Mustard Seeds and Martin Luther King

Lately I've been dwelling a lot on this whole idea of faith. Just what does that word mean? Martin Luther King Jr. once said, "Faith is taking the first step, even when you don't see the whole staircase." Today I'm finding that both encouraging and daunting. I like to know where I am. I like to know what I'm doing. I like seeing the staircase. And yet, what King implies here is the fact that faith is not based on what you can see; but instead on trust. I've been finding lately that I don't trust much; my feet stay planted on the ground far more often than I like.

Jesus talks about faith in a different matter. He likes to compare it to mustard seeds. In Matthew 17:20 it says, "Truly I tell you, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you." In Mark 4:30-32, it says, "Again he said, 'What shall we say the kingdom of God is like, or what parable shall we use to describe it? It is like a mustard seed, which is the smallest seed you plant in the ground. Yet when planted, it grows and becomes the largest of all garden plants, with such big branches that the birds in the air can perch in its shade."
I have to admit that I often struggle with these passages. Mustard seeds are tiny. That little speck in the middle of that hand? Yeah, that's a mustard seed. Several years ago at church our pastor preached about mustard seeds; a friend and I ran around before the service started and put a single seed on every chair. Not one person noticed until the end of the sermon when the pastor pointed out that we were all sitting on a mustard seed; they're that small. I like to think that my faith is bigger than that, yet I've never seen a mountain move. Maybe Christ didn't mean it literally; I don't know. Either way, it makes me wonder: do I have even that much faith? 

Sometimes I really don't think so. I often felt like 2012 was a huge lesson in trust for me; trust that God has a plan in all of the changes that I went through, trust that He'll provide and take care of me when I listen and follow. When challenges come my way, though, it feels like I forget all those lessons. This week I found out some information that makes me really worry how I'll pay for school next year. Combined with acute homesickness and schoolwork stress, it's been an emotional overload. Suddenly I've forgotten how God provided for school this year, both financially, academically, and socially. Suddenly I can't see the staircase anymore and my feet freeze. Today a mustard seed dwarfs my faith. 

The passage in Mark, however, gives me hope. Mustard seeds grow plants that are much bigger than that one little seed suggests. It makes me think that Jesus can take my tiny little faith and do something much bigger through it to bring Him glory. It makes me think that when I put my shaky bit of trust in Jesus, he'll grow it bigger than I ever would have expected. Growing trust, though, growing faith, is hard. The only way it works for me is when God makes that staircase disappear. Despite the fact that I need them, I don't like these lessons. They make me uncomfortable. But Christ didn't call us to be comfortable, now, did he?

Today I'm thankful for Martin Luther King Jr. I'm thankful for a man who didn't let the lack of a visible staircase bother him. I'm thankful for a man who let Jesus take his little mustard seed of faith and grow a large garden plant. I'm thankful for all the good that's come to our nation because one man believed what Jesus said and acted on it. Today I wish I was just a little bit more like him.

So here's to picking up my feet and praying I'll land on God's stair. Pray with me, would you? Pray my homesickness wouldn't be so crushing. Pray he'd provide for next year. And pray I'll trust God more. I'll pray that for you, too.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Reset Button (Or: Why Camp Can't Get Rid of Me)

Image
When I was a junior in undergrad, I took an information technology course and subsequently went through a phase where I was obsessed with the British television program The IT Crowd . The show, which follows two traditional IT professionals and their accidental, completely-technologically-incompetent supervisor, is most known for the bored way all three employees would answer the phone: "Hello, IT. Have you tried turning it off and on again?" Ever since I was twelve years old, my chance to turn my soul "off and on again", my opportunity to hit my internal "reset button", so to speak, has happened at summer camp. Whether in Canada or the States; whether I was a camper, counselor, worship leader, retreat attendee, chapel speaker, office manager, or had some other hat on; whether I was thriving in my faith or crippled with overwhelming doubt, camp has always been a place where God could slow down my anxious mind and capture my heart again. Over the year
Read more

And the Church Kept Singing

Halfway through the worship set, the sound cut out. For a moment, it was actually quite funny. There was a loud pop, then suddenly all you could hear was a distant echo of the song. The slight strum from the acoustic guitar player's strings. The beat of the snare and the buzz of the trumpet, muted behind their plexiglass screens. The murmur of the lead singer's voice, barely carrying through the huge room. The sound cut out, and the worship team kept playing. And the Church kept singing. The problem was fixed before the song was over. Almost as if it was planned, the worship team naturally began to crescendo, when suddenly the sound was back. As if there had been no problem at all, the worship team kept playing. And the Church kept singing. All was well--until it wasn't. Halfway through the pastor's sermon, the sound cut out. For a moment, it was actually quite funny. There was a loud pop, then suddenly all you could hear was a distant echo of his voice.
Read more

A New Home, Church, and a Bit of Camp Wisdom

I'm home. It feels different to associate that word with this place. This place holds no memories. This place holds few friends. This is not the house I grew up in. This is not the bedroom my mother and I (well, mostly mom) spent hours painting. I've never skinned my knees here; I've never spent hours playing Monopoly with my brothers here. This is not the room in which I've grieved, praised, grown and prayed. Yet it could be. It's going to be. I think the hardest part is that "home" isn't so much a place as people. That's what hurts so much; it's not that I'm 567 miles from a place, it's that I'm 567 miles away from these hearts that I cherish so much. I'm thankful, though, for the small ways I can bring these people with me. I'm thankful for the pictures that line my new bulletin board, filling my eyesight with images of those I love. I'm thankful for postcards in the mail. I'm thankful for the comforter on m
Read more