Mustard and yeast

Some encouragements from a past Bishop of Liverpool, commenting on the two parables of the mustard seed and the yeast from Luke’s Gospel, chapter 13, verses 18 to 21. You might have a different exegesis to offer, but you will nevertheless appreciate Ryle’s sound Biblical sense:

There is a peculiar interest belonging to the two parables contained in these verses. We find them twice delivered by our Lord, and at two distinct periods in His ministry. This fact alone should make us give the more earnest heed to the lessons which the parables convey. They will be found rich both in prophetical and experimental truths.

The parable of the mustard seed is intended to show the progress of the Gospel in the world.

The beginnings of the Gospel were exceedingly small. It was like “the grain of seed cast into the garden.” It was a religion which seemed at first so feeble, and helpless, and powerless, that it could not live. Its first founder was One who was poor in this world, and ended His life by dying the death of a malefactor on the cross. –Its first adherents were a little company, whose number probably did not exceed a thousand when the Lord Jesus left the world. –Its first preachers were a few fishermen and publicans, who were, most of them, unlearned and ignorant men. –Its first starting point was a despised corner of the earth, called Judea, a petty tributary province of the vast empire of Rome. –Its first doctrine was eminently calculated to call forth the enmity of the natural heart. Christ crucified was to the Jews a stumbling-block, and to the Greeks foolishness. –Its first movements brought down on its friends persecution from all quarters. Pharisees and Sadducees, Jews and Gentiles, ignorant idolaters and self-conceited philosophers, all agreed in hating and opposing Christianity. It was a sect everywhere spoken against. –These are no empty assertions. They are simple historical facts, which no one can deny. If ever there was a religion which was a little grain of seed at its beginning, that religion was the Gospel.

But the progress of the Gospel, after the seed was once cast into the earth, was great, steady and continuous. The grain of mustard seed “grew and waxed a great tree.” In spite of persecution, opposition, and violence, Christianity gradually spread and increased. Year after year its adherents became more numerous. Year after year idolatry withered away before it. City after city, and country after country, received the new faith. Church after church was formed in almost every quarter of the earth then known. Preacher after preacher rose up, and missionary after missionary came forward to fill the place of those who died. Roman emperors and heathen philosophers, sometimes by force and sometimes by argument, tried in vain to check the progress of Christianity. They might as well have tried to stop the tide from flowing, or the sun from rising. In a few hundred years, the religion of the despised Nazarene, –the religion which began in the upper chamber at Jerusalem,–had overrun the civilized world. It was professed by nearly all Europe, by a great part of Asia, and by the whole northern part of Africa. The prophetic words of the parable before us were literally fulfilled. The grain of mustard seed “waxed a great tree; and the fowls of the air lodged in the branches of it.” The Lord Jesus said it would be so. And so it came to pass.

Let us learn from this parable never to despair of any work for Christ, because its first beginnings are feeble and small. A single minister in some large neglected town-district, –a single missionary amid myriads of savage heathen,–a single reformer in the midst of a fallen and corrupt church,–each and all of these may seem at first sight utterly unlikely to do any good. To the eye of man, the work may appear too great, and the instrument employed quite unequal to it. Let us never give way to such thoughts. Let us remember the parable before us and take courage. When the line of duty is plain, we should not begin to count numbers, and confer with flesh and blood. We should believe that one man with the living seed of God’s truth on his side, like Luther or Knox, may turn a nation upside down. If God is with him, none shall stand against him. In spite of men and devils, the seed that he sows shall become a great tree.

The parable of the leaven is intended to show the progress of the Gospel in the heart of a believer.

The first beginnings of the work of grace in a sinner are generally exceedingly small. It is like the mixture of leaven with a lump of dough. A single sentence of a sermon, or a single verse of Holy Scripture,–a word of rebuke from a friend, or a casual religious remark overheard,–a tract given by a stranger, or a trifling act of kindness received from a Christian,–some one of these things is often the starting-point in the life of a soul. The first actings of the spiritual life are often small in the extreme–so small, that for a long time they are not known except by him who is the subject of them, and even by him not fully understood. A few serious thoughts and prickings of conscience,–a desire to pray really and not formally,–a determination to begin reading the Bible in private,–a gradual drawing towards means of grace,–an increasing interest in the subject of religion,–a growing distaste for evil habits and bad companions, these, or some of them, are often the first symptoms of grace beginning to move the heart of man. They are symptoms which worldly men may not perceive, and ignorant believers may despise, and even old Christians may mistake. Yet they are often the first steps in the mighty business of conversion. They are often the “leaven” of grace working in a heart.

The work of grace once begun in the soul will never stand still. It will gradually “leaven the whole lump.” Like leaven once introduced, it can never be separated from that with which it is mingled. Little by little it will influence the conscience, the affections, the mind, and the will, until the whole man is affected by its power, and a thorough conversion to God takes place. In some cases no doubt the progress is far quicker than in others. In some cases the result is far more clearly marked and decided than in others. But wherever a real work of the Holy Spirit begins in the heart, the whole character is sooner or later leavened and changed. The tastes of the man are altered. The whole bias of his mind becomes different. “Old things pass away, and all things become new.” (2 Cor. 5:17.) The Lord Jesus said that it would be so, and all experience shows that so it is.

Let us learn from this parable never to “despise the day of small things” in religion. (Zec. 4:10.) The soul must creep before it can walk, and walk before it can run. If we see any sign of grace beginning in a brother, however feeble, let us thank God and be hopeful. The leaven of grace once planted in his heart, shall yet leaven the whole lump. “He that begins the work, will perform it unto the day of Jesus Christ.” (Phil. 1:6.)

Let us ask ourselves whether there is any work of grace in our own hearts. Are we resting satisfied with a few vague wishes and convictions? Or do we know anything of a gradual, growing, spreading, increasing, leavening process going on in our inward man? Let nothing short of this content us. The true work of the Holy Spirit will never stand still. It will leaven the whole lump.

Near to God in Christ

Life has not been slow since our return from Italy. I spent some of the time in the airport with notes out, preparing to preach at our minister’s fraternal last Tuesday. My rather dull title was A faithful ministry: lessons from Colossians 1. The dullness arose from the fact that I was not sure which lessons I would concentrate on, those concerning the character and disposition of Epaphras, or some from Col 1.24-29, where Paul provides a mini-manual for ministry. In the end, I focused on the gospel minister’s tools, task and toil from Col 1.28-29, preaching twice to the brothers who gathered for the occasion. As is often the case, the last few hours brought a glut of apologies, as pastoral demands and occasional crises, together with unpredictable traffic problems, whittle us down in number. I think God helped in the preaching and hearing, and we had a good discussion which centred on the Biblical principles that enable the man of God to regulate his labours without being consumed and crushed by them.

On Wednesday I spent several hours with my father and co-pastor preparing for a congregational meeting, and then it was head down for the weekend.

On Saturday I preached at the Annual General Meeting of the Sovereign Grace Union. The SGU has been around for over one hundred years, taking a principled stand for the doctrines of grace. In that sense, it predates later organisations (such as the Banner of Truth) standing in a similar position, although it has much less prominence. The formal AGM preceded the preaching ministry, in which I surveyed Isaiah 53, pointing out the particular character of Christ Jesus’ person and work as revealed in the Servant of whom the prophet speaks. In the light of that, we then turned from the Saviour to those whom he saves, and considered our confession and our hope and our service. Despite a relatively small number in attendance, there was good fellowship, and an acknowledgement of God’s saving goodnesses toward us, and his providential care of us. The service was hosted by Providence Chapel in Chichester, where John Saunders is the pastor. The chapel is a listed building, and a fine place of worship in many respects. However, the pulpit was possibly the smallest I have ever preached in. The upper pulpit is of a height that would reduce the order of magnification required to search the night sky (you can actually look down on some of the seats in the balcony), so I preached from the lower. The trouble is that the upper pulpit hangs over the lower. With my notes in front of me, my shoulder blades were touching wood behind me, and the arch of the upper pulpit hung inches over my head (and that only if I leant gently forward). To the immediate left and right of the pulpit (and rising from it) two narrow tubes supported elegant and painfully delicate-looking glass globes, relics of the old gas-lighting system – space for the movement of hands was perhaps two or three feet. The Lord has not designed me to be static in preaching, and the pulpit seemed intended to make me so, but I managed to come through with both self and pulpit unscathed, if a little more physically constrained than usually.

On the Lord’s day, I had all three services here. My father had a long-standing engagement to preach in Droitwich at Witton Chapel (both Dad and I have preached there in the past, and we know several of the members well). In the Sunday School hour, having missed a few weeks in our studies in the Christian family, we spent some time in review, and then picked up the particular roles of husbands. We considered the character of their love (Christlike), the quality of their love (purposeful), and the anchor of their love (one-flesh union with their wives). We also paused to note that the primary tools of the man in demonstrating his love are his words, which must be accompanied by and demonstrated in his deeds. There was some discussion as to the difficulties we have in this regard, and we hope briefly to take up some principles of godly communication next week.

In the morning worship, we studied out Ephesians 2.13 under the title Far and near. We observed that once we were far off – Christless, stateless, friendless, hopeless and Godless -, a state that Paul calls us to remember. By contrast, now we are in Christ Jesus. Being in Christ Jesus is the only necessary condition of this change in our proximity to God, our nearness established at the moment of conversion and continuing. It is brought about by the blood of Christ. By his death he addresses the clouds of ignorance, mountains of sin, gulf of divine wrath and sea of fear that lie between us in our natural condition and the God of our salvation (Spurgeon’s imagery). He makes us near to God – this is our salvation, joy and security. The dead man is made alive through the blood of Christ; the dull Christian draws near to God by the same means, and is stirred up.

In the evening, we considered Mark 4.26-29, the parable of The growing seed. Here Christ sets forth for our exhortation and encouragement a picture of the kingdom that establishes both the extent and the limits of human agency. The sowing of the seed has been committed to Christ’s church, and is to be conducted wisely, widely, regularly, confidently and humbly. Once the seed has been sown comes the growing of the crop. At this point the agency of the sower is suspended, and a mysterious, sure and gradual process is accomplished by God himself. We are called to sow, but God reserves both the right to bless the sowing and the ensuing glory of the growing. There is an antidote here to the false guilt we so often feel with regard to those to whom we witness of Christ, but who remain unconverted up to this point – if we have faithfully performed our duty, our hands are free of blood, for we cannot make a man a Christian. Finally, there is the coming of the harvest. The expectant sower enters the scene again, waiting for the harvest to thrust in his sickle and reap. When we have done our sowing, we must be watching, waiting for the accomplishment of the purposes of Almighty God, the merciful Saviour of sinners.

Today I am off to the John Owen Centre for the Theology Study Group. More on that later, DV.