Chapter
6
by Fr. Thomas Keating
The Parable of the Leaven - I
He told them another parable:
"The kingdom of God is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with
three measures of flour until all of it was leavened." (Matthew 13:33)
If the kingdom of
God is like leaven, Jesus' teaching is absolutely revolutionary. In the ancient
Israelite world, leaven--today's yeast--was a symbol of corruption. Modern
English usage has given it a positive sense--fermentation and new life. But for
the people of Israel, leaven was the archetype of corruption. It symbolized the
unholy, the profane, everyday life. Unleavened bread was the proper
symbol of the holy, the sacred, the feast. Why was leaven regarded as such a
lively symbol of corruption? In ancient times leaven was made by placing a piece
of bread in a dark, damp place until it rotted and stank.
In Jesus'
one-sentence tale, a woman took leaven and put it in three measures of flour, an
amount sufficient to feed about fifty people. This is the exact measurement that
we hear about in other places in scripture. Abraham ordered his wife Sarah to
make three measures of bread for his three angelic visitors at the Oaks of Mamre.
Hannah made this offering when she presented Samuel in the temple. The amount is
thus related to epiphanies of God in the Old Testament. But the epiphany here is
quite different; it is an epiphany of corruption. In this case, the leaven is
kneaded into an enormous amount of dough and in due time the whole batch becomes
leavened. Are we to understand that the kingdom of God is working like leaven in
the dough to form a huge mass of corruption?
The hearers are
naturally asking the question, "Is this man saying that good is evil?"
Jesus' parables work not only through similarities, but, as Scott points out,
through dissimilarities. The usual image of leaven as the symbol of corruption
is used in this parable to emphasize the negative aspect--or what seems like the
negative aspect--of the kingdom. For one thing, the parable questions the
hearers' easy assumption of the predictability of what is good and what is evil.
It confronts their preconceptions regarding where goodness is to be found. In
this respect, it coheres with the parable of the good Samaritan where the
boundaries of social stratification are dramatically subverted. The Samaritan,
the Israelite's epitome of the bad guy, turns out to be a hero.
In this parable, an
even more profound boundary is being challenged. Can evil be good? Recalling
Jesus' custom of reaching out in table fellowship with the outcasts of society,
the kingdom of God is revealed to be active in marginal people and in the
marginalized. Where is the kingdom if it is not in the holy, the sacred, and the
acceptable places? Jesus, by his example and preaching, says, "Look for it
in the most unexpected places." According to the parables, the kingdom of
God is free to appear anywhere, any time, and under any guise. It does not fit
into our presuppositions or expectations, and still less, our demands. In fact,
it deliberately removes, prop by prop, everything holding up our ideas of the
nature of the kingdom and where it is to be found.
A story might help
to grasp the shock value of this saying. An acquaintance of mine in California
with a very active and ongoing practice of contemplative prayer, experienced
terrible tragedy. Her only son, a young man just coming out of college with
every promise for a brilliant future, was shot to death on the street for no
reason at all by a sociopath, a man who just wanted to kill somebody for the
sheer pleasure of exercising absolute power over someone. The murderer was
convicted and sent to prison. Of course, the mother was devastated by the
senseless murder of her son. She was plagued by the harrowing questions:
"Why couldn't God have done something to prevent it? Why did it have to be
my son? Is this a punishment for my sins? Does God really love me?" For
her, the tragedy was unmitigated evil, monumental corruption.
After much prayer
she decided to write this man and tell him that she forgave him. For a year she
received no response, Finally a very matter-of-fact letter came, acknowledging
her letter but without the least sign of remorse. She wrote back asking if he
would be willing to see her. Again a wait of about a year. Finally a note came
saying yes. She drove the long distance to the prison, and accompanied by the
social worker assigned to his case, she met the murderer of her son. He spent
most of the time describing, absolutely deadpan, the horrendous childhood he had
suffered. He was an unwanted child, continually subjected to physical abuse in
the extreme. As a consequence, he had become totally antisocial and
narcissistic. At one point in the conversation, he confessed, "You cannot
imagine the immense joy I felt when I stood over your son and realized that I
had killed him!" It was his moment of ultimate power. For the first time
the sense of self-worth that had been systematically crushed by his whole
previous life experience flooded over him to the point of ecstatic triumph.
The mother stood her
ground. Her forgiveness was unshaken, and she reaffirmed it to him. The social
worker was flabbergasted by the spirit of this woman who could calmly forgive
the one who had caused her the greatest pain of her life. The social worker
wrote to her sometime later saying, "This man has started to change. He
shows a little more courtesy and consideration for the other inmates."
The woman felt moved
to stay in contact with the prisoner. She offered to return. His immediate
response was poignant: "Please don't come again. I'm afraid, if you keep
coming, I'll have to face the unbearable pain of my childhood." His
antisocial behavior had enabled him to maintain absolute denial of a past that
was too painful to face up to. But she did go back. At the end of the interview,
she embraced him.
I do not know what
the final outcome of this exchange will be. She is still writing, still visiting
him, still feeling the pain of her great loss. In her last interview, she
detected as she gave him a farewell hug, a tiny tear in the corner of his eye.
In a very real sense, she has become his mother and he is becoming her son.
Was God's kingdom
active in the monumental corruption involved in this event? Perhaps the movement
of one person from total inhumanity to the capacity to shed a single tear is a
greater act of God than the sanctification of a saint? Who can judge? Jesus
often identified himself with the outcasts of society that everybody had given
up on by sharing a meal with them. Evidently the kingdom of God was active
there. The kingdom, of course, is at work everywhere, but the parable suggests
that it is mightiest in the marginalized and in events that we characterize as
unmitigated evil. To draw a single tear, to us almost imperceptible, from a
heart of stone must cause all creation to vibrate with joy and wonder at the
power of the kingdom and of God's love.
More information can be obtained by reading the book The
Kingdom of God is Like . . .by Fr. Thomas Keating. It is offered in our Book
Store.
