7. Three Measures
And again he said, “To what shall I compare the kingdom of God? It is like leaven that a woman took and hid in three measures of flour, until it was all leavened.” Luke 13:20–21, ESV Upon their return, Emet waited on customers while Hanan got to work kneading a batch of dough. As he focused on shaping the dough into a loaf, Hanan did his best to listen to the dialogue his grandpa had with the regular patrons. He loved learning from the wisdom and patience Emet would express in even his briefest interactions. “Only one loaf today, Yosef?” Hanan heard his grandpa say. “For now, Emet,” Yosef replied with a slight frown. “I like your bread best when it’s fresh.” Yosef’s narrow gray eyes shifted to where Hanan was hard at work. “Perhaps I’ll be back later for the loaf Hanan is working on.” Hanan turned when he heard his name and waved at Yosef. “I’ll make this one with extra love and attention—just for you, Mr. Yosef!” “As you should, Hanan,” Yosef said flatly as he turned and walked out into the late morning sun. Emet glanced back at Hanan and shrugged. One could never tell what sort of mood Yosef might be in, and something about his bald head and authoritative voice made everything Yosef said seem sterner to Hanan. When Emet turned back to the front of the store, there was Uzziel. “Good morning, Uzziel! What can I do for you?” “Nothing for me, Emet,” he answered in his rich, low voice. “But there’s something I can do for you.” Uzziel was almost fifty years old, but had the strength and energy of men half his age—and the confident way he carried himself showed that he knew it. Emet sighed and folded his hands on the counter in front of him. He’d heard countless rants from his friend Uzziel before but was willing to hear him out once again. Working up a polite smile, Emet looked up and asked, “Okay, Uzziel, what can you do for me?” Uzziel smiled. “Now that’s more like it!” he exclaimed.
At the workbench, Hanan smirked and shook his head as he continued kneading the dough. He secretly enjoyed hearing Uzziel’s many conspiracy theories, but had no intention of getting involved in this particular conversation. Uzziel continued quietly. “A few of us are gathering this afternoon at the blacksmith’s shop.” Glancing around, he bowed slightly and added with a whisper, “A powerful official has agreed to meet with us and talk about a . . . proposition. You in?” Emet sighed. “Thank you for the invitation, Uzziel. I appreciate it. How about you go to the meeting, and then tell me how it goes?” Grabbing a small loaf of leavened bread, he handed it to Uzziel and added, “Let this be my contribution to the gathering. I hope our friends enjoy it.” “Suit yourself, Emet. Thanks for the bread!” Glancing around once again, he put on his hood and stepped back out onto the street. Next in line was Anna. “Just some flour today, Emet.” Anna was in her mid-thirties and married; she had a passel of kids at home. She knew everyone in the village by name. “Of course, Anna,” Emet replied, smiling kindly. It was easy to smile around Anna—her very presence radiated joy. “How much do you need?” “Well, we have some guests in town, so I’d better take two measures.” Anna found great pleasure in making sure everyone in her home was well-fed, and if she was invited to someone’s house, she always brought more baked goods than anyone could eat. “Your guests are in for quite a treat if you’re doing the baking.” “Indeed, I am—you’re too kind, Emet!” Anna’s round face beamed. “Put it this way,” Emet raised his eyebrows and offered, “if you opened up a bakery today, mine would go out of business tomorrow.” Emet called back to his grandson, “Hanan, Anna here needs two measures of flour—and add an extra measure as a gift from us.” “I’m already on it, Grandpa,” Hanan answered as he walked toward the counter. “Here are three measures of our finest flour, Miss Anna. We milled it yesterday afternoon.” “That will be perfect for our guests, Hanan,” she replied. “And thank you so much for the third measure! How gracious of you!” As Anna put a few coins on the counter, Emet gently pushed them back toward her. “This is our gift to you and your guests, Anna. Times are tough, and my family and I are happy to help.” Anna’s beaming smile shifted to an awestruck look of gratitude. Wiping away a grateful tear, she said quietly, “Thank God for you, Emet. Thank God.” Then she stepped out onto the busy street, leaving Emet and Hanan alone in the shop. “Amazing, just amazing,” Emet mused as he slowly shook his head. “I couldn't have asked for a more perfect segue, Hanan.” “Sir?” Hanan looked around the bakery, trying to figure out what his grandpa meant by “perfect segue.” “We just sent off our friend Anna with three measures of flour,” Emet said as he drummed the top of the sales counter with his fingertips. “Doesn’t that remind you of anything, my boy?” “Three . . . measures . . . of flour,” Hanan repeated slowly, searching his mind for the answer. “Actually, yeah! Didn’t Jesus tell a story about a woman and three measures of flour?” “Not just three measures of flour,” Emet said as he looked Hanan in the eye. “In that story, Jesus talked about a woman who put Yeast into those three measures of flour. Remember?” Hanan tilted his head to one side. “But Anna didn’t put any Yeast into that flour, did she, Grandpa?” Emet chuckled softly. “No, she didn’t.” Then, with a playful look in his eye, he added, “I’m going to have you do that.”
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