Mark 4:30

It is like a grain of mustard seed.

The parable of the mustard seed

In the parable before us, the unity of the kingdom becomes conspicuous, the individuality of its members subordinate. The figure is changed accordingly. “The kingdom of heaven is like to a grain of mustard seed 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.” The kingdom is a tree; its subjects are as birds sheltering under its shadow. As it grows and spreads out its branches, it is shown that it has been planted by God for the spiritual good of men. The kingdom here appears as an organic whole, a source of blessing for all who come under its shade. Taking the illustration in its earliest stages, we must have regard not only to the “grain of mustard seed,” but also to the presence and action of the man who “took it and sowed it in his field.” That the agent in sowing this grain of seed is the Son of Man, admits of no doubt. The Saviour is not here represented by the tree; for then would His disciples be the branches, as in the fifteenth chapter of John’s Gospel. He is the Man who sowed His seed in His field. Our Lord having thus a distinct place in the parable, we are precluded from thinking of the tree as a symbol for Christ Himself, and afterwards for His people collectively as His representatives on the earth. Further, we are prevented from seeing here any allusion to the lowliness of the Saviour’s birth, or the feebleness of His infancy, understood by some to be implied in the image of the little seed. The incongruity of the description, “the least of all seeds,” as attributed to the Divine Redeemer, is so glaring as to warn us against such methods of interpretation. The kingdom is here represented as something to which men come, and in coming to which they receive shelter and comfort. At first sight this might seem to point to the Church, as the outward manifestation of the kingdom-a view which might have been accepted, had the branches of the tree represented the members of the Church. But when the members are not the branches, but are sheltered among the branches, something distinct from the Church seems intended. Both in this parable, and in that of the leaven, the reference is clearly to the truth of the kingdom, as in the parable of the sower the seed is the Word of the kingdom. This parable is concerned with the outward exhibition of the truth; the leaven, with the inward and hidden application of it. The kingdom of heaven is a kingdom of truth; this truth is displayed to the world in outward manifestation, and also applied to the souls of men as an unseen influence. We have accordingly two parables: the one representing the visible, the other the hidden, operation of the truth revealed in Jesus. The truth of the gospel-the truth as to the pardoning mercy and renewing grace provided in Jesus, was as a very little seed, planted in the earth by the Messiah, and that so quietly that the act hardly attracted the attention of the world. The significance of the act was not understood even by those who observed it. To the future was entrusted the discovery of the importance for the world of this little seed. It was destined to spring up and attain a great stature, spreading itself forth on every side, attracting attention all around. (Dr. Calderwood.)

An encouraging parable

No doubt other figures might have been chosen in abundance, more suggestive of the great after-development of the kingdom of Christ-such forest trees, e.g., as the oak of Bashan or cedar of Lebanon; but the acorn and cone were both far less adapted to represent the littleness of its initial state. The mustard was probably the smallest seed from which so large a shrub or tree was known to grow. It is not without a purpose that the contrast between the first beginning of His kingdom and its expected future should have been put before the apostles in such a striking form. The parables which had preceded it must have had a most depressing effect upon their minds. They showed that of the seed sown in men’s hearts, three parts would be lost to one saved; and that the field carefully planted with the best of seeds too often mocked all the husbandman’s hopes of a goodly crop by a simultaneous growth of noxious weeds. Well then might this parable be spoken to encourage them in their despondency. No doubt the main object of the parable was simply to predict the future increase of the kingdom; but there is surely a side lesson to be learned from the natural properties of the mustard seed-from its internal heat and pungency, and from the fact that it must be bruised ere it yield its best virtues. Its inherent stimulating force finds its parallel in the quickening vitality and vigour derived from the indwelling of the Holy Spirit; and the necessity of crushing it is no inapt figure of the principle which has been embodied in the familiar proverb, “The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church.” (H. M. Luckock, D. D.)

The mustard plant

As I was riding across the plain of Akka, on the way to Carmel, I perceived, at some distance from the path, what seemed to be a little forest or nursery of trees. I turned aside to examine them. On coming nearer, they proved to be an extensive field of the plant (mustard) I was so anxious to see. It was then in blossom, full grown, in some cases six, seven, and nine feet high, with a stem or trunk an inch or more in thickness, throwing out branches on every side. I was now satisfied in part. I felt that such a plant might well be called a tree, and, in comparison with the seed producing it, a great tree. But still the branches, or stems of the branches, were not very large, nor, apparently, very strong. Can the birds, I said to myself, rest upon them? Are they not too slight and flexible? Will they not bend or break beneath the superadded weight? At that very instant, as I stood and revolved the thought, lo! one of the fowls of heaven stopped in its flight through the air, alighted down on one of the branches, which hardly moved beneath the shock, and then began, perched there before my eyes, to warble forth a strain of the richest music. All my doubts were now charmed away. I was delighted at the incident. It seemed to me at the moment as if I enjoyed enough to repay me for all the trouble of the whole journey. (H. B. Hackett, D. D.)

Small beginnings

Some few monks came into Brittany in ages past, when that country was heathen. They built a rude shed in which to dwell, and a chapel of moor stones, and then prepared to till the soil. But, alas! they had not any wheat. Then one spied a robin redbreast sitting on a cross they had set up, and from his beak dangled an ear of wheat. They drove the bird away, and secured the grain, sowed it, and next year had more; sowed again, and so by degrees were able to sow large fields, and gather abundant harvests. If you go now into Brittany, and wonder at the waving fields of golden grain, the peasants will tell you all came from robin redbreast’s ear of corn. And they have turned the redbreast’s ear of corn into a proverb. (S. Baring Gould, M. A.)

The Church as an organization

A prophecy which has been fulfilled to the letter. In the course of little more than one century after it was uttered, there was not a city of any size in the Roman Empire which had not its bishop, with his priests and deacons preaching the Word of God, baptizing (and so admitting men into the new kingdom), celebrating the Eucharist, and exercising discipline over the faithful. It was not the spread of a philosophy, or of a system of opinions, or even of a gospel only. It was the spread of an organization for purposes of rule and discipline, of exclusion of the unworthy, and of pastoral care over the worthy. And it went on progressing and prospering till it became a great power in the world, though not of it. For centuries emperors, kings, and people had to take it into account in every department of government and civil policy. Its present weakness is a reaction against its former abuse of its power when it had become secular, and failed to fulfil some of the chief purposes of its institution. (M. F. Sadler.)

The Church giving rest and shelter

In all ages the Church has afforded to men what the Lord foretold, rest and shelter. No human philosophy has afforded any rest or refuge for the wandering spirit. Only the Church has done this, and the Church has been able to do this because the foundation of all her doctrine has been the Incarnation of her Lord. She teaches the soul to look for the foundation of her hope, not into herself, her frames and feelings, but to the historical facts of the Incarnation, Death, and consequent Resurrection and Ascension of the eternal Son, together with the Church system and sacramental means which are the logical outcome of that Incarnation; and because of this, and this only, she is an abiding refuge. (M. F. Sadler.)

The seedling of Iona

Far out in the western main, is a little island round which for nearly half the year the Atlantic clangs his angry billows, keeping the handful of inhabitants close prisoners. Most of it is bleak and barren; but there is one little bay rimmed round with silvery sand, and reflecting in its waters a slope of verdure. Towards this bay one autumn evening, 1,300 years ago, a rude vessel steered its course. It was a flimsy bark, no better than a huge basket of osiers covered over with the skins of beasts; but the tide was tranquil, and as the boatmen plied their oars, they raised the voice of psalms. Skimming across the bay they beached their coracle and stepped on shore-about thirteen in number. On the green slope they built a few hasty huts and a tiny Christian temple. The freight of that little ship was the gospel, and the errand of the saintly strangers was to tell benighted heathen about Jesus and His love. From the favoured soil of Ireland they had brought a grain of mustard seed, and now they sowed it in Iona. In the conservatory of their little church it throve, till it was fit to be planted out on the neighbouring mainland. To the Picts with their tattooed faces, to the Druids peeping and muttering in their dismal groves, the missionaries preached the gospel. That gospel triumphed. The groves were felled, and where once they stood rose the house of prayer. Planted out on the bleak moorland, the little seed became a mighty tree, so that the hills of Caledonia were covered with the shade; nor must Scotland ever forget the seedling of Iona, and the labours of Columba with his meek Culdees. (James Hamilton, D. D.)

The growth of the little seed

This suggests the treatment we ourselves should give the truths of God. An acorn on the mantelpiece, a dry bulb in a dark cupboard, a mustard seed in your pocket or in a pill box, won’t grow. So texts or truths in the memory are acorns on the shelf, seeds in the pillbox. It is good to have them, but don’t leave them there. Ponder over it till it grows wonderful-till its meaning comes out, and you feel some amazement at its unsurmised significance. Ponder it till, like the phosphorescent forms of vegetation, the light of its expanding falls on other passages, and revelation is itself revealed. (James Hamilton, D. D.)

The small germ expanded

This is a great encouragement for those who are trying to find favour for any useful plan or good idea. As long as it remains in your own mind it is the seed in the mustard pod; but cast it into the field, the garden, it will grow. Thus John Pound’s little scapegrace, bribed by a hot potato to come for his daily lesson, has multiplied into our Ragged Schools, with their thousands of teachers and myriads of scholars. Thus David Nasmith’s notion of a house-to-house visitation of the London poor has grown into those Town and City Missions which are the salt, the saving element, in our overcrowded centres. (James Hamilton, D. D.)

Spiritual growth

Impressions growing into resolutions constitute conversion, or the beginning of the Divine life in man. These impressions may appear insignificant, but when they produce thought, and thought produces action, the result is so great that it creates attention.

I. Vitality. The small seed of the mustard is brimful of life. This we discover not by microscopical analysis, but by observing the changes that are wrought, and the growth which follows. The gospel is the power of God unto salvation. Divine thoughts are full of life because the Spirit of God is in them.

II. Assimilation. The seed was sown, and when life reappeared, the properties of the soil, the rain, the light, and the air, were assimilated to build up the herb.

III. Expansion. The statue does not grow. The mountain does not expand. Growth is a quality of life only. The process is hidden, but expansion is manifest. The roots spread in the earth, the branches in the air. The growth of devotion is God-ward, that of usefulness man-ward. The power of the gospel creates intellectual, moral, and social expansion. Christ in the heart enlarges its capacity for purity, love, and goodness. “Be ye also enlarged.”

IV. Maturity. There are ends to piety; it is not a cycle eternally revolving in the same way, but a definite action with definite results. The life of the believer steps forward, by slow degrees, until it reaches the measure of the stature of Christ. There are initial conditions of faith, but these make way for the stronger stages of entire consecration to God. (Anon.)

The growth of the kingdom

I. The kingdom of heaven was small at its establishment.

1. Its numbers were limited.

2. Its subjects were destitute of resources of a visible kind.

3. Its smallness only disguised its real resources. The Church’s strength is not to be judged of by sense.

II. In the end it shall be very great. It soon grew among the Jews-was enlarged to embrace the Gentiles-was soon spread into all the world-is destined to a great enlargement-its magnitude will appear at the last day. (Expository Discourses.)

The design of the parable is obvious; the underlying thought is simple and single. A little germ and a large result, a small commencement and a conspicuous growth, an obscure and tiny granule followed by a vigorous vegetation, the “least of all seeds,” and “the greatest of all herbs,” such is the avowed contrast of the parable. Is it not so when we glance at the history of real religion?

I. In the world.

II. In communities.

III. In the individual soul. (James Hamilton, D. D.)

The gospel originally small and ultimately great

The gist of the representation lies in the largeness of the produce as compared with the smallness of the original. Of course, had our Lord merely wished to show that the gospel, in its maturity and efflorescence, would overtop other systems and overshadow the creation, he might have led His hearers into the forests of the earth, and selected some monarch of the woods. Even in Eastern countries the mustard plant, though it reaches a size and strength unknown in our own land, would not be used as a symbol by a speaker whose object was to shadow stateliness and dominion. But, when you compare the size of the seed with the size of the shrub-and wish to illustrate the production of great things from small-it would seem probable that in the whole range of the vegetable kingdom there is not to be found a more apposite image. The degree in which the shrub expands in size as compared with the seed, is, perhaps, greater in the case of the mustard plant than in any other instance. And in this, we again say, must be thought to lie the gist of the parable-the chief object of Christ being to show that there never had been so mighty a consummation following on so inconsiderable a beginning; that never had there been so vast a disproportion between a thing at its outset, and that same thing at its conclusion, as was to be exhibited in the case of that kingdom of heaven, the setting up of which was His business on earth. (H. Melvill.)

Little seeds soul saving

But to pass from these general observations on the imagery drawn from the vegetable world to that particular figure which Christ employs in our text. Observe, we pray you, the minuteness of the seed, which is ordinarily first deposited by God’s Spirit in man’s heart. If you examine the records of Christian biography, you will find, so far as it is possible to search out such facts, that conversion is commonly to be traced to inconsiderable beginnings. We believe, for example, that proceeding on the principle that He will honour what He has instituted, God ordinarily uses the preaching of the gospel as His engine for gathering in His people. But then it is perhaps single sentence in a sermon, a text which is quoted, a remark to which, probably, if you had asked the preacher himself, he attached less consequence than to any other part of his sermon-this is the seed, the inconsiderable grain, which makes its way into the heart of the unconverted hearer. We just wish that a book could be compiled, registering the sayings, the words, which, falling from the lips of preachers in different ages, have penetrated that thick coating of indifference and prejudice which lies naturally on every man’s heart, and reached the soil in which vegetation is possible. We are quite persuaded that you would not find many whole sermons in such a book, not many long pieces of elaborate reasoning, not many protracted demonstrations of human danger and human need; we have a thorough belief that the volume would be a volume of little fragments, that it would be made up of simple sentiments and brief statements; and that, in the majority of instances, a few syllables would constitute that element of Christianity which gained a lodgment in the soul. (H. Melvill.)

The maxims of human philosophy not so productive as Divine truth

We shall not enlarge further on the parable as sketching Christ’s religion in its dominion over the individual. We can only remark, in passing, that none of the maxims of human philosophy have shown themselves capable of yielding such produce as we thus trace to the seed of a solitary text. There is much truth and beauty in many of those sayings with which writers on ethics have adorned their pages; but the most weighty proverbs that ever issued from the porch of the academy, and the most sententious maxims which lecturers on morals ever delivered to their people, have always failed to work anything approaching to that renovation of nature which can distinctly be traced to some gospel truth quoted with authority from God. Take the result of a hiding in the heart a sentence which asserts the excellence of virtue, and one which sets forth God’s love in the gift of His Son. Now sentences may be likened unto seeds, not only because both are small, but because, if rightly planted and watered, and developed, they are capable of producing fruit in the life and conversation. But who, unless ignorant of facts, or determined to be deceived, would assert the holiness of the best heathenism to be comparable to the holiness of Christianity, or who that has ever tried theory, by the touchstone of experience, would declare, that a man who was a cultivator of virtue, because excellent in its nature, will ever reach as high a standard of morality as one who, having hope in Christ, seeks to “purify himself even as Christ is pure?” We give it as a truth, which the history of the world presses forward to substantiate, that no maxims, except Scriptural maxims, have been long efficacious in withholding man from vice, or have ever nerved him to the striving after a high-toned and elevated morality. And if, then, we must admit that the sayings of a sound moral philosophy may be figured by seeds, because they contain elements which, under due culture, may be expanded into something like righteousness of deportment, we still contend that when the amount even of possible produce is contrasted with the original grain, the tree which, under the most favourable circumstances, can spring from the seed, and that seed itself-there are no sayings, but those of Christianity, just as there are no particles, but those of Divine grace, which deserve to be compared with the grain of mustard seed; for in no case but that, we must believe, would there be such disproportion between what was cast into the soil of the heart, and that spreading over of the whole district of the life, as to warrant the employment of the imagery whose design it has been our effort to delineate. (H. Melvill.)

The visible growth of the gospel

Christ’s kingdom also grows outwardly and visibly as the hidden mustard seed grows into a great tree. Christ not only taught new truth, but He also founded a new society, which is to he like a living, growing tree. That society is sometimes called the Visible Church, and it is very visible in our day, quite as visible as the biggest garden tree is among garden plants. (J. Wells.)

Christ’s religion a refuge for all

As the tree is for every bird from any quarter of heaven that wishes its shelter, so Christ’s religion is for all sorts of people. The religion of the Chinese is only for the Chinese; the religion of Mahomed is only for those who live in warm countries; a Hindoo loses his religion by crossing the seas; but the religion of Jesus of Nazareth is for people of every class, clime, and nation. It is like the tree that offers lodging to all the birds of the air. (J. Wells.)

Fiery energy

Darius sent to Alexander the Great a bag of sesame seed, symbolizing the number of his army. In return, Alexander sent a sack of mustard seed, showing not only the numbers but the fiery energy of his soldiers. (D’Herbelot.)

Building and growing

To see the stateliest pile of building filling the space which before was empty, makes an appeal to the imagination: that kind of increase we seem to understand; stone is added to stone by the will and toil of man. But when we look at the deeply-rooted and wide-branching tree, and think of the tiny seed from which all this sprang without human will or toil, but by an internal vitality of its own, we are confronted by the most mysterious and fascinating of all things, the life that lies unseen in nature. (Marcus Dods.)

The mustard seed and leaven

The parable of the grain of mustard seed must be taken in close connection with that of the leaven, and both are meant to illustrate the small beginnings, the silent growth, and the final victory of the grace of God in the human soul. But they belong to different points of view. The one is extensive, the other intensive. The parable of the grain of mustard seed shows us the origin and the development of the kingdom of God, in communities and in the world: the parable of the leaven shadows forth its unimpeded influence in the soul of each separate man. (Archdeacon Farrar.)

All great movements have had trivial commencements

Look at history, and see how true the doctrine is, not only of the kingdom of heaven, but of every other power that has really held sway among men. In almost all cases the great, the permanent work has been done, not by those who seemed to do very much, but by those who seemed to do very little. Our Lord’s founding of the Church was but the most striking instance of a universal rule. He seemed to all outside spectators to do almost nothing. The Roman rulers hardly knew of His name. What was He doing? He was sowing the seed; the seed whose fruit was not yet, whose perfect fruit was not to be gathered, as it has since turned out, for many centuries; the seed which seemed small and perishable, but was certain to grow into a great tree. All the greatest work has been done both before and after, not often by producing immediate results, but by sowing seeds. So have sciences all grown, not from brilliant declarations to the world, but from patient labour, and quiet thought, and language addressed to the few who think. So has all growth in politics always begun in the secret thoughts of men who have found the truth, and have committed it to books or to chosen learners. The true powers of human life are contained in those seeds, out of which alone comes any real and permanent good. (Bp. Temple.)