Jesus notes a proverb that was just proven true. A prophet has no dishonor, except in his hometown. When a prophet goes on tour, he is applauded and respected as God’s authoritative emissary, but he comes home and gets no respect. And Jesus extends this proverb to include his relatives and his own household. This implies that his mother and siblings are not supportive of Jesus. They are ashamed of him and judge him as taboo. Our Lord forms this proverb based on the Old Testament. He claims for himself the office of prophet, and he resembles the prophets of old.

There is a sentiment going around nowadays with increasing frequency, which can be summed up as, “That offends me!” People seem to get offended at the drop of a hat as though there is no greater sin than to offend someone. If you offend someone, then you have deep moral failings and phobias that need to be acknowledged and fixed. The offender is always in the wrong, while the offended one is blameless and beyond reproach.
If someone is so easily offended, maybe the issue isn’t with others but with them. At times, it is surely wrong to be offensive, but what if there are times that it is equally problematic to be offended? And it is this line of reasoning that our Lord sets before us as he takes the weekend to visit his hometown:

[Jesus] went away from there and came to his hometown, and his disciples followed him. And on the Sabbath he began to teach in the synagogue, and many who heard him were astonished, saying, “Where did this man get these things? What is the wisdom given to him? How are such mighty works done by his hands?Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon? And are not his sisters here with us?” And they took offense at him. And Jesus said to them, “A prophet is not without honor, except in his hometown and among his relatives and in his own household.” And he could do no mighty work there, except that he laid his hands on a few sick people and healed them. And he marveled because of their unbelief. (Mark 6:1-6)

Our Lord just raised the daughter of Jairus from the dead. A mom and dad got to hold the warm flesh of their girl, who was just moments before a cold corpse. The power of our Savior shattered the grip of death, and it tenderly hands a daughter back to her dad. Yet, Jesus is not one to let the grass grow underneath his feet. The Father sent him to be a traveling preacher, so he must continue his journey. And Mark places him next in his hometown. The approximately thirty-mile walk from the Sea of Galilee to his family estate is glossed over without event.
Nazareth was the family residence for the clan of Jesus.
We know from chapter 1 that Jesus is from Nazareth. An impure spirit even called him Jesus of Nazareth. Mark, though, is not interested in the name of this village, but he underscores that this is the fatherland of our Lord. This is where Jesus grew up, went to school, and found a job. Despite any connections his family had with Bethlehem, Nazareth is the family residence for the clan of Jesus.
Estimates put the population of Nazareth maybe as high as 1,600 in the first century, not very big, and family extended beyond just your immediate household to include cousins, aunts, and grand-parents. In a small village like this, it was not uncommon to be related to half the town. Yet, your hometown was not just about the address of where you went to elementary school. Rather, in the ancient world, your origin forecasted your destiny. Heroes hailed from prestigious locations. Insignificant hamlets gave birth to people of little consequence. Your fatherland determined your station and lot in life.
And if you attempted to advance beyond your station, it was looked upon with suspicion and contempt. A warm welcome is by no means guaranteed for our Lord. Though, as is his habit, Jesus heads to the synagogue on the Sabbath to do some teaching, and the elders are happy to let Jesus fill the pulpit for the day.
The Nazarene congregation’s response to the teaching of Jesus takes a sour turn.
The people hear Jesus’ teaching, and they are amazed and astonished. This is not a happy surprise; rather, it is disturbing and overwhelming. They are impressed—but not in a good way. Where did this man get these things?
The people of Nazareth are bothered by a gross mismatch. On the one hand, these teachings are impressive and excellent. They admit Jesus’ instruction is full of wisdom; it is astute, profound, and relayed with the confidence of an expert. Yet, how can such big words come from such a small man? Note they won’t even name Jesus. They point to him as this man and basically charge Jesus with plagiarism, with stealing intellectual property. Where did this guy get such teaching? Who gave him such wisdom? It sure couldn’t come from him!
By this question, the people actually testify against themselves. To give or grant wisdom is a biblical idiom; it is found throughout the Old Testament and the New Testament. And everywhere it appears, the clear and unambiguous answer is God. God alone is the true source and giver of wisdom. They recognize wisdom in Jesus, but they consider it unthinkable. They question not just the possibility of it, but the suitability of it. And they think the same about his mighty works. How can this guy do miracles? It just feels wrong to them.
The people think teaching is for rabbis and intellectuals, not for illiterate carpenters like Jesus.
The people of Nazareth make this clear by answering their own questions: Where did this guy get such excellent instruction? Is he not a carpenter? There is no way a carpenter should be able to teach like this. Teaching is for rabbis and intellectuals, not for illiterate carpenters. Now, the word here for carpenter is the more general word meaning smith.
The word smith refers to a craftsman, who can work with a variety of materials. In Greek sources, this word does more often refer to a craftsman of wood and lumber, a carpenter. Yet, in the Old Testament it is used for those who work with wood, stone, bronze, or iron. Jesus could be a blacksmith, a stone-mason, or a carpenter. We don’t know his preferred material.
Either way, the point of mentioning Jesus’ profession is about class; namely, the contrast between the class of smiths and that of the intellectuals. A smith would generally be illiterate, except for business dealings, while the skill of wise instruction comes from those who were wealthy and could afford fancy private schools or tutors.
The Nazarenes are affronted that Jesus exceeds and overreaches beyond his station.
Being a smith was not necessarily a shameful thing; in fact, skilled craftsmen were an important part of human capital for a city. Yet, the educated elite did look down on them, as being below them. The sophisticated nobility were too good for such labor as working with their hands, to get sweaty and a tan.
More so, if a blacksmith attempted to be a scholar, to rub shoulders with nobles, then it was dishonorable. The smith was exalting himself above his station; he was doing things not proper for him.
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The present form and working of the kingdom is mysterious and humble. A mustard seed and a pinch of yeast—no one would expect the kingdom out of these. No one notices a mustard plant growing; we cannot see yeast at work. This is the paradox of Christ’s kingdom, and it is both wisdom and comfort for our faith, brothers and sisters.

When the Lord ushered his people from Egypt to the promised land in the Old Testament, he did so by doing glorious things. Likewise, in Luke 13:10-17, Jesus freed a woman from a disability on the Sabbath, and the congregation that observed this healing recognized that Jesus was performing an “exodus” salvation. Jesus then told the Parable of the Mustard Seed and the Parable of the Leaven to help the people who had just witnessed this miracle (and us) better understand the true nature of the kingdom of God.
The Mustard Seed and the Kingdom of God
He said therefore, “What is the kingdom of God like? And to what shall I compare it? It is like a grain of mustard seed that a man took and sowed in his garden, and it grew and became a tree, and the birds of the air made nests in its branches” (Luke 13:18-19).
Jesus anticipated the misconceptions people would have about the kind of redemption and the type of kingdom he was bringing upon them. What is the kingdom of God like? It is glorious, full of wonders, pomp and power, right? Jesus says, “No, it is more like a mustard seed.”
A mustard seed is not very impressive. It is a very mundane and insignificant comparison to the glorious kingdom. Mustard was a common agricultural product that grew quite prolifically. The variety of mustard grown in Palestine was quite like the mustard weed that now grows all around Southern California.
This is the first odd thing about this comparison. A man plants this mustard seed, and it grows into a tree. But mustard seeds don’t grow into trees; they may become tall weeds, but they are not tree-like at all. Thus, Jesus is using hyperbole to make a point—this “tree” is other-worldly.
Indeed, it is a cosmic tree, for all the birds of the heaven dwell in its branches! Jesus takes this line from two passages in the Old Testament, Daniel 4:10-12 and Ezekiel 31:6. The cosmic tree of these Old Testament verses was the one tree whose roots reach down deep into the earth, and its top most branches extend to heaven.
This tree was the link between heaven and earth, and it was a house for every bird, beast, and human. It was the life-giving tree and a picture of the kingdom that encompassed the world and mediated that heavenly life to all things. It was an ideal picture of kingdom life with God.
So Jesus is telling us that this is what his kingdom will become. The tree signifies the new heavens and new earth. The cosmic tree points to the resurrected life of the age to come. This is what Jesus’ kingdom is like, perfectly portrayed by him granting life and liberty from Satan’s power on the Sabbath (Luke 13:10-17).
The people rejoice, saying, “He is doing glorious things.” Jesus says, “You are right, for my kingdom shall grow into the cosmic tree—the new creation of resurrection.” But this is where irony and mystery come in. It starts off as a mustard seed—a puny seed that sprouts into a weed—how is this the kingdom? This humble, unimpressive beginning is contrasted with the glorious and universal end—God’s new creation.
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When did Jesus do this? On the cross. And he didn’t use oil, but his own blood. Yes, by his death Jesus paid off the debt that stood against us, the wages of all our sin. The Father is just. His rights as the creditor had to be upheld. God loaned us life, but we rebelled in depravity and idolatry. His justice had to be satisfied; the terms of the law must be met. And just as a flask of oil appeared impossible for the task, how could the life of one man pay for our sins? Yet, Jesus was righteous—he was the God-man.

With God’s wrath hovering over Israel during the ministry of the prophet Elisha in 2 Kings 4, we meet a widow:

Now the wife of one of the sons of the prophets cried to Elisha, “Your servant my husband is dead, and you know that your servant feared the Lord, but the creditor has come to take my two children to be his slaves.” (2 Kings 4:1)

We are not told her tribe, her hometown or that of her husband, yet we are informed that she was married to one of the sons or disciples of the prophets—they were loyal to Elisha and faithful to the Lord. In a land of apostasy and idolatry, the sons of the prophets were true believers and worshippers of the Lord.
The widow cries to Elisha in her distress.
We know the widow had faith because she cried to Elisha. This crying out meant that she was in trouble. Hard times had fallen upon her, and in her pain and uncertainty she was in desperate need of help. Now in the Old Testament this crying out was ultimately directed to the Lord; it was an urgent prayer for heavenly aid. Yet, these cries went through an agent, an intermediary.
The usual mediator in those times was the king. If you stumbled into desperate need, you petitioned the king; the king was the Lord’s servant to give you relief. The widow, however, bypasses the king and goes directly to the prophet. When the king is wicked, you seek out a true agent of the Lord, and there was none better than Elisha. This is another mark of the widow’s devoted faith.
Elisha is obligated to care and provide for his servants.
Next, we get to listen to this woman’s voice. And the pain of the widow in no way diminishes her eloquence. Her first two words say it all: “your servant, my husband.” The widow and Elisha have a pre-existing relationship. Her husband was his servant. This means both he and she are loyal to Elisha; they are part of the same group with Elisha as the head or leader.
It also ignites Elisha’s duty. If the widow and her husband served Elisha with fealty, then as a master, Elisha is obligated to care and provide for his servants. She reminds Elisha of his duty and then pulls at his heart strings. He is dead; your servant, my husband is dead.
In ancient times, widowhood wasn’t just sad; it was also dangerous. It exposed women to vulnerability, need, and loneliness. Next, she underscores the piety of her husband. You know, Elisha, how he feared the Lord. Her husband had no eyes for idols, but his heart was wholly devoted in reverence to the Lord alone. Finally, the widow states her problem: “The creditor has come to take my two children to be his slaves” (2 Kings 4:1).
The creditor had the legal right to seize the widow’s children for repayment.
Before he died, the husband had taken out a loan, probably fairly sizable. And for collateral or as a pledge, he put up his two children. This means that if he defaulted on the loan the creditor had the legal right, by contract, to seize his kids, and they would become the creditor’s debt-slaves until they pay off the loan. The word here for slave or servant means debt-slave. And this financial arrangement was fully legal under Mosaic Law, and it was common. Thus, there is nothing unjust or oppressive about this setup. When the husband died, the loan defaulted.
And the creditor has the legal right to seize the children for repayment. This is just one of those hard times. The family was struggling to get by, so the husband took out a loan. He unexpectedly died, and the loan fell to his wife and she defaulted. And now the creditor has no choice but to foreclose on her two children.
In the widow’s situation we observe the painful mystery of the suffering of the obedient.
Her kids were the widow’s life insurance policy; if she loses them, she has nothing left. She is the faithful saint who is suffering. This is the devoted missionary who gets cancer; the excellent parent who loses their child in a tragic accident. Her family did everything right. They feared the Lord; they kept his commandments.
They were loyal to Elisha, the Lord’s true prophet. They never bowed the knee to Baal or visited one of those golden calves. Their piety was pristine, but all they have known is difficulty. The widow lost her money, had her hubby taken, and now will she lose her kids too? She prayed for bread, but all she got was a rock. This is the painful mystery of the suffering of the obedient.
Elisha responds with words of refreshment, not blame.
And then Elisha responds, and with such words of refreshment! He doesn’t roll his eyes. He doesn’t brush her off as unimportant. And most significantly, he doesn’t blame her. He doesn’t say,
You are the one who took out the loan. Sorry, but you are reaping what you sowed.
He doesn’t even turn it into a lesson on sin:
Something must be lacking in your faith. This will teach you the importance of budgeting, of financial stewardship. Tell me what you have learned from your mistakes.
No, Elisha does none of this. Rather, without a hint of guilt, he offers to help. He gives her privileged access:

And Elisha said to her, “What shall I do for you? (2 Kings 4:2)

Elisha’s first instinct is not to criticize, judge, or be suspicious. He erupts with charity, generosity, and willingness.
The widow’s faith grants her the privilege of prophetic intercession.
For a prophet who was supposed to bring the sword, this is certainly merciful. The widow has the benefit of prophetic mediation and aid, which was denied Jehoram in the previous chapter.  Elisha told Jehoram, “What have I to do with you? Go to the prophets of your father and to the prophets of your mother” (2 Kings 3:13).
The widow’s faith and devotion to the Lord didn’t shield her from suffering and hardship, but it did grant her the privilege of prophetic intercession.  This is huge! Yet, Elisha’s second question is a bit curious:

“Tell me; what have you in the house?” And she said, “Your servant has nothing in the house except a jar of oil.” (2 Kings 4:2)

The only thing left in the widow’s cupboard is a jar of oil. She is worse than dirt poor; she is death poor. The flask represents her utter poverty and desperation. Nevertheless, Elisha takes the object of her destitution and turns it into the source of her relief.
Note what Elisha tells the widow:

Then he said, “Go outside, borrow vessels from all your neighbors, empty vessels and not too few. (2 Kings 4:3)

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Overall, this book is a fine introduction to the Psalms and the singing of them. It is thorough in its scope, readable in its language, and practical for both worship and piety. And maybe most importantly, it directs the reader to the Psalms themselves. As Johnston notes again in the preface, you cannot love a classic piece of art by reading books about it. You have to go to the original and take it in. Therefore, the final question in each of its seven sections has as its answer a Psalm. The answers are full of references to individual or groups of Psalms to go read and sing. The questions and answers are constantly pointing us to the Psalms as the Word of God so that we might love them and our Triune God more. 

In an age of TikTok and Christian pop music, the Psalms can seem like a dusty relic in a poorly visited part of a museum. Sure, many modern choruses are snippets of Psalms or rough paraphrases of them, but their tunes and musicality can be so incongruous from the actual Psalm, it is like putting pickle brine in your orange juice. The central role that the Psalms have occupied in the worship of the saints, ever since they were written, has been largely jettisoned in the past fifty to seventy years. For this reason, efforts to increase the church’s use and knowledge of the Psalms in worship and devotions are welcome and needed, and it is at this target that this book–150 Questions About The Psalter: What you need to know about the songs God wrote–is aimed.
Brad Johnston is the pastor of Topeka Reformed Presbyterian Church, a congregation of the RPCNA (Reformed Presbyterian Church in North America). For those unaware, one of the distinctives of the RPCNA is exclusive Psalm singing without musical accompaniment (a cappella). Hence, the publisher Crown and Covenant is the denominational publishing house. As relayed in the preface, these 150 questions were developed and tested in the family devotions of the author and others. The questions are not intended to be memorized, but to be used along with singing the Psalms to increase both one’s knowledge and love of the Psalms. 
The nature of the questions range from the devotional to the pastoral to the academic. There are background questions like who wrote the Psalter (#5), how it is arranged (#48), and what are the Songs of Ascent (#67). The questions are aimed at the heart as he asks why should we sing the Psalms (#92) and Psalms to sing when our faith is weak (#102). The author also includes a whole section on how Christ is present in the Psalter (#21-40). Other topics he covers deal with the various genres of the Psalms, how the Psalms connect to other parts of Scripture, the arrangement of the Psalms, and advice on how to sing the Psalms. 
The general strength of the book, though, is hampered by a curiosity and a weakness. These questions were developed in family catechism and is intended for family devotions, but the questions are not fitting for all ages.  
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When the Lord ushered his people from Egypt to the promised land in the Old Testament, he did so by doing glorious things. Likewise, in Luke 13:10-17, Jesus freed a woman from a disability on the Sabbath, and the congregation that observed this healing recognized that Jesus was performing an “exodus” salvation. Jesus then told the parable of the Mustard Seed and the parable of the Leaven to help the people who had just witnessed this miracle (and us) better understand the true nature of the kingdom of God.
The Mustard Seed and the Kingdom of God
He said therefore, “What is the kingdom of God like? And to what shall I compare it? It is like a grain of mustard seed that a man took and sowed in his garden, and it grew and became a tree, and the birds of the air made nests in its branches.” (Luke 13:18-19)
Jesus anticipated the misconceptions people would have about the kind of redemption and the type of kingdom he was bringing upon them. What is the kingdom of God like? It is glorious, full of wonders, pomp and power, right? Jesus says, “No, it is more like a mustard seed.”
A mustard seed is not very impressive. It is a very mundane and insignificant comparison to the glorious kingdom. Mustard was a common agricultural product that grew quite prolifically. The variety of mustard grown in Palestine was quite like the mustard weed that now grows all around Southern California.
This is the first odd thing about this comparison. A man plants this mustard seed, and it grows into a tree. But mustard seeds don’t grow into trees; they may become tall weeds, but they are not tree-like at all. Thus, Jesus is using hyperbole to make a point—this “tree” is other-worldly.
Indeed, it is a cosmic tree, for all the birds of the heaven dwell in its branches! Jesus takes this line from two passages in the Old Testament, Daniel 4:10-12 and Ezekiel 31:6. The cosmic tree of these Old Testament verses was the one tree whose roots reach down deep into the earth, and its top most branches extend to heaven.
This tree was the link between heaven and earth, and it was a house for every bird, beast, and human. It was the life-giving tree and a picture of the kingdom that encompassed the world and mediated that heavenly life to all things. It was an ideal picture of kingdom life with God.
So Jesus is telling us that this is what his kingdom will become. The tree signifies the new heavens and new earth. The cosmic tree points to the resurrected life of the age to come. This is what Jesus’ kingdom is like, perfectly portrayed by him granting life and liberty from Satan’s power on the Sabbath (Luke 13:10-17).
The people rejoice, saying, “He is doing glorious things.” Jesus says, “You are right, for my kingdom shall grow into the cosmic tree—the new creation of resurrection.” But this is where irony and mystery come in. It starts off as a mustard seed—a puny seed that sprouts into a weed—how is this the kingdom? This humble, unimpressive beginning is contrasted with the glorious and universal end—God’s new creation.