A LITTLE CHURCH
Habakkuk 1:2-3, 2:2-4; 2 Timothy 1:6-8, 13-14; Luke 17: 5-10
i am a little church (no great cathedral)
far from the splendour and squalor of hurrying cities
– i do not worry if briefer days grow briefest
i am not sorry when sun and rain make april
my life is the life of the reaper and the sower;
my prayers are prayers of the earth’s own clumsily striving
(finding and losing and laughing and crying)children
whose any sadness or joy is my grief or my gladness
around them surges a miracle of unceasing
birth and glory in death and resurrection:
over my sleeping self float flaming symbols
of hope, and I wake to a perfect patience of mountains
i am a little church (far from the frantic
world with its rapture and anguish)at peace with nature
– i do not worry if longer nights grow longest;
i am not sorry when silence becomes singing
winter by spring, i lift my diminutive spire to
merciful Him Whose only now is forever:
standing erect in the deathless truth of His presence
(welcoming humbly His light and proudly His darkness)
This past week, as I struggled to make sense of mustard seeds and mulberry trees, I thought of that poem by E.E. Cummings. It’s always been a favorite of mine. I’m not sure what exactly E.E. Cummings intended to convey through it, but I know the meaning it has for me. You see, for me, the poem speaks of how I view who I am and the faith I possess.
I’m not a great Cathedral. I’m no Padre Pio, Mother Teresa or Pope Francis. I’m not a doer of great deeds, a performer of miracles. I don’t bear stigmata. I’ve never moved mountains or uprooted a mulberry tree on command. If Jesus was physically present in our midst this morning, I doubt very much that he would praise me as he did the Canaanite Woman (“Oh great is your faith!”), nor point to me as an example for others, as he did the Roman Centurion (“In no one in Israel have I seen such faith!”). But hopefully, he would say . . . “Bruce, you did that best that you could with what I gave you. Well done, my good and faithful servant!” I am not a great cathedral.
But I am a small church. Perhaps the light of faith doesn’t radiate from me like a magnificent stained glass window, but I hope that some light does shine through the small windows of my soul . . . windows that often could use a good cleaning with Windex. And whereas I haven’t lived out my faith in heroic ways and haven’t demonstrated my faith through miraculous acts, and haven’t experienced dramatic supernatural encounters with God . . . I do remind myself constantly throughout the day that I am in the holy presence of God. I speak to God regularly in prayer and struggle to hear his whispers back to me. I constantly seek to discern his will, to travel the twists and turns of the road along which he leads me. I try to let go and let God and to place my life in his hands. And I strive, as best as I can, to live in his way, the way of truth that has been revealed through his Word and in the teaching of the Church. I am a little church. I am not a great cathedral. And you know what? I don’t have to be. God doesn’t expect me to be. And he doesn’t have that expectation of you either.
None of us is called to be a Pope Francis or a Mother Theresa. None of us! If we think that’s what God requires of us, we will throw up our hands in despair. You aren’t called to be Pope Francis or Mother Theresa – you are called to be you – to be the unique person God created when he made you. Nothing more. And nothing less. You are called to live in a unique relationship with God, composed of a string of moments of faithfulness – of his faithfulness to you, and yours in response. If you keep holding out for "great faith," you’ll never have it. Great faith is composed only of small moments of faithfulness, just as the greatest diamond is composed only of small atoms of carbon.
Many want "great faith," so that they can be spiritual giants. But that’s not what we need – it’s certainly not what I need. Do you know what I need? I need a faith that gets me up in the morning, believing that God has some promise in store for me today. I need a faith that enables me to believe that when I walk into my office or classroom, that his Spirit, working through this broken-down over-weight deacon, can make a positive difference in someone’s life. I need a faith that enables me to believe that when I minister to someone who is hurting, that God is present with his healing power. I need a faith that enables me to stand at this pulpit on Sunday mornings and say, "thus says the Lord." It's not a faith to brag about, it’s probably not the kind of faith that’s going to get me canonized, but it is what’s required of me.
That’s what you need too. A mother needs enough faith to place her child on the bus for school, trusting that greater hands hold her child for that day. That’s all the faith she needs, and nothing more - nothing worth bragging about, just enough for her to live out her responsibilities as a mom. A child needs enough faith to believe that God holds them in his loving hand – not their whole future, not for eternity (even though he does) – but just for today – that today is his. That’s enough. A person who is hurting or ill needs enough faith to believe that, in both health and illness, God is caring for them, ministering to them, holding them, loving them. That’s all the faith they need – just faith for one moment, one minute, one hour – faith to get through whatever may be happening in their life. That’s all that they need. It’s all any of us need. It’s not the kind of faith that will earn us a chapter in Butler’s Lives of the Saints. But it is enough to do what needs to be done. A life of faith is composed of small acts of faithfulness.
I think the Apostles in today’s Gospel got it wrong. I think they asked for the wrong thing. Rather than, “Increase our faith,” maybe instead their request should have been, “Lord, STRENGTHEN our faith.” And that should be our desire as well. But just the desire for a strengthen faith isn’t enough. Faith is both a gift and a response. The gift comes from God. The response must come from us. And so too must the strengthening. Just as all the good intentions in the world aren’t going to give us a fit body, bolstering our faith doesn’t come from mere passive religious sentiment. It takes work. And the same three principles that we use to develop and maintain a fit body, also apply to a fit faith: We need to take into ourselves that which is nutritious, take precaution from illness, and exercise. And so we need a steady diet of truth and goodness and love and mercy. We need to take into ourselves God’s Word to instruct and inspire us, and the Eucharist to nourish our souls. We need to take precaution from illness – spiritual illness – sin. We need to watch what we say, watch what we do, watch where our minds wander. We need to stay away from the unhealthy people, unhealthy moral lifestyles, and unhealthy places, both physical and virtual, that put us in harm’s way and lead us to the near occasion of sin. And we need to exercise, to practice the faith that we do have in word and in deed because practice does make perfect.
I am a little church, no great cathedral. And just maybe, so are you. And although our faith may not rise toward heaven like a great steeple for others to take notice of and admire, it is great enough for us to see the invisible, to believe the incredible, and to receive the impossible.
