Nothing Is Little In God’s Service

A Sermon for the Ninth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 12, Year A)
Text: Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52

Now, O Lord, take my lips, and speak through them. Take our minds, and think through them. Take our hearts, and set them on fire. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Most years, during the season of Lent, it’s my practice to take on some kind of daily devotional—something short I can read each morning and carry with me for the rest of the day.

Several years ago, I decided to use the daily meditations offered by Episcopal Relief & Development, and that year, there was one meditation in particular that stayed with me. It was written by an Episcopal priest who began with a quotation from George Herbert:

“Nothing is little in God’s service.”

George Herbert was a seventeenth-century Anglican priest and poet. Early in his life, he seemed destined for a prominent public career. He studied at Cambridge, served in Parliament, and had connections to the royal court. 

But eventually, he left all that behind to follow God’s call to the priesthood. He became the priest of a small country parish in England, where his life was shaped by the ordinary work of ministry—praying each day, preaching, leading worship, visiting the sick, and caring for the poor.

In his well-known work, The Country Parson, Herbert reflected on the life and responsibilities of a parish priest. He believed that even the smallest and most ordinary parts of ministry could be offered to the glory of God.

His life wasn’t measured by status or popularity. It was shaped by faithfulness in one particular place, among one particular group of people.

So his words reflected his own experience in parish ministry.

“Nothing is little in God’s service.”

The author of that meditation went on to describe the ordinary work that filled most of her days as a priest. 

She wrote that most days weren’t especially glamorous or filled with excitement. Instead, they were filled with small things: speaking a kind word to a stranger, preparing a sermon, working on a newsletter, recruiting a Sunday school teacher, taking Communion to someone who’s lonely, praying with someone who’s lost a job, writing a thank-you note, saying her prayers, breaking the bread, and sharing the cup.

I connected with those words on a deep and personal level. Because even as a priest, I sometimes wonder whether the work I do really makes a difference.

And I imagine most of us have wondered that same thing at one time or another.

We look at the problems in the world and they seem overwhelming.

We see violence and division, poverty and loneliness, fear and uncertainty.

We see needs in our own community that are much greater than our resources.

And compared with all of that, what we have to give can seem so small.

We think, “What difference can one phone call make?”

“What difference can one meal make?”

“What difference can one invitation, or one prayer, or one act of kindness possibly make?”

It’s easy to believe that if we can’t do something big or dramatic, then perhaps what we can do doesn’t matter very much.

But George Herbert’s words offer us a different way of thinking:

“Nothing is little in God’s service.”

And that brings us to this morning’s Gospel.

In our reading from Matthew, Jesus offers a series of five short parables about the kingdom of heaven.

The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed planted in a field.

The kingdom of heaven is like yeast hidden in flour.

The kingdom of heaven is like treasure buried in a field.

The kingdom of heaven is like a merchant searching for one pearl of great value.

The kingdom of heaven is like a net thrown into the sea, gathering fish of every kind.

These images come one after another, each giving us a different glimpse of what God’s kingdom is like.

And they all point us toward something important: God is at work in the world, but God’s work doesn’t always begin in ways that appear large or dramatic.

Sometimes the kingdom begins with something as small as a mustard seed.

Sometimes it works quietly and under the surface, like yeast hidden in flour.

Sometimes it remains buried for a while, like treasure in a field, waiting to be discovered.

We often expect the kingdom of God to be more obvious than that.

We look for God in large and impressive things. We imagine that the kingdom must come through dramatic moments of conversion or large crowds of people filling the pews at church.

And certainly, God can be found in those moments.

But when Jesus teaches his disciples about the kingdom of heaven, he points to a mustard seed—something small enough to disappear in the palm of your hand.

A mustard seed isn’t impressive. When someone plants it in the ground, you can’t see what it will eventually become.

You can’t see the roots that will spread beneath the surface. You can’t see the branches that will stretch outward. You can’t see the birds that will one day come and make their nests there.

At first, all you can see is the seed.

And once the seed has been buried, you can’t see anything at all.

But just because something is hidden doesn’t mean nothing is happening.

The same is true of the yeast. Once it’s mixed into the flour, it disappears. It can’t be separated from the dough.

For a while, nothing seems to be happening.

But beneath the surface, the yeast is working. Slowly and steadily, it makes its way through the whole batch of dough.

That’s how Jesus describes the kingdom of heaven.

It often begins in ways that seem small and works in ways that remain hidden for a long time.

But even though we can’t always see or measure it, we can trust that God is still at work.

We aren’t promised that every small act of faithfulness will produce a result we can point to. But we are assured that whatever is offered to God in love is never wasted.

The kingdom is near when someone notices that a member of the church has been absent for a while and takes the time to call and make sure they’re okay.

The kingdom is near when food is prepared for a grieving family or someone in need.

The kingdom is near when we take the time to invite someone to church or when we invite a stranger to sit down and share a meal.

The kingdom is near when we forgive someone, or visit someone who’s lonely, or offer a prayer that no one else will ever hear.

None of those things on their own are large enough to change the world.

But perhaps changing the whole world isn’t our calling.

Perhaps our calling is simply to plant the seed or mix in the yeast—to offer what we have, however small it may seem, and to trust God with the growth.

So much of God’s work happens beneath the surface and beyond what our eyes can see.

The mustard seed and the yeast teach us that God can work through what is small and hidden. The parables of the treasure in the field and the pearl of great value add something more: what appears small and hidden may actually be worth more than we can possibly imagine.

A treasure buried in a field might look like nothing more than an ordinary patch of ground. A pearl is small enough to hold in the palm of your hand.

But when their true value is discovered, everything changes.

The person who finds the treasure joyfully sells everything to purchase the field. The merchant who finds the pearl of great value sells everything to possess it.

Something can be hidden and still be precious.

Something can be small and still be worth everything.

The kingdom of heaven may not always attract the attention of the world. It may not look powerful according to the world’s standards. It may be found in places the world overlooks and among people the world considers unimportant.

But once we recognize the kingdom and understand its importance, it begins to reshape our lives.

We discover something worth giving ourselves to completely.

We begin to understand that no act of love, no work of mercy, and no offering made to God is ever wasted.

And because the kingdom belongs to God, its full reach—and its final outcome—cannot be controlled by us.

That brings us to Jesus’ final image in today’s reading: a net cast into the sea.

The net gathers fish of every kind. It doesn’t gather only the fish we would have chosen. It reaches farther and gathers more widely than we might expect.

God alone sees the whole catch, and God alone is qualified to judge it.

Our calling isn’t to decide which people are worth gathering or which seeds are worth planting.

Our call is to be faithful.

To cast the net.

To sow the seed.

To mix in the yeast.

To seek the treasure.

And to trust God with what follows.

Most of us won’t change the world through large and impressive acts of service.

More often than not, we’ll be given a thousand small opportunities to love God and to love our neighbor.

We may never see what grows from the seeds we plant. We may never know how a kind word is received, or what an invitation sets in motion, or how a prayer helps another person.

Like the yeast in the flour, much of God’s work may remain hidden beyond our sight.

But Jesus assures us that the kingdom of heaven is near.

God is working through small moments.

God is working beneath the surface.

God is working through ordinary people, in ordinary places, through ordinary acts of faithfulness.

And that includes us.

So plant the seed.

Mix in the yeast.

Make the phone call.

Write the note.

Offer the prayer.

Welcome the stranger.

And trust that the God who brings forth great branches from tiny seeds can use even the smallest act of love for the building of his kingdom.

Because nothing offered to God in love is insignificant.

Nothing done in the name of Jesus is ever wasted.

And nothing is little in God’s service.

Amen.