Faith can be measured by the standard of smallness

This Sunday’s readings offer three different lenses to examine what is perhaps best left mysterious: how faith works within one’s tradition.

The second reading offers perhaps one of the more striking definitions from Scripture. “Faith,” says the author, “is the realization of what is hoped for and evidence of things not seen” (Heb 11:1). It sounds beautiful, but the meaning remains open to interpretation. That’s the point. Faith is an interpretation of the reality around us. One sees through eyes of faith, or else by some other means. In the Letter to the Hebrews, the writer goes on to show the landscape of faith through the lens of Abraham’s trust in and hope for outcomes against perilous odds. By faith Abraham is said to have sojourned in foreign lands, generated life in his old age and then submitted to strange commands about giving up his only heir (Heb 11:8-11, 17). Each instance was tied to hope in something better, “of things yet unseen,” promised by someone divine. 

The key to faith is hope; without it one cannot say he or she walks in complete faith. 

A second interpretation comes from this Sunday’s first reading, taken from Wisdom. “The night of the Passover was known beforehand to our fathers, that, with sure knowledge of the oaths in which they put their faith, they might have courage” (Wis 18:6). One key interpretation of faith from the perspective of the Old Testament is belief that the God of Israel acts in history and did not remain absent indefinitely. In this case, the passage reminds the faithful of Passover and the re-enactment of that intervention for generations to come. Faith, according to this example, is tied to a memory of the past and is encouragement for the promise yet to come. It is something ritualized by participation in that sacred memory and the practice of Passover.

This Sunday’s Gospel offers a view of faith marked by smallness. The lectionary provides a passage partially cut from a longer section. Left out was the line about the lilies of the field. “Notice how the flowers grow. They do not toil or spin. But I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of them” (Lk 12:27). Flowers are delicate, fragile and often small. Jesus repeatedly used diminutive language as he explained the faith to the gathered community. He addressed them with “you of little faith” and “little flock,” as in this Sunday’s Gospel. The little flock could be confident about the kingdom, “Do not be afraid any longer, little flock, for your Father is pleased to give you the kingdom” (Lk 12:32). The use of “little” can imply size, as in a small number of disciples, but can also imply “insignificant,” referring to a people lacking regard within society.

Another setting where Jesus invoked the kingdom is in the Beatitudes. “Blessed are you who are poor, for the kingdom of God is yours” (Lk 6:20). As such, the kingdom belongs to the small, poor and insignificant, collectively called Jesus’ little flock. Faith, by this standard of smallness, may be practiced by insignificant people and by what appear on the surface as insignificant small daily actions. “Blessed are those servants whom the master finds vigilant on his arrival” (Lk 12:37). 

These three examples offer living images of the nature and practice of faith, which are all tied to an ethos of hope. Faith can be practiced through ritual, which provides the courage needed for generations that follow. Surprisingly, Jesus talked about faith as belonging to insignificant, “small” people who practice small daily gestures. Faith sounds like a practice in humility. But the realization of hope, when seen through the eyes of faith, is something grand and as vast as the sky above.