Faith Smaller Than We Think Matters

Title: Faith Smaller Than We Think Matters

Intro: Your small faith is enough because God is infinite. Your imperfect service matters because God is perfect.

Scripture: Luke 17: 5-10

Reflection

Dear Friends,

Last Tuesday morning, I stood in my kitchen staring at my coffee maker, and I realised something profound about faith. I pressed the button expecting coffee to brew. I did not pray over it. I did not wonder if maybe today the machine would refuse to work. I did not call my bishop to ask if I had enough faith for morning coffee. I just pressed the button and walked away to get dressed, completely confident that when I returned, there would be coffee.

That is trust. That is faith. Small, ordinary, unconscious, and absolutely real.

The apostles come to Jesus in Luke seventeen with a request that sounds so spiritual, so earnest. “Increase our faith!” they say. Lord, give us more. We need bigger faith, stronger faith, the kind of faith that makes miracles happen and mountains move. They have been watching Jesus heal the sick and cast out demons and speak truth that turns the world upside down, and they are thinking, “Whatever he has, we need more of it.”

I understand them completely. I have stood at bedsides and prayed for healing that did not come. I have counselled marriages that fell apart anyway. I have baptised babies and buried them far too young. I have watched people I love walk away from faith entirely, and I have whispered the same prayer the apostles prayed: “Lord, increase my faith. Give me more. What I have is not working.”

But Jesus does not give them what they ask for. He never does when we are asking the wrong question.

He says if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mulberry tree, “Be uprooted and planted in the sea,” and it will obey you. A mustard seed. I held one in my hand once during a children’s sermon, and a five-year-old girl said, “Father, I think you dropped it.” It was so small she could not even see it against my palm.

That is the point Jesus is making. You do not need more faith. You need real faith. Authentic faith. Faith the size of something barely visible that trusts in a God who is infinite.

My father is not a religious man by most standards. He does not quote scripture or lead family devotions. But I watched him live with a quiet confidence in God that shaped everything he did. When he retired from his job, he did not panic. When my mother got sick, he did not rage. He just kept showing up. Kept praying in his own simple way. Kept trusting that God was good even when life was hard. Someone told me, “Your dad has the strongest faith of anyone I know.” I realised then that they were right. He had mustard seed faith. Small. Quiet. Unshakeable.

That is what Jesus is trying to tell the apostles. They are focused on quantity. God cares about quality. They want to feel more certain, more powerful, and more spiritual. Jesus tells them that even the smallest genuine faith contains the full power of God himself.

Think about what a mustard seed actually is. It is not impressive. You cannot build with it or eat it or trade it for anything valuable. But plant it in the ground, and something miraculous happens. Without any help from you, without any encouragement or coaching, that seed knows exactly what to do. It breaks open. It sends roots down and shoots up. It becomes a tree that provides shelter and shade and a home for birds. It transforms its entire environment.

Real faith does the same thing in a human soul.

Then Jesus tells this parable that makes us uncomfortable. A servant comes in from working all day in the fields. Does the master thank him profusely? Does he throw a celebration? No. The servant prepares dinner, serves his master, and only then takes care of himself. Jesus says, “So you also, when you have done all you were commanded, say, ‘We are unworthy servants; we have only done what was our duty.’”

This is not about God being cruel or demanding. This is about understanding reality. This is about knowing who we are and who God is and how the universe actually works.

I learnt this lesson from Mrs. Jackson, a woman in my first parish who cleaned the church every Saturday for twenty-three years. She never missed a week unless she was hospitalised. She scrubbed toilets and polished pews and vacuumed carpets, and when I tried to thank her once, she looked genuinely confused. “Father,” she said, “this is God’s house. It is my privilege to care for it.” She did not want recognition. She did not need applause. She understood something deep about service and faith and what it means to be part of God’s family.