Proper 22: Habakkuk 1.1-4; 2.1-4; Psalm 37.1-9; 2 Timothy 1.1-14; Luke 17.5-10

THIS Gospel provides two puzzles in the first two sentences: the first theological, the second botanical. The latter looks simpler, because it is factual: what kind of tree are we talking about? Modern Bibles call it a mulberry tree. Older ones (RSV, AV, Tyndale) called it a “sycamine” (reflecting the underlying Hebrew word for a sycamore tree: Amos 7.14).

Perhaps things were different in Bible days, but, in our former garden, sycamores were a nuisance, their keys, come spring, germinating everywhere with unstoppable fecundity. Mulberry trees would have been much more appealing, despite the fact that their fruit can be messy.

Whichever tree Jesus is referring to, we could move swiftly on, on the grounds that such botanical details are trivial, do not matter. Jesus is not giving us gardening tips. The details could matter, though, if the identity of the tree made a difference to the message.

Sycamores can grow into tall trees — perhaps three times the height of an average mulberry. We might think, then, that the bigger tree is the one to go for, because the message is about faith having the capacity to do impossibly big things. On this reading, if the Gospel meant “mulberry”, it would be like exclaiming “Size of a pony!” instead of “Size of an elephant!”.

But what about part of the tree that we cannot see? Sycamore trees have shallow root systems for their size, according to gardening websites I have consulted (my commentaries failed me on this point). But mulberries have a reputation for being invasive, their root systems wandering even where they are not wanted. Perhaps Jesus chooses the mulberry for his example because it is tenacious about staying where it is.

So much for botany. Now for theology. Sometimes, I take the opportunity here to point out a word in a Gospel which I feel has been translated wrongly, or unhelpfully. Then, once I have explained my thinking, readers can decide whether to take my grumble into account, or to ignore it. In this Gospel, though, the problem is more challenging, because the very first verse contains an important word, and there are two ways of translating it, both equally legitimate. A person reading privately, if made aware of the options, can choose whichever seems most probable. Preachers and commentators can explore and explain both. But the poor old Bible translator has to choose one or the other; for they have no business littering the sacred page with self-justifying footnotes.

In this instance, the NRSV and NIV have chosen the same meaning of the Greek verb: thus Luke tells us that the apostles say to Jesus, “Increase our faith!” But the Greek word has more than one meaning. It could just as easily mean “Grant us faith!” The theological puzzle, then, is: are they asking to receive faith that they did not as yet possess? or asking to receive more of the faith that they had already?

That is a serious matter. It is certainly easier to choose “increase” if one believes that Luke has already confirmed their faith by calling them “apostles”. But, once we tackle the passage rather than the word, and see that it is about how even the smallest amount of faith can achieve impossible things, it becomes harder to claim that these very ordinary, very fallible men have “faith” in the sense that Jesus is giving it here.

If they had faith, the apostles would be able to move a tenacious, invasive tree. Admittedly, that does sound pretty challenging. But compare the more familiar versions of Jesus’s teaching here — Matthew 17.20 and Mark 11.23 — and you find that the task could be even more difficult. A mountain has deeper roots, and greater mass, than any tree. Why Luke talks of “faith that can move trees” while Matthew and Mark refer to “faith that can move mountains” is another puzzle altogether, one that we must set aside for now.

Logic suggests that the apostles have some degree of faith already (why else would they be following Jesus at all?). But there is a possibility that what we call “faith” is not faith as Jesus knows it: pure, absolute confidence in God. Why Luke’s mulberry tree is not a mountain we cannot be sure. But we do know that Jesus — a gardener like his Father — likes the roots of his plants to go deep (Mark 4.6).