Little By Little

Gospel Reflection Luke 17:5-10

There was once this Duke Divinity professor who was a little problematic, a little touchy and apt to say things that he wasn’t supposed to say in church. He was also a good man, one who cut the lawn of his Methodist church until he left to join the Episcopal Church. Stanley Hauerwas was a firecracker.  One of the many things he said was this, “What a different world it would be in Christians refused to kill.”

Imagine that for a second. For me, it goes through me in many different ways. There's my loved ones who fought in WWII, both my grandpas and my grandma who was in the nurse’s corps. I think of my friend; both of her children are in the military. She asks me regularly to pray for them. 

“Increase our faith” the apostles ask the Lord. 
Make the part in us that is weak, strong. 
Make me chaste, but not yet. 
Make me love my neighbor, but not that neighbor. 
Make me quit smoking. 
Make me the person you want me to be and make it happen tomorrow. Please…. 

I wish it was so easy. Instead, there’s the seed. And slowly, slowly, slowly, it grows. 

Because this isn’t a parable about superfaith, or superlove, or superstars, although that’s what it seems like. But mulberry can’t grow in the salty water of the ocean, and so sure, Jesus responds with hyperbole to the apostles’ silly question. 

Yet then the 2nd part of the parable is really tough, like trying to chew rehydrated meat, the kind of meat that you might have had to eat on the frontier 200 years ago. It wasn’t cut well. My dog would love it, but this is not the kind of meat that is easy to ingest. 

This story lands wrong for so many reasons, most of them good ones. It’s hard to say “we are worthless slaves.” It’s hard because of our country’s history of enslavery, legacies that continue today. It’s hard because this whole story is about subjugation and expectations, and we’d like to think that we live in a culture without these complications. Our Roman Catholic siblings have a translation that uses “servants” instead of slaves. It’s a little easier on the ears, but still a hard sell. 

Let’s take a half step back because I think most of us have a story in our quiver that helps make sense of this one. 

What is it that you do that is so very basic that if someone commented on it, you’d be embarrassed? I’m talking about the kind of thing that if you got a certificate for it, it would be like the “most improved” award, useless and annoying. Let me give an example. It would be like me getting a certificate for “feeding my children dinner every night when they needed to eat.” My response? Well obviously I did! They needed food, but you do know that we had cereal for dinner every now and then, right? Or. When I graduated from high school, and my mom wanted to have a big party. Really? Isn’t that the norm, the base level standard? I see this in some of you. You’re at church every week with your family and it’s really hard to get everyone together so early on a Sunday morning and you’re holding it together even though your life is pretty hard. “It’s just normal,” you say. Or you continue to care for the older folks who can do less in your community, picking them up, bringing them here and there, week by week, month by month. “Anybody would do it,” you reply when I say something. Or all the time you spend caring for someone who needs it. “Anyone would do it,” you tell me. I’m not so sure. 

None of this requires a super faith or a superstar capability. There’s no magic or big muscles involved. None is required, thanks be to God. It’s just the things we do. The small things. The little places that faith grows. You’ve already been given everything you need to live this life, to love the people you need to love, to be the person that you need to be. It’s not rocket science. It doesn’t take an advanced degree, or angel dust, or anything else. 

It just takes that little mustard seed of faith that you have right now, that little bit of faith that brought you here this morning, that little bit of hope that’s keeping you holding on. Because that’s what grows, little by little. 

When I look around outside of our community, your statements of “anyone would do it” seem as pie in the sky as that little statement “What a different world it would be in Christians refused to kill.” I can’t even imagine it. But then I look at you and I see it all differently. 

And this is the point. This is a parable about duty, not the big duty, not the terrible duty, but the day by day, week by week duty. The things we do because it’s what we’re supposed to do. The things we do without thinking about them. 

Today is also the Blessing of the Animals, probably my favorite Sunday of the year, so let me tell a dog story today. 

By most standards, my little dog is not the best dog. He has big problems when my neighbors walk in their yard and when the Catholics across the street garden in the terraces. He hates the Catholic Gardeners. Yet he’s doing his duty. He’s keeping us safe. He loves me. He sits with me while I write sermons, at least mostly. Yet he’s doing his duty and little by little, he’s growing. He’s learning how to walk by another dog without completely losing his head. He’s learning that barking does not get him a taste of my plate. He’s learning that when I ask him to get down from the windowsill keeping tabs on the world, he must come down. He’s learning to trust humans, and not just our family. He’s learning and he’s growing; from where he started until now is a long and beautiful journey. 

It’s not a mulberry tree quite yet, but it’s growing and it keeps growing, like Timothy’s faith that started with the faithful women in his family, or like the small good works that we do, week by week. Sure, we wish it was bigger. We wish that good was taking over the world, but maybe it is. 

Maybe it’s not happening all in an instant, a moment of divine healing, the fire coming down from heaven, inch by inch as we decide and then live the truth that all human life is worth preserving. It’s happening little by little as we decide and then live it, that all humans have dignity. It’s happening slowly and stubbornly growing like that volunteer mulberry tree in my backyard that I can’t seem to kill as we decide and then live the hope and the faith and the love that in us, small at first, growing to great. 

Beloved ones, we are not far off. Don’t be afraid. The world is about to change. Can’t you see it with me?