Heaven like leaven

Heaven like leaven ( a nice rhyme ) – this curious parable is found in Matthew 13:33. Is it mere chance that these words come down to us rhyming each other? Now, this parable, for all its brevity, is rich in food for thought. We note that leaven is something small, on the order of a mustard seed. One needs a microscope to see the actual work of yeast. Leaven gets bigger with time. It grows. We think of expansion, we think of increase, we think of rising.

We are told that a woman 'took' the leaven. She would have to, I'm sure, as she was not born with leaven in her hands. The representation is of something outside of ourselves, of something that we take up, and add to our state – something that we can work with, and make something by its inclusion. But, why a woman?

Traditionally, that is to say: from the point of view of that time and culture, bread making was a woman's work. It fell outside the purview of the common man. It was a restricted field of activity, a thing of narrow focus. The only one we might expect to take up leaven and bread making was the woman.

Here, we should not view the parable as relating only to women, per se – since we must make the leap from leaven to heaven – rather, we must see the issue as something that is taken up by individuals with an inclination to that particular narrow focus, individuals focused and dedicated to their own narrow field of personal interest.

As I am fond of saying – that particular path is open only to those who are open to that particular path. Therefore, taking up heaven, or truth, or the work of the kingdom – that is a particular matter that falls to those with an inclination to take up that particular matter. We are a qualified group of narrowly focused individuals, we find the matter to be one of personal interest.

The common man is a far-reaching group comprised of individuals spinning in tight restrictive circles. There are atheists and agnostics, people interested in work, and people interested in play, professionals, scholars, transients, butchers, bakers, and preachers. All of them are focused on what is in front of them. None of them stray from their field of focus. Like the others in the list, there are also truth seekers, laborers for the kingdom, and those with a heavenly inclination. These also remain true to their field of focus. They are the bread makers; think of that when you recall that Christ said, “I am that bread of life” and “This is the bread which comes down from heaven . . .”


The final detail of this parable is the richest morsel of them all. You'd think the most efficient way to make bread would be to simply throw the yeast in the whole lump, that is not the case in this parable; the leaven is added to three small measures. In effect, the leaven is taken up, and included into three divisions of our state, with a personal interest, or goal, in mind. Here is where definition serves us best, for we must define our 'state', and the three divisions of our state into which we include the heavenly leaven.

Our state is ever connected. We are connected to our environment, our community, our family, our co-workers – and, just as surely as our left brain is connected to our right, our physical/emotional self is connected to our spiritual self. Each and every self, or group of selves, is connected to the spirit through the spiritual self. Every point in the list above is connected to every other point via some form of communication. No state is without communication, therefore, we must define our state as a relay point in a chain of looped communication.

The three communicative divisions of our state exist in our physical, emotional, and spiritual natures. The three measures of meal are seen, then, as equally distributed to, as well as equal in development. No part is, or should be deprived. We may infer from this what kind of individual we wish to be. Each division may develop best in the company of other such divisions – thus the whole point of dividing in the first place, but to truly get the meaning of this, we must see that these divisions are meant to be a whole.

No one part of us should develop at the expense of some other part. All three of our natures: physical, emotional, and spiritual are meant to combine as a whole, and not just that, but intentionally, by predisposition, design, and as a set goal. If we view the combined three natures as a living creature – say, a head connected to two legs, each with hands instead of feet, we might well imagine how some creatures will look due to poorly developed appendages.

Some will be all head, two small tabs struggling to hold it up. Some will have one or more mighty legs, adept in grasping and taking, but so blind they continuously run into walls. The common man is such a creature, well-developed emotions and or physicality, the head only developed enough to aid it's grasping appendages. Even the common preacher, who claims to be spiritual, is seen as more emotionally developed than spiritual. Those with a heavenly inclination, those who labor for the kingdom, must seek the truth of wholeness.

Our physical/emotional half is a relay point in a looped communication between the physical experience, and our spiritual half. Our spiritual half is a relay point in a looped communication between our spiritual roots and our more corporeal branches. We must deprive ourselves of no one part to favor another, for we are meant to be whole: just as spiritual as physical/emotional.

Can you fly?

The three versions of the mustard seed parable are found in Matthew 13:31-32, Mark 4:31-32, and Luke 13:19.

The basic elements of these three parables are the same, with the supporting details differing only in the smallest of deviations. The mustard seed was sown in a field, sown in the earth and cast into a garden. The seed is described as the least of all seeds, less than all the seeds that be in the earth, and in Luke, is not described in any fashion.

This seed, which was twice sown and once cast, was the greatest among herbs, becoming a tree in Matthew, while in Mark, it grows to become greater than all herbs, shooting out great branches. In Luke, the seed grew and waxed a great tree. In all the parables, the birds and fowls of the air found lodging in the branches of, and under the shadow of the mustard tree. We may take this to mean that the birds found a temporary home, a place of refreshing, and a platform from which sprang the usual business of employed birds.

Other than the rather generic “sown in the earth”, placing such a tree in a field or garden carries with it a two-fold intent. The purpose of a large tree in a field or garden is not merely one of decoration. During harvest, one may imagine the workers seeking respite from the heat of the day. While the field or garden matures, birds will come down from their roost to eat the parasites that normally plague the fruit.

The birds are employees whose every need is satisfied. In symbolic terms, we may see the church as a mustard seed for the field, and the faithful as gainfully employed. We may also view the mustard tree as the more spiritually capable individual, to which fly all who are in need of direction, instruction, and personal growth. To what might we liken the field or garden? It may sound strange to some, but I envision a field of birds, a garden of birds. They are immature, unable to fly. It is only through the employment of the birds of the air that the birds of the ground may ever arise.

Second Chances

More on those servants in our next parable. We find this one in Luke 13:6-8. The story goes like this – a man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard. He looked to have fruit from it for three years, and for three years was disappointed. He finally gave up and told the dresser to have it removed, for he now thought that it took up space that might be put to better use. It cumbered the ground, he thought, choking and limiting the place it occupied. The dresser asked him to give it one more year so that he might dig around it and add fertilizer. It is a small parable, but a large story.

If we think of God as the man who had the fig tree planted in his vineyard, what does this parable tell us about God's purposes? A man with a vineyard grows grapes, that's the fact of the matter. What he wants is a harvest of grapes. Why put a fig tree in the middle of all those grapes? An experiment? Aesthetics? Leviticus 19:19 shows us that God placed a restriction on experimentation: “thou shalt not sow thy field with mingled seed.”

Was God being a rebel? Was he bending his own rules? Why was there room enough to put a fig tree among the grapes – and what does that say of you and I? Are we grapes or figs? I should ask, rather, is our thinking like the fruitful vine, or the unfruitful tree? How long has God hoped to get something out of us, only to be disappointed?

Slated to be uprooted and used as firewood, an unlikely individual thought to give us one last chance. Who does the dresser represent? Is he an angel, or is he that obnoxious neighbor who is always trying to cram his religion down our throats? (I am speaking here for the fruitless trees.) We would rather hope for the angel, a being of splendor and power. The neighbor offers us only what we don't want.

If I was a tree being dunged, I doubt I would understand the good of it. I doubt I could fully appreciate the power of the obnoxious neighbor. That power, of course, is the power to care, to love, to hope in second chances. As I said before, Those who attend such truths, as the servants of the parable, approach the matter only through a genuine interest in the outcome. It is we the servants who keep an eye on the fields.

The Harvest

Continuing in the vein of seeds and sowing, let us consider the parable found in Matthew 13:24-30. Christ describes for us the kingdom of heaven, showing us whose it is, what it includes, and what is removed. By implication, the location of the kingdom is also shown.

'The kingdom of heaven is like a man that sowed good seed in his field.'

At once, we see that one entity possesses the entire farm: the field, the barn, and all else. It is the farmer. In other words, it is the one who has invested himself into the labor. This farmer has bought land, built a barn, prepared the field, and put his best seed toward his goal.

We can see a clear connection between the farmer in the parable and God in his kingdom of heaven. What we must also be able to see is that God is not a flesh and blood farmer. He is a spiritual farmer, who plants spiritual seed in a spiritual field. If it has anything at all to do with flesh and blood people like you and me, it has to do with our spirits – that is to say: our minds.

What might be the goal of a spiritual farmer? If he prepares our spirits, and plants spiritual seed there, he himself being spirit, he expects a spiritual harvest: a matured spiritual product, or the end result of growing spiritual seed in the field of our spirits. This harvest will see two ends. One is storage for reuse, while the other is consumption.

As the story continues, the flesh and blood farmer of the parable slept, and while he did, his enemy sought to spoil the harvest by planting among the wheat a weed that is fit neither for consumption, nor again for reuse. The tares of the parable are a plant that is almost identical to the wheat. At maturation, however, it proves its uselessness with an obvious lack of fruit. The enemy went his way, the hired help noticed the tares, and the farmer concluded that his enemy was to blame.

What might this part of the story say about the spiritual truths to which Christ points? Does God sleep? Is the devil waging a war of attrition? Is the planting of tares part of a cycle – to which we must ask, are there enough good seed to insure a continued and flourishing enterprise? The spiritual nature is indeed one of cycles. Those who attend such truths, like the servants in the parable, approach the matter only through a genuine interest in the outcome, and despite natural passions, will always defer to the wisdom of the farmer.

Many of us picture this parable as a depiction of the end (the one in which the angels come forth and sever the wicked from among the just.) We tend to see our souls, that is to say: our personal identities, as the harvest. If that is the case, then we must also assume that the tares are almost identical to who we are: pseudo-souls, almost-people, not-quite-folk. They walk among us.

On the other hand, it is safe to say that a spiritual entity, who plants spirit in spirits, is not planting people. It is also safe to say that people are not the desired harvest. What is the good spiritual seed of a spiritual farmer? God is God, good is good, spirit is spirit, mind is mind. There is only the One. What we see in the parable is the mind of wheat as opposed to the mind of tare. We see a fruitful mind as opposed to a fruitless mind.

It is true enough to assume that our identities are not the same as our souls – for as we see in the Biblical creation story, a living soul includes a body of flesh and blood. Still from our point of view, we are very much attached to our spiritual allegiances. We either think and act like what God is working toward, or we think and act like the thing Satan planted in the field – which field still very much belongs to God.

The final determination of the parable is that both wheat and tare develop together. The wheat becomes more wheat-like, and will never change its nature. The tare becomes more tare-like, and its nature cannot be changed. If the tare is in your mind, God will bundle all such thinking together to be burned (and here, my suggestion is to view that not as hell and damnation, but as a source of fuel.) If the wheat is in your mind, the fruit will be consumed spiritually to maintain and magnify the spirit, while some of that fruit will be stored, to be planted in new fields.

I alluded to the location of the kingdom of heaven at the beginning of this study. Like the farmer, who has his field and barn and seed and hoped for harvest, all of this work being his – heaven's kingdom is where the work of God is enacted. It is all here, in the thoughts of our minds, and all around us in our works, for it is we the servants who watch the fields.