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READING
We have just the tiny things of God at hand with which to help heal ourselves and this busted-up world. Small things that easily fit in a child’s pocket. But they are enough. Nadia Boltz Weber
WORDS OF HOPE
Our small group often wrestles with our inadequacy to do enough to help alleviate suffering and do justice, given the enormity of the world’s problems.
In a recent sermon, though, Nadia Boltz Weber invites us to value the power of small things, drawing on the parable of the mustard seed. ‘Jesus said, “With what can we compare the kingdom of God…? It is like a mustard seed, which, when sown upon the ground, is the smallest of all the seeds on earth, yet when it is sown it grows up and becomes the greatest of all shrubs and puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the air can make nests in its shade.”’ - Mark 4
To illustrate this truth in her own life, Boltz Weber remembers a time she was on an airplane after her nephew had been shot and killed. Overwhelmed with sorrow, she wept for the entire flight. After a while a woman across the aisle simply passed a small packet of Kleenex to her husband. Eric uttered a simple “thank you” and said, “She’s grieving.” The woman acknowledged, “I thought so.”
We’ve all had times like this—the phone call from a friend who’s “just checking on you.” Merely the sound of that dear voice is enough to open the heart-flow to share the difficulty you are carrying. Or maybe you take a business suit you have outgrown to a non-profit which provides clothing for unhoused folks to use for job interviews. Something small which kindles hope.
In Black Liturgies, Cole Arthur Riley recounts a small, beautiful scene with a man with whom she shares her life. The author reveals that she has wanted to begin this, her second book, “upright, “ sitting at her 18th century oak writing desk—in the full professional posture of authorhood, but instead she is in pain, depressed, and in bed. In the midst of her malaise, the man she lives with comes into her room. “He perches at the far end of the bed, without speaking, giving me the space to adjust to another person in the room. Then he places a bowl of grapes on top of the duvet and nudges it toward me. I pause, stretch out a twitchy arm, and pop one grape into each side of my mouth, and he scoots closer. A hand to my legs, the legs that have only risen to go to the bathroom and back for a week. Closer. Then, If you never write another word again…And instead of finishing he just stares at me. Nods. And I know. On his way out, he takes what mugs he can and closes the door behind him.”
There is something so telling about this image—the care of the partner here—the way he honors and wades silently and carefully into her space, as if feeling for possible sharp rocks with his feet. He offers nourishment, then touch. And he voices a powerful affirmation of her dignity—reminding her that it is accorded not by her doing, her gift, her writing, but who she is. His taking the used mugs away seems not only helpful in clearing the clutter of the room—but also in clearing the shadows from her own sense of worth at that moment. A sacred offering from one who deeply cares.
Someday, after we cross over, maybe we will get to see the arching branches which form the web of our small deeds of love—vibrant with color, spreading and growing, a sanctuary for birds. Until then, we walk on, trusting in the alchemy of grace.
PRAYER
Grow our small deeds of love, God, even as we are unaware. Amen.
DEVOTION AUTHOR
Dr. Pat Saxon
Cathedral of Hope
Proclaiming Christ Through Faith, Hope and Love
5910 Cedar Springs Road | Dallas, TX | 75235
214-351-1901
info@cathedralofhope.com