The readings this week show that what is small, hard to see, and even invisible can have vast importance. Whether it’s the tender shoot of the cedar tree or the tiny seed of the mustard plant, what seems slight now will become something mighty. “We walk by faith, not by sight,” the 2nd Letter to the Corinthians says; we hope in that what is unseen and in the future will come to pass.

There may be two main ways to get religion wrong. One is to presume it has nothing to do with the material world. So forget political and social realities, pray harder, and concentrate on the spiritual life because it’s the only forum that counts. The other mistake is to assume that if religion has nothing to do with the material world, then it has nothing to offer because that’s where people find themselves.

I distinctly recall the day when my faith took firm root. I was 7 years old and my sisters and I had just been summoned by my dad to join him around the kitchen table while my mom fixed him dinner. It was late, around 10 p.m. Dad had been out with his buddies. Sometimes when he came home late he’d have a pack of White Castle sliders to share with us, but this night he just wanted to talk. 

We pray to our kind and gracious God who offers us mercy.

"A mustard seed. . . is the smallest of all the seeds . . . . But . . . springs up and becomes the largest of plants.” The original hearers of Jesus’ parable would have known that the mustard seed was neither the smallest nor its plant the largest. The parable exaggerates to make a point: The reign of God has started out on a small scale but will become great.

One of my favorite teachings from the epistles is almost a throwaway line from Colossians 3:21: “Fathers, do not nag your children, lest they lose heart.” That’s the old ICEL translation from the breviary, anyway. Relentless negativity does foster profound discouragement in children and other living things.

Food for our soul not only feeds us now but also opens up new possibilities that we might not have even considered.—Robert J. Wicks, After 50