of wisdom spoken by Him in self-defence, the Evangelist sees a good omen of the future, and he is reminded thereby of the parable in which Jesus had foreshadowed the growth of His kingdom from its small beginnings to a great magnitude; only, as there was nothing in the circumstances which recalled the parable to his recollection leading him to emphasise the smallness of the beginning, he gives exclusive prominence to that side of the parable which predicts the greatness of the end. But, indeed, in the case of the third Evangelist, the one-sided prominence given to the ultimate greatness of Christianity scarce needs so minute explanation. It is sufficiently accounted for by the one consideration that he is the Evangelist of the Gentiles, and that he magnifies his office. His specialty is to note carefully all that points towards the grand consummation of Christianity becoming the religion of the world. In view of this familiar fact one is strongly tempted to accept as genuine the reading δένδρον μέγα found in some codices,[3] as well as in the textus receptus, though rejected by critical editors. It would certainly come very natural to Luke, if at all admissible, to say "it grew, and waxed a great tree." It is true that that would be an exaggeration, but so also is the phrase in Mark’s Gospel," and shooteth out great branches," about the genuineness of which there is no room for doubt. The much more probable supposition, however, is that the μέγα is a marginal gloss introduced into the text by some copyist who, failing to catch the precise drift of the parable, thought it required the tree to be great Whatever may be the truth as to the correct text of Luke’s version of the parable, there can be no question that in Matthew’s version, as compared with that of either Luke or Mark, we have the most exact account of what our Lord actually said, so that we may with all confidence make it the basis of our observations. Turning then to the parable as we find it there recorded, we remark first, that therein the declaration that the kingdom is destined to advance from a small beginning to a great end is made by Jesus in a characteristically meek and sober manner. The smallness of the beginning is much more emphatically asserted than the greatness of the end; characteristically we say, for in this parabolic utterance Jesus but repeats what we find Him elsewhere saying in other terms. In comparing the kingdom of heaven in its present initial stage to a grain of mustard seed, He says in effect the same thing as when He called the humble band of men who followed Him a "little flock,"[4] and spoke of them as, in comparison with the wise and prudent, "babes."[5] All the three sayings were the utterances of a lowly mind that shrank not from the frankest and fullest acknowledgment of all circumstances pertaining to His present state of humiliation. Of the three, that contained in our parable presents the most intense expression of the mean condition of the kingdom in its initial phase. For no apter emblem of insignificance could possibly be found than a grain of mustard seed, it being, as is declared in the parable, "the least of all seeds." In order to justify our assertion it is not necessary to take this statement in the text strictly, as if it meant that it is not possible to find anywhere upon the earth a smaller seed than that of mustard. Smaller seeds do exist, such as those of the poppy and the rye. It is not even necessary to maintain that the mustard seed is, or was at the time when and in the country where the parable was spoken, the smallest of all seeds in proportion to the size of the plant which springs from it.[6] Even this proposition may be doubtful; it may fairly be questioned, for example, whether the disproportion between the mustard seed and the mustard tree be greater than that between the acorn and the oak. It is enough to say that the mustard seed passed in our Lord’s day, and among the Jews, for an emblem of the superlatively little.[7] "As small as a grain of mustard seed" was a proverbial phrase current at that time, of which we have evidence in the teaching of our Lord Himself, in the reproachful word which He spake to His disciples on descending from the Mount of Transfiguration: "If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place; and it shall remove."[8] Whatever answer, therefore, natural history may have to give to the question which is the smallest of all seeds, or which is the smallest in proportion to the size of the plant which springs from it, it is certain that Jesus could not more frankly have admitted the utter insignificance of the Divine kingdom in its initial state, as it appeared in Himself or in His disciples, than by comparing it to a seed which in common speech passed for the smallest of all.

[1] μικρότερον ὂν πμντων τῶν σπερμάτων ἐπἰ τῇς γῆς (Mat 13:31).

[2] ποιεῖ κλάδους μεγάλους.

[3] Of the great uncials the Codex Alexandrinus has this reading.

[4] Luk 12:32.

[5] Mat 11:25.

[6] So Bengel, his comment onμικρότερον being "Non absoluta, sed spectata proportione seminis ad germen."

[7] In Adagium vulgare abiit ‏בזרע חרדל‎ = Pro quantitate grani sinapis.. frequentissime apud Rabbinos, rem vel quantitatem minutissimam innuentes.—Lightfoot, ’Horæ Hebraicæ.’

[8] Mat 17:20. When we turn from the beginning to the end, and ask ourselves how far the mustard plant after it has reached its full growth is a fit emblem of the kingdom grown to greatness, we are constrained to acknowledge that the aptness of the parable at this point to express the truth intended to be taught is by no means so manifest. For the plant at its best is only a great herb; and it can be called a tree only by a latitude in the use of words. If it be a tree at all, it is certainly not a great tree as the cedar is great, neither are its branches great as are the wide-spreading branches of the oak. In the East, where it attains monstrous proportions, it may be the greatest of all herbs, and create surprise by reaching such a size as to entitle it almost to rank among the trees of the forest. But even there it is after all a thing of puny proportions compared with the cedars of Lebanon or the oaks of Bashan. Stories are told of mustard trees so tall that a man could climb up into their branches[1] or ride beneath them on horseback, and modern travellers, to give us an idea of their height, tell that they have seen samples of the tree "as tall as the horse and his rider."[2] Accepting these stories as free from exaggeration, what do they amount to? Simply to this, that the mustard plant in Palestine attains to a remarkable height for a garden herb, and especially for an herb springing from so small a seed. If they were offered as proof that the plant in question was worthy to be regarded as the equal of forest trees, they would simply remind us of the fable of the frog striving to inflate itself into the dimensions of an ox.

[1] R. Simeon ben Chalaphta dixit, Caulis sinapis erat mihi in agro meo, in quam ego scandere solitus sum, ita ut scandere solent in ficum.—Lightfoot, ’Horæ Hebraicæ.’

[2] Thomson, ’The Land and the Book,’ p. 414. He makes the statement with reference to the plain of Akkar, where the soil is rich.

Must we then say that the mustard plant is wholly unfit to be an emblem of the kingdom in its advanced stage when it has attained to greatness? Not so; we must tear in mind the difficulty of finding one thing which would serve both purposes, and be content if, while a specially fit emblem of the early stage of the kingdom’s history, the object selected be a sufficiently apt emblem of the later stage. It would have been very easy to do justice both to the beginning and to the end by making use of two emblems, the one to represent the beginning, the other the end; likening, e.g., the kingdom in its beginning to a grain of mustard seed, and in its end to a cedar of Lebanon. But the truth to be taught would be far more felicitously and impressively set forth if one natural object could be found which might serve as an emblem of the kingdom in both stages; and even if the emblem should not serve both purposes equally well, it were enough if it served them both sufficiently well. Now this is the actual state of the case as regards the mustard seed. It emblems the initial stage of the Divine kingdom excellently well, and it emblems the final stage sufficiently well. It would not have been difficult to find a natural object whose emblematic capabilities would have been the inverse of the one actually adopted. An acorn, for example, would have been better fitted to convey an idea of the vast magnitude of the Christian Church in its advanced stage of growth; for out of the acorn comes the oak. But an acorn would not have served so well to convey an idea of the utter insignificance of the beginnings of the Church. It is a greater marvel that out of a mustard seed should come a mustard tree, than that out of an acorn should come an oak. Possibly the relative proportions between seed and tree may not be very unequal, but the outgrowth excites more surprise in the one case than in the other. We do not wonder much that the acorn grows into an oak; we do wonder when we are told that a seed so tiny as that of the mustard plant, which in its own nature is only an herb, grows to something like the dimensions of a tree. Probably such wonder helped to give currency to the proverb, "Small as a grain of mustard seed." Men were surprised that a thing so small should grow to be anything so considerable, and by the contrast between seed and plant were led to emphasise, and evert to exaggerate, the smallness of the former. And this wonder was just the cause why our Lord selected the mustard seed as the emblem of the kingdom, in preference to an acorn or any other seed from which large trees grew.[1] He preferred an emblem whose defect, if defect there must be, should lie rather in the direction of inadequate representation of the end, than in the direction of inadequate representation of the beginning. He did so partly because it was congenial to His meek and lowly spirit, but specially because it suited the mental condition of His hearers. Adapting His lesson to the spiritual capacity of His pupils, He is careful to select an emblem which shall fully recognise the mean aspect of the kingdom He has come to found in its present state, and at the same time show by a natural analogy that even a movement so contemptible in appearance might yet come to be a considerable phenomenon, commanding general attention and respect. He is not so anxious to convey an exact or adequate idea of the ultimate greatness of the kingdom. He is content with indicating that it will not always be so insignificant, that it will one day be an institution which the world can no longer treat with disdain, that it will grow till it be not only a very large herb, but even not unworthy to be classified as a tree. That it will be the greatest of trees He does not assert. He does not even say that it will rival other trees in respect of size; He deems it enough to tell disciples unable to entertain large hopes that it will outgrow the dimensions of a garden plant and attain to something like the dimensions of a tree. Even that was an unlikely event then, and quite hard enough for weak faith to believe, without making any further demand on it. To the eye of sense, judging from present appearances, it seemed impossible that the movement to which Christ gave the name of the Kingdom of heaven could ever become a considerable phenomenon in the history of the world. The statement that it nevertheless would become such was likely to provoke, even in believing minds, incredulous surprise. How could such a state of mind be better met than by pointing out that the wonder in the spiritual world which awakened incredulity had its parallel in the natural world? This accordingly is precisely what Jesus did in uttering this parable: pointing out in the case of the mustard seed a natural object proverbially small, which grows into a plant of astonishing dimensions No happier selection could have been made for the purpose. The mustard seed, viewed as the parent of the mustard tree, is "the most characteristic emblem, among natural objects, especially of its own class, to mark the disproportion between the first beginning and the final result of any process,"[2] and in particular of that which it was Christ’s aim to illustrate, the growth of the kingdom of God. In making this selection for the purpose of parabolic instruction on this topic, the great Teacher showed not only humility and sobriety of mind, but conspicuous wisdom and considerate sympathy with those whom He would instruct.

[1] "The rule ex minimo maximum, which is the rule of all growth in nature, is here signalised in the growth of the mustard seed; specially in it, because in virtue of its proverbial peculiarity, the rule is illustrated in its case with striking effect."—Goebel.

[2] Greswell ’on the Parables,’ vol. ii. p. 166. When we look at the parable in the light of the use it was probably intended to serve in the personal ministry of Christ, we are delivered from all temptation to catch at any means of making the emblem of the kingdom grown to greatness a greater thing than it really is, if the common mustard plant be what is intended. Attempts of this kind have been made in recent years by travellers and men of science. It has been contended that not the mustard plant, which is properly not a tree, but only a garden herb and an annual, but a real tree of considerably larger dimensions, found in some parts of Palestine, and widely diffused in the East, is the object pointed at in the parable. The tree referred to is that which in Syria goes by the name of the khardal (the Arabic for mustard), and in botanical language is called the Salvadora Persica The first to suggest the hypothesis were the travellers Irby and Mangles, who found the khardal growing in the neighbourhood of the Dead Sea.[1] The conjecture was ingenious, and not without plausibility, for in its favour could be alleged not only the name of the tree, but the facts that the seed from which it springs is comparatively small, possesses pungent qualities like those of mustard, and is used for the same purposes. It is therefore not surprising that the opinion hazarded by the two travellers was afterwards espoused and strenuously advocated by scientific writers,[2] and regarded with favour by biblical scholars such as Meyer and Stanley.[3] It is now, however, generally set aside on sufficient grounds; of which the chief are, that there is grave reason to doubt whether the khardal ever existed or even could exist in the neighbourhood of the Sea of Galilee, the leading scene of our Lord’s ministry,[4] and that the plant of the parable is expressly represented as being in its nature a garden herb, the very point of the parable being that what is in its nature an herb, becomes in dimensions something approaching a tree. We do not pretend to be able to speak with authority on the point, nor do we entertain any feelings but those of sincere respect for efforts to ascertain precisely what natural objects are pointed at in Scripture allusions; but we may be permitted to express the doubt whether the opinion in question would ever have been seriously entertained had men been as alive to the moral as to the scientific conditions of correct interpretation. Doubtless the khardal answers better to the designation ’tree,’ for it really is a tree in nature, and it attains a height of some twenty-five feet, while the mustard plant does not reach more than half that elevation. But realise the moral situation, and you see at once that the khardal, though twice as tall, is not half so appropriate as the mustard plant to be an emblem of the kingdom of God in its developed state. It is no marvel that a plant of the tree species should grow to the height of twenty-five feet, it is rather remarkable that it should grow no taller; but it is a marvel that a plant, which is by nature an herb, should in its growth even so much as approximate the dimensions and aspect of a tree. And what is required by the moral situation is just such a marvel in physical nature to inspire faith in the possibility of a like marvel in the spiritual world—a religious movement in its present aspect despicably mean, becoming one day a great fact of such proportions that men could no longer despise it.

[1] ’Travels in Egypt and Nubia, Syria and Asia Minor, during the years 1817 and 1818.’ The passage relating to the subject is as follows: "There was one curious tree which we observed in great plenty, and which bore a fruit in bunches, resembling in appearance the currant, with the colour of the plum: it has a pleasant though strong aromatic taste, exactly resembling mustard, and if taken in any quantity, produces a similar irritability in the nose and eyes to that which is caused by taking mustard. The leaves of this tree have the same pungent flavour as the fruit, though not so strong. We think it probable that this is the tree our Saviour alluded to in the parable of the Mustard Seed, and not the mustard plant which we have in the north—for although in our journey from Bysan to Adjeloun we met with the mustard plant growing wild, as high as our horses’ heads, still being an annual it did not deserve the appellation of a tree; whereas the other is really such, and birds might easily, and actually do, take shelter under its shadow" (p. 255).

[2] Prominent among these is Dr. Royle, who first set forth his views on the subject in a paper read before the Royal Asiatic Society in 1844, and published in vol. viii. of their Transactions.

[3] Vide Meyer’s Commentary, and Stanley’s ’Sinai and Palestine.’

[4] Tristram says: "There is no reason to believe that at any time it grew by the Sea of Galilee, and very strong grounds for doubting that it could flourish there at all. It is in fact one of the many tropical plants whose northern limit is in these sultry nooks by the Dead Sea, and which spread no farther north."—’Natural History of the Bible,’ p. 473. The parable then, viewed as having reference to the common mustard plant, is altogether worthy of our Lord’s wisdom, whether we consider its bearing on the beginning or on the end of the kingdom. Christ showed His wisdom in selecting a grain of mustard seed to be an emblem of the kingdom in its obscure beginnings, because the emblem was not only true to fact, but to the law or principle of the case. Worldly-minded Jews could not believe that so mean a thing. as the movement with which Jesus and His disciples were identified could possibly be the kingdom of God come. But the meanness and the smallness of the movement were no argument against its Divinity, but rather a presumption in favour of its being Divine. It is the way of Divine movements in the world’s history to begin obscurely and end gloriously; and it not unfrequently happens that there is more Divinity in the obscure beginning than in the glorious ending. For while the movement is obscure men are not likely to join it, except as moved by the spirit of truth and goodness; but when it has become famous, worldly men may join it from by-ends, and so make what at first was a Divine, heavenly thing, undivine and earthly enough. Therefore we may say that Jesus showed His wisdom also in making the mustard plant at its full height an emblem of the kingdom in its advanced stage, not merely in so far as He thereby accommodated His teaching to the spiritual wants and capacities of His hearers, but more especially because He thereby presented to view a kingdom large enough to satisfy the hope of devout souls, but not so large as to awaken ambitious desires and worldly expectations, and so attract unclean ravenous birds to take up their abode among the branches of the tree of life. The allusion in the closing words of the foregoing paragraph reminds us that we have not yet noticed that part of our parable in which our Lord speaks of the birds of the air as coming to lodge in the branches of the mustard tree. The question at once arises, what amount of significance are we to attach to this feature? In answering the question it is possible to err both by excess and by defect. The least that can be said is that the fact of the birds frequenting the branches of the mustard plant is mentioned as a mark that the plant has become a tree. The construction of the sentence makes this manifest: "It becometh a tree, so that[1] the birds of the air come and lodge in the branches thereof." The size of the plant, so to speak, deceives the winged creatures, and makes them mistake a garden herb for a forest tree. The feature is not introduced merely for the sake of picturesque effect, but to define the character of the plant. There may possibly be a latent allusion to Old Testament texts, in which birds and trees are associated together, as, e.g., those in that beautiful psalm of nature, the 106th, which speak of the birds singing among the branches and making their nests among the cedars of Lebanon; or the well-known passage in Daniel which describes the tree of Nebuchadnezzar’s vision in these poetic terms: "The tree grew, and was strong, and the height thereof reached unto heaven, and the sight thereof to the end of all the earth: the leaves thereof were fair, and the fruit thereof much, and in it was meat for all: the beasts of the field had shadow under it, and the fowls of the heaven dwelt in the boughs thereof, and all flesh was fed upon it."[2] It would, however, be going beyond the sober truth to lay much stress on these texts, as if Christ meant to suggest that the tree of His parable resembled in size the cedars of the Psalmist, or the mystic tree of Nebuchadnezzar’s dream, or that the birds resorted thereto for precisely the same reason. The tree of the parable is not large enough to harbour birds of all sizes, but only small birds like linnets and goldfinches; and what they seek therein is not a place to build their nests, but the food it supplies in its seed, which they devour with avidity. The Greek word translated in the English version "lodge," does not signify "to make nests in," but simply "to settle upon."[3] We must, therefore, as strict expositors, deny ourselves the pleasure of finding in this parable a prophecy of a time when the kingdom of heaven, now so insignificant, should become a vast empire rivalling that of Nebuchadnezzar’s vision, when the tiny seed of the kingdom should develop into a great forest tree, overshadowing the whole earth, and affording harbourage for all the nations. At most it contains a slight hint at the possibility of such a consummation, suggesting by the words employed more than it says, or than the parabolic envelope of the thought admits of being said: by the word "tree" suggesting a forest tree, though the tree actually spoken of is little more than a large bush, and by the reference to the birds of the air suggesting the idea of men coming from every quarter of the heavens and taking up their abode in the Divine commonwealth. So far as this parabolic utterance strictly interpreted is concerned, the prophetic eye of Jesus cannot be said to look beyond the time when the company of His disciples should have received large accessions within the limits of Judaea, the garden in which the grain of mustard seed was originally planted. We may not stretch our horizon much beyond Pentecost, when the number of disciples was increased by thousands; scarcely, though we gladly would, as far as to the later movement in Antioch, when the kingdom of Christ became so considerable a phenomenon as to require a new name, so that the disciples were there for the first time called Christians. It is quite legitimate within these limits to give to the birds of the air a symbolic significance and make them represent converts to the new religion. It is not absolutely certain that the birds were intended to have such symbolic significance assigned to them, but it seems probable that the third Evangelist at least regarded them in that light. When we read in his narrative how the people rejoiced in the wondrous works of Jesus, and then observe how he takes occasion therefrom to record the parable of the Mustard Tree, in whose branches the fowls of heaven lodged, we cannot help feeling that in his mind the fowls are identified with the well-affected multitude. He seems to say to himself: "Behold the Lord’s parable fulfilling itself: see how the birds fly to the branches of the mustard tree."

[1] ὥστς, with the infinitive.

[2] Dan 4:11.

[3] This disposes of one objection to the mustard plant being the object intended in the parable, viz. that at the time when birds build their nests it is too small to be used for such a purpose.

We have now noticed all the points apparent on the surface of the parable. Other points not apparent derived from the known properties of the mustard seed—its heat, its pungency, the fact that it must be bruised ere it yield its best virtues, etc.—we do not feel called to remark on, agreeing as we do with those who think that analogies based on these properties are foreign to the purpose for which the parable was spoken. We may, however, briefly advert to an opinion strenuously maintained by Greswell, that it is intended in the parable to represent the spread of Christianity as of a miraculous character. To make this out stress is laid on the contrast between the smallness of the mustard seed, and its vegetative vigour as manifested in the size to which the plant attains; and the right to do this is proved by a reference to the other passages in our Lord’s teaching in which the seed of mustard is spoken of. The author’s contention is, that the expression "faith as a grain of mustard seed," twice employed by Christ, does not mean faith as small as a grain of mustard, but faith as vigorous in its vital power. Our Lord, it is held did not mean to say that any degree of faith would suffice to do the wonderful things of which the removal of a mountain into the sea is an emblem, as that would involve that the disciples had no faith at all—seeing they were unable to do the things referred to—which, however, was not the fact. The faith that can remove mountains is a special kind of faith, viz. that which can produce miracles. It is the sort of faith which Jesus had in view when He said to His disciples: "Verily if ye have faith, and do not hesitate, not only shall ye do the miracle of the fig tree, but should you even say unto this mountain, Be thou lifted up, and be thou cast into the sea, it shall come to pass."[1] It is the faith which, the following morning, Jesus called faith of God,[2] a Divine faith, describing its character and power in similar terms. If then the mustard seed in Christ’s teaching elsewhere be an emblem of a faith whose specific characteristic it is to possess Divine miraculous power, we are entitled to assume that it retains that significance in the parable, though it is there used not as an emblem of faith, but of the kingdom of God in its obscure beginnings. In comparing the kingdom to a grain of mustard seed, Jesus meant to say: The kingdom of heaven is now in appearance insignificant and impotent, but it has within it a Divine power, which will enable it to triumph over all hindrances, and make it ere long great and mighty. Such is the argument. It is plausible, and of course the doctrine which it seeks to establish is true, but whether the parable be intended to teach it or not is another question. On that point we will not dogmatise; only we must remark that in our judgment the exegesis of the other texts, on which the argument is based, is very doubtful. Faith, small as a grain of mustard seed, is the interpretation which would naturally be put upon Christ’s words by hearers living in a land where the smallness of the mustard seed was proverbial. The objection that this interpretation implies that the disciples had no faith at all, is of no weight. It is simply a prosaic inference, from a poetic impassioned utterance. There is more force in the consideration that the statement concerning faith, even thus interpreted, implies that faith is a thing of such inherent vitality and power, that even a little of it can do great things; and as the same thing is true of the mustard seed, it is not unnatural to suppose that Christ’s full thought was this: If ye had but faith even of the dimensions of a grain of mustard, ye could work wonders, such is its power, even as the tiny seed has vital force sufficient to produce a plant reaching to the size of a tree. That the paraphrase contains a just and valuable thought we admit, only we cannot pretend to be quite sure that all this was suggested, or was meant to be suggested, by the words of our Lord to those to whom they were addressed.

[1] Mat 21:21, as rendered by Greswell, vide his work on the Parables, p. 162.

[2] Mark 11:22. πίστιν θεοῦ is the expression in the Greek, rendered in our version "faith in God," which the R. V. retains. The Leaven The kingdom of heaven is like unto leaven, which a woman took, and hid in three measures of meal, till the whole was leavened.—Mat 13:33; cf. Luk 13:20-21. This parable relates not to the outward, visible increase which the kingdom is destined to undergo, but to the inward transformation which it will effect, which is not discernible by the physical organ of vision, but by the moral sense. The action of leaven on the dough in which it is deposited is not so much to change its bulk as its condition, and the change is perceived, not by the eye, but by taste. The kingdom of heaven in this connection signifies the doctrine of the kingdom which exercises a moral influence on the heart and life of those who receive it. It is quite compatible with this view that the recipients of the doctrine should themselves be regarded as a leaven. Christians are a leaven in the world, as they are the light of the world. But they are a leaven in virtue of the truth which they believe, and the spirit which animates them; and they act on the world through these in precisely the same way as these act on themselves. In likening the kingdom of heaven to leaven, Jesus in effect proclaimed a great truth, which pervades all His teaching, viz. that that kingdom is in its nature spiritual. Leaven works from the centre to the circumference, and it works by the method of contagion, and the comparison may be held to imply an analogy in these respects between the emblem and the thing emblemed; that is to say, the parable teaches that the kingdom of heaven first takes possession of the heart, the seat of life, and thence proceeds outwards, to exercise sway over conduct, and communicates itself from mind to mind by the contagious power of sympathy. In these respects the Divine kingdom differs from the kingdoms of this world, which concern themselves chiefly with the outward life, and employ force, or laws with penalties annexed, to establish their authority. But it is not peculiar to the Divine kingdom to work in this way; all spiritual influence, whether good or evil, acts in the same manner. The mere fact of a religious movement resembling leaven in its mode of spreading itself settles nothing as to its truth or moral tendency. Leaven may fitly be used to denote an evil moral influence as well as a good; and in fact, in the larger number of instances in which it is named in the New Testament, it is employed in a bad sense. Hence some have inferred that it must be so understood always, and therefore also in this parable. In that case the parable would contain a prophecy of a corruption of Christianity through the introduction into the Church of evil tendencies, doctrinal and practical. But this idea is precluded by the simple consideration that it is the kingdom itself that is compared to leaven. It is also entirely out of keeping with the familiar facts of domestic life on which the parable is based. Leaven, as used by the housewife, is not an evil thing, but a means by which palatable food is produced from insipid dough. If, indeed, we insist on introducing into the interpretation of the parable our knowledge of the chemical character of leaven, we may produce a plausible argument in favour of the opinion referred to. Leaven is simply a piece of sour dough in which putrefaction has begun, and which, on being introduced into fresh dough,[1] produces by contagion a similar condition in the whole mass. Now putrefaction is an offensive word, suggestive of a state not pleasant to think of, and we may hastily conclude that an object in which such a state is found is necessarily and essentially evil. But it is not only our privilege, but our duty, to consider this parable of our Lord, not from a chemical, but from a popular point of view. From that point of view we are entitled to regard everything as good which produces a good effect. In studying this comparison of the kingdom of heaven to leaven we must put the putrefaction out of sight, and think only of its action in causing the dough to swell, so as to be more accessible to the heat of the oven, and in imparting to it when ready to be eaten the palatable qualities of leavened bread. We may therefore dismiss the eccentric notion in question as unworthy of serious consideration.

[1] The relation between the dough and the leaven is well brought out in the German language, the names for the two objects respectively being Teig and Sauerteig. The hiding of the leaven in the mass of dough is a point deserving special notice. The woman took the leaven, and hid it[1] in three measures of meal. The insertion of the piece of sour dough called leaven into the mass of fresh dough is a matter of course in the physical process of baking, but we ought not on that account to treat the hiding of the leaven in the parable as a thing of no emblematic significance. The word employed seems chosen with a view to provoke thought. Does it not point to the silent, unobserved, stealthy manner in which the doctrine of the kingdom was introduced into the world by the Son of man? In another place the Evangelist quotes as descriptive of Christ’s manner of carrying on His ministry the prophetic words: "He shall not strive, nor cry; neither shall any man hear his voice in the streets."[2] The quotation is most apposite. Jesus, as the Founder of the kingdom of heaven, worked noiselessly, as the dew or the light. The kingdom, in His hands, came indeed not with observation, but in a quiet, inward manner. His doctrine dropped as the rain, and His speech distilled as the dew; as the small rain upon the tender herb, and as the showers upon the grass. As the result of His ministry of grace and truth the kingdom was there, hidden in the hearts of a few simple fishermen, tax-gatherers, and sinful women turned from their sins; and men did not know, but kept inquiring when the kingdom should come, not suspecting that it was come already, and was coming more and more by its secret but powerful influence on human spirits. It is not necessary in interpreting the parables to be always asking who is the actor—who is the Sower in the first parable, or who the Woman in this one. A woman is the actor in this case simply because the operation described is woman’s work. Yet one cannot help taking occasion from this parable to remark on the womanlike character of Christ’s ministry. No masculine ambitions or passions are noticeable there, but only the quiet, incessant, patient, retiring industry of one who is never in a hurry and yet never idle; who is content with his limited, obscure sphere, and utterly indifferent to the stir and strife of the great world without. "My kingdom is not of this world,"[3] He says to Pilate, provoking from the worldly-minded governor a smile at His simplicity. His brethren, seeing His works in Galilee, say to Him: "Depart hence, and go into Judaea, that Thy disciples also may see the works that Thou doest. For there is no man that doeth anything in secret, and he himself seeketh to be known openly. If Thou do these things, show Thyself to the world."[4] But Jesus has no desire to advertise Himself into celebrity in Jerusalem, the seat of government and of religious ceremonial, but is content to remain in the northern province, busily occupied in that humble but congenial sphere in inserting the leaven of His doctrine into the susceptible minds which yield themselves to His influence. It is not that His doctrine is esoteric, or that any cunning or cowardice characterises his method of working. He could say with perfect truth, as He did say at His trial to the high priest: "I spake openly to. the world; I ever taught in the synagogue, and in the temple, whither the Jews always resort; and in secret have I said nothing."[5] But while His doctrine was open and not cryptic, His spirit was humble and wise. He loved quiet, unostentatious ways of working, and He believed that these would in the long run prove the most effective. The words of the kingdom, hid in the hearts of a few babes, would work there like a leaven, till it resulted in their illumination and sanctification; and from them it would be communicated by contagion to others, till the little leavened mass had leavened the whole lump of Jewish and even pagan humanity. In his intercessory prayer Jesus offered up for the eleven disciples this petition: "I have given them Thy word... Sanctify them through Thy truth: Thy word is truth. As Thou hast sent Me into the world, even so have I also sent them into the world."[6] The words are a brief but luminous commentary on our parable, viewed as a figurative description of our Lord’s own ministry and its aim. He taught His disciples the doctrine of the kingdom; through that doctrine, by the blessing of the Divine Spirit, they were at length sanctified; and when their minds had been duly enlightened, and their hearts filled with the grace of the kingdom, they became through their words and their lives a leaven to the world.

[1] ἐνἐκρυψεν, Mat 13:33, found only here in N. T. The corresponding word in Luke is ἔκρυψεν.

[2] Mat 12:19.

[3] John 18:36.

[4] John 7:3-4.

[5] John 18:20.

[6] John 17:14; John 17:17-18.

Till the whole was leavened: That is another point in the parable demanding particular attention. The question naturally arises, what is the ’whole’ referred to? In the parable it is the three measures of meal, which seems from an induction of Scripture instances,[1] to have been the usual quantity prepared for use at one time, amounting to rather more than four English pecks. But is this all that is to be said? have the three measures no emblematic significance? is the number simply a part of the natural realism of the parable? It is hard to reconcile ourselves to such conclusions, especially considering the tempting analogies suggested by the three measures. If we think of the individual man as the subject of the leavening process, we have answering to the three measures, the three parts of human nature, body, soul, and spirit, as the subjects of sanctification; the renewing process commencing at the centre, the spirit, passing through the soul with all its affections and faculties, and at length reaching the circumference of the man, the body with its appetites and habits. If we think of man collectively, the number three repeats itself under all the various aspects from which we regard the subject of the leavening process. Viewing man socially, there are the three forms of social existence, the family, the Church, the State; viewing him ethnographically, there are the three sons of Noah—Shem, Ham, and Japheth—from which all nations of the earth have descended. To some minds the main fact that the number three re-appears under so many diverse forms will seem conclusive evidence that it was designed to have emblematic significance, while to others the circumstance that the number admits of so many interpretations will go far to show that none of them was intended. In such questions men are very apt to be influenced by their temperament, and in absence of conclusive evidence either way it is becoming to abstain from over-confident dogmatism. A man of matter-of-fact juristic mind, like Grotius, will prefer the severely literal, prosaic interpretation,[2] while a dreamy, idealistic commentator, like Lange, will as certainly incline to the allegorical; and it would be presumptuous in us to decide authoritatively between them. We will not therefore say positively that the idealists are right, though our sympathies are with them, nor lay it down as a certain truth that the three measures represent the world, and that this parable is one of those utterances of Christ in which the universal destination of the Gospel is clearly taught. We may, however, without presumption say this much, that leaven is one of the three symbols employed by our Lord to represent the action of His kingdom in the world, and that in the other two instances that action is expressly represented as having relation to the whole world. The three symbols are leaven, salt, and light. We find the latter two employed in the Sermon on the Mount, both in a universalistic way. Of His disciples as the children of the kingdom, animated by its spirit, enlightened by its truth, Jesus there says, "Ye are the salt of the earth. Ye are the light of the world."[3] If, therefore, He had said, "Ye are the leaven of the world," it would only have been a statement of the same kind, in perfect sympathy with His teaching in the Sermon on the Mount; and it is at least probable that He meant to suggest such a thought by expressly naming three measures of meal as the amount to be leavened.[4] To this view it may appear an objection that the whole, whatever it is, is represented as being leavened, so that if the whole signify the whole world of mankind at large, the parable teaches not merely the universal destination of the Gospel as a message to every human creature, but the ultimate universal salvation of all men. Without entering here into that question, we simply observe that this is pressing the words beyond what they can bear. Assuming that our Lord has in view the world as the subject of the leavening process, we must take His words as a broad statement of tendency, not as an exact statement of the historical result. The three statements, Ye are the salt of the earth, Ye are the light of the world, and the one implied in this parable, Ye are the leaven of the world, must all be interpreted in one way, as indicating function and not effect. Doubtless we have in the case of the leaven what we have not in the case of the other two emblems, an express declaration as to the effect. The process goes on till the whole is leavened. But the purpose of the declaration is to indicate the nature of the leaven, which is to work on incessantly till it has more or less infected the whole mass in which it has been deposited;[5] and in this respect leaven is a very apt emblem of Christian truth, or indeed of any spiritual influence whatsoever. It is the tendency of all spiritual influence, good or evil, to diffuse itself more and more throughout society till its presence can be traced in a greater or less extent everywhere. And it may be granted that in some sense, and to some extent, it is the destination of Christianity to pervade the whole of society, and to influence in some way, and to certain effects, the whole human race. But it does not follow that the leavening process must in all cases be complete and thorough. A given quantity of leaven will not leaven thoroughly any lump of dough however large, but only the mass which is in proportion to its amount.[6] It would influence a larger mass more or less, as a piece of sugar would tend to sweeten a whole river of water, or a candle tend to illuminate the whole world. We do not presume to prescribe limits to the influence of Christianity, we simply enter a caveat against too sweeping inferences from the words of our parable. The doctrine there taught is that it is the genius of the kingdom of God to work outwards from the centre, where it is first deposited, towards the circumference. It is a doctrine which justifies large hopes in reference to the elevation of the individual, and to the imbuing of society and the world at large with Christian principle. But these hopes must be qualified by the recollection that Christianity does not raise even all individuals who receive it to the same moral level, and that, as a matter of fact, it has not found all peoples equally amenable to its influence. On the other hand, the children of the kingdom ought not to allow such considerations to depress their spirits, or to make them settle down contentedly in the conviction that it is only a few that are to be saved, and that all attempts to save others are vain. They are the elect of God, it is true, called out of the world. But they must remember that they have not been called for their own sakes merely, but for the sake of others. They are called to be the salt of the earth, the light of the world, the leaven of humanity, and they should ever live under the inspiring influence of their high vocation, seeking earnestly and always two things, the perfect sanctification of their own characters that their influence on others for good may be as great as possible, and the conversion of the whole world to the Christian faith. It was, in all probability, to inspire this mind that Jesus spake this parable to His disciples. He desired the small band of followers who had received His doctrine, especially the twelve, to entertain large expectations as to what might be accomplished through their instrumentality. He said to them in effect: Ye are but a little leaven hid in the bosom of the world, so small in bulk that men are scarce aware of your existence. But, remember, a little leaven can leaven a large lump. See that you undervalue not your importance as the leavened portion of the lump of humanity, through which the rest is to be leavened. Fear not, the future is yours; it is your Father’s pleasure to give you in ample measure the kingdom. I have chosen and ordained you that ye should go and bring forth fruit. Aim at bringing forth much fruit, for that is not impossible. In the light of this paraphrase we can see that the parable of the Leaven is, equally with that of the Mustard Seed, admirably fitted to inspire hope even in the day of small things and obscure, uninfluential beginnings.

[1] Conf. Gen 18:6; Jdg 6:19; 1Sa 1:24. An ephah was equal to three seahs, so that the quantity in all three instances was the same.

[2] Σάτα τρία: tantum enim simul misceri solebat.—Vide his ’Annotationes.

[3] Mat 5:13-14.

[4] This view commended itself to the sound exegetical judgment of Bengel. He says: Videtur hoc pertinere ad totum genus humanum, quod refert tria sata, ex tribus Noachi filiis propagatum in orbe terræ.

[5] Stier (’Reden Jesu’) says that ὅλον is equivalent to ὅλως, and gives as alternative renderings of the wordsἕως οὔ ἐζυμώθη ὅλον, till the whole meal was leavened, or till the meal was wholly leavened. But whether ὅλον be taken adverbially or otherwise, the statement must be understood quantitatively, not qualitatively.

[6] The universalistic interpretation is objected to by Hofmann, ’Das Evangelium des Lukas.’ The foregoing are the principal points in the parable which call for notice. The following thoughts, suggested rather than taught therein, we append to illustrate a feature of the Parables to which we will have frequent occasion to refer, and which we may call their felicity. When we recall the etymological meaning of the Greek word for leaven, and of its Latin and English equivalents, all three—ζύμη, fermentum, leaven[1]—pointing to the effect of the substance denoted in causing upheaving and fermentation in the mass in which it is deposited, we are naturally led to reflect on the analogous action of the kingdom of heaven upon those with whom it comes into contact. For there is a real analogy at this point. Where the truth of the kingdom comes with power, whether in the individual or in society, it produces a moral fermentation, and the amount of fermentation it produces is the measure of its influence. The more stir it causes in the heart and mind and conscience, the more completely does it ultimately bring every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ. Christ Himself referred to the tendency of His teaching to act as a ferment in society when He said: "Suppose ye that I am come to give peace on earth? I tell you, nay; but rather division: for from henceforth there shall be five in one house divided, three against two, and two against three. The father shall be divided against the son, and the son against the father; the mother against the daughter, and the daughter against the mother; the mother-in-law against her daughter-in-law, and the daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law."[2] Nor is the fermenting process, so graphically described in its social aspect, confined to the family or the community; it goes on in the bosom of every believing man. The new iife of the kingdom not only divides a country or a house against itself; it divides a man against himself, so that a man’s foes shall be not only they of his own household, but even his very self—the old man fighting against the new man, the natural desires and affections resisting the claim of the kingdom to the place of sovereignty in the heart. Such fermenting processes in individual experience and in the history of nations are by no means pleasant to pass through, but they are the price that has to be paid for sanctified character, and for Christian civilisation. On no other terms can these precious blessings be obtained.

[1] ζύμη, from ζέω, to boil; fermentum, contracted from fervimentum, from ferveo; leaven, from levare, to lift up.

[2] Luk 12:51; Luk 12:53. The comparison of the kingdom of heaven to leaven, duly reflected on, might serve to correct crude notions as to the effect of regeneration and sanctification on human nature. Judging from the artificial, unnatural character which the profession of religion sometimes engenders, it would almost seem as if, in the opinion of many, the new birth and the new life produced by Christian faith involved the extirpation at once of the common characteristics of human nature, and of the idiosyncrasies of the individual. But this ought not to be the case if the kingdom of heaven be indeed like leaven. For leaven does not destroy the characteristics of meal in general, or the peculiarities of particular kinds of meal. It leaves the leavened meal essentially as it found it, and there is no difficulty in distinguishing one sort of leavened meal from another, wheat from barley, and barley from rye.[1] Naturalness is a mark of Christian maturity, the sign of a completed sanctification. In saying this we do not mean to condemn everything savouring of artificiality in religion as spurious and hypocritical. Here again our parable is helpful in checking onesidedness. There is a stage when the dough, in which leaven has been deposited, seems unlike itself, viz. when it is passing through the upheaving process of fermentation. In like manner we ought not to expect either naturalness or geniality in a Christian when he is in the fermenting stage of the spiritual life. His experiences then are not pleasant to himself; why should we be surprised if they be still more unpalatable to others? Wait till the fermenting process and the baking process are complete, and then see how the bread tastes. If the character of a Christian possesses the charm of sweetness when the process of sanctification is complete, we have no right to complain that it does not exhibit it sooner,—which, however, many do, for want of due consideration of such analogies as that suggested in this parable, and, we may add, in the parable next to be studied, that of the Blade, the Green Ear, and the Ripe Corn.

[1] "The meal, although leavened in all parts, retains after, as before, its own distinctive character (’Art und Gattung’), according as it is barley, rye, or wheat meal."—Arndt.

Finally, one in quest of arguments to prove the supernatural character of Christianity might easily found one upon our parable. The leaven is a thing extraneous to the meal. The woman took it from another place and put it into the dough, to produce effects which the dough itself could never bring about. In like manner, it might be argued, it has often been argued, the kingdom of heaven was brought down from above, from heaven, by the Son of God, and deposited in the lump of humanity, there to produce moral results, which human nature by itself unaided is utterly incompetent to achieve. That the doctrine is true needs no elaborate proof; its truth is attested by the experience of individual Christians, as well as by a comparative study of the effects produced in the world at large by Christianity on the one hand, and by all other religions on the other. That it was Christ’s purpose to teach this doctrine, or either of the two preceding, when He uttered this parable of the Leaven, we cannot positively affirm. But if these important lessons do not belong to the primary didactic drift of the parable, they do at least attest its felicity; for surely a parable must be admitted to be felicitously constructed which suggests so much beyond what it expressly teaches.