Dear Friends:

He said therefore, “What is the kingdom of God like? And to what should I compare it? It is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in the garden; it grew and became a tree, and the birds of the air made nests in its branches.”

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And again he said, “To what should I compare the kingdom of God? It is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with three measures of flour until all of it was leavened” (Lk 13:18-21).

There are entire theological treatises devoted to the parables of the mustard scene and the yeast.

Some interpreters say that a mustard seed shouldn’t grow into a tree big enough to support nesting birds. They claim that Jesus is warning that the church can get out of hand in size and organization and become an idolatrous end in itself.

The same eisegetic (highly personal and subjective) interpretation is applied to the yeast as a symbol of growth by fermentation and pride rather than the graceful increase of the Holy Spirit.

I do not buy this. Jesus can be taken at his word. He is speaking in parable and metaphor about how a tiny, almost invisible seed of faith can grow into something capable of shade and shelter and the nurture of life. That’s the thought of the Creator and Redeemer and that is who Jesus is.

Similarly, the Gospel, enlivened by the Spirit, can grow and transform the ordinary ingredients of life into something tasteful and filling.

Jesus used basic stuff like sheep and goats, lost coins, fish, and dinner invitations to illustrate his teachings. Here for instance, he is using bread dough and mustard to illustrate the comprehensive and transformative power of the kingdom of God.

You see, Jesus didn’t come to save our extraordinary lives because who of us has an extraordinary life? Jesus came to save us from our grind-it-out, dull-as-dirt, serve-yourself lives of sin (Jn 10:10).

We may have only bits and pieces of faith but Jesus makes a dwelling place for us out of those. We may be merely subsisting on tasteless flat bread, but he says, “Here, why don’t you add me into the mix to lift your lives into something tasteful and fulfilling.”

The yeasty dough and mustard of these parables brings to mind the concept of “pretzel grace.”

“I’ve never heard of such a preposterous thing,” you exclaim. True enough, but bear with me.

Pretzels have never had much appeal to me. My early exposure to them was to something that looked like twisted, knotted willow twigs and tasted like cardboard glazed with salt. They were a curiosity, but ultimately disappointing at snack time.

Generalizations are hard to make, though. I have a co-worker, Lesley, who takes those same salty store-bought pretzels, crumbles them into a crunchy dust, and uses them for the bottom crust of a raspberry desert concoction that is “may-I-have-a-second-helping-please” good.

Later on in life at baseball games, winter carnivals and German bakeries, I encountered giant pretzels–baked strands of bread twisted into elaborate shapes, sprinkled with salt or cinnamon, served hot and often eaten with a mustard spread. These pretzels are still an acquired taste for me because I limit bread in my diet. Like doughnuts, pretzels generally look better to me than they end up tasting and consuming them always leaves a caloric residue of regret.

There are times though, like a cool evening at the ball park in the early spring or fall when a fresh, hot pretzel can satisfy with filling warmth.

Pretzels were originally baked by monks in medieval monasteries as a culinary symbol of grace to celebrate the resurrection and the end of the austere season of Lent.There are gourmet versions with spinach and cheese fillings, sweet glazes and sprinkles and the like. The elaborate shaping adds to the delight of the snack.

I have written about intense suffering and healing the past two weeks. Why write about something as trivial and frivolous as a pretzel with mustard that can be purchased from a booth at any country fair or amusement park?

Because just as the lavish riches of our heavenly Father’s grace and power are immeasurable (Eph 1), they are limitless. Between the manger and the cross, birth to death, Jesus brought the love of God to transform human experience.

Jesus put off theological questions to hold children on his lap and bless them (Lk 18:15-17). He applied the same power that brought the light of day to the world to salvage the joy of a wedding celebration (Gen 1:3-5; Jn 2:1-11). He had a deeply human appreciation for a cold drink on a hot day (Jn 4:7). He was accused of eating and drinking the wrong things with the wrong people (Lk 7:34). He enjoyed a good party, and boating and fishing with friends (Mt 9:10; Lk 5:1-11; 8:22; Jn 21:1-8; ). He wept at his friend’s funeral (Jn 11:35). He began to mend the hearts of his grieving friends by preparing breakfast for them on a beach (Jn 21:9-14).

I have no problem at all thinking of Jesus eating a hot pretzel with mustard at a ball game.

There is a tendency among Christians of grim determination (kind of a spiritual obsessive-compulsive disorder really) to shelve their thoughts of Jesus in neat alphabetical order for display and ready reference. The problem is that life doesn’t follow the alphabet or logic.

Who knows when he or she is going to come around the corner and run into a leper seeking healing? I mean, what did you think the first time someone who you knew to be HIV positive held out their hand to you in friendship?

What do you say when a co-worker unexpectedly breaks down and tells you, “My marriage is falling apart and there is nothing that I can do to stop it?”

How do you connect God to a smile at a stressful moment? Someone stooping down beside you to help clean up a mess that you have shamefully claimed as your own? Watching your child absorbed in play? A friend, who knows the hard day that you’re experiencing, dropping off some of your favorite dark chocolate?

It is a measure of our selfishness that we keep Jesus on the shelf until we are in pain, fear or need. If our prayers do not contain gratitude, if our hearts make no allowance for joy, then we may have a religion, but we don’t have God.

Jesus tells us that it is really hard to believe that anything could grow from the infinitesimal smallness of a mustard seed. Perhaps a yellow flower might in the warmer days of spring, but can you really expect to find strength enough to get a foothold, build a nest, withstand the winds? Yes he says, the kingdom of God is not limited by human expectations.

Jesus says that a woman mixing yeast in the bread dough that she is making is a fair comparison to the kingdom of God. That bread might feed a family or a weary worker. It might sustain life in a helpless and lonely neighbor. It may be enjoyed at a banquet or devoured at a soup kitchen. A hungry, but happy kid at a ball game might enjoy the treat of a pretzel with mustard. God is there with love for any man, woman, boy or girl who consumes that bread, regardless of the circumstances.

Because the bread is leavened, surely those circumstances where the kingdom of God extends will not be deemed “religious” occasions (Compare Ex 12:17).  The circumstances that Jesus is speaking to are any time and any place where there is hunger of the heart and soul.

Life has its twists and turns both large and small. Jesus knows these things and has a grace to help us in our every need. Sometimes you can call it “pretzel grace.”

“O taste and see that the Lord is good. Happy are those who take refuge in him” (Ps 34:8)

Under the mercy of Christ,

Kent

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Please note that the content and viewpoints of Mr. Hansen are his own and are not necessarily those of the C.S. Lewis Foundation. We have not edited his writing in any substantial way and have permission from him to post his content.

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Kent Hansen is a Christian attorney, author and speaker. He practices corporate law and is the managing attorney of the firm of Clayson, Mann, Yaeger & Hansen in Corona, California. Kent also serves as the general counsel of Loma Linda University and Medical Center in Loma Linda, California.

Finding God’s grace revealed in the ordinary experiences of life, spiritual renewal in Christ and prayer are Kent’s passions. He has written two books, Grace at 30,000 Feet and Other Unexpected Places published by Review & Herald in 2002 and Cleansing Fire, Healing Streams: Experiencing God’s Love Through Prayer, published by Pacific Press in spring 2007. Many of his stories and essays about God’s encompassing love have been published in magazines and journals. Kent is often found on the hiking trails of the southern California mountains, following major league baseball, playing the piano or writing his weekly email devotional, “A Word of Grace for Your Monday” that is read by men and women from Alaska to Zimbabwe.

Kent and his beloved Patricia are enjoying their 31st year of marriage. They are the proud parents of Andrew, a college student.