By grace through Christ, rooted in trust, sent in peace, go forth in love.

10.5.2025

[Texts]

Habakkuk 1:1-4; 2:1-4 Wicked surround the righteous; wait for the Lord

Psalm 37:1-9 Commit your way to the Lord; put your trust in the Lord. (Ps. 37:5)

2 Timothy 1:1-14 Guard the treasure entrusted to you: faith and love in Christ

Luke 17:5-10 Faith the size of a mustard seed

Grace and peace to you from God—the Father, the Son, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

This week, in Luke 17, we journey alongside a group of believers—the Apostles—as they meet God in Jesus. They bring a question many of us have asked, especially when our faith feels stretched thin or shaken by life’s realities:

Is God truly good? Why do some prayers seem to go unanswered? Why does suffering persist?

These aren’t signs of weak faith. They’re signs of a faith that’s alive—searching, wrestling, reaching for something honest and real.

In this story, Jesus assures them that even faith as small as a mustard seed is enough to do great things.

That’s the Good News for today: Our trust in God is enough. And if that’s hard to believe, then we just keep saying it—over and over—until it sinks in and becomes true for us.

I’d like to focus on three things: Who’s in this story, what they encounter, and how this story invites us to move forward in our own contexts.

🔹 Who is in this story? 

I’m always drawn in when the word Apostles appears in scripture. The Apostles are believers—like you and me—commissioned into the mission field to share God’s Good News in word and deed, shaped by what they’ve learned from Jesus.

🔹 So, what do they encounter? 

What makes them ask Jesus to increase their faith? It happens after Jesus warns them about the seriousness of being a stumbling block to those coming to faith. He also speaks of the gift of forgiveness—how it begins with noticing and leads to repentance. (Luke 17:1–4) Have we ever felt the weight of a millstone hanging around our neck?

🔹 The question for you and me is: How does this story invite us to move forward in our own contexts? 

When I was young and first learning about Christianity in the West, I naively believed it must be a beautiful place where everyone was Christian, where there was no killing or bullying, only love and care. I imagined that everyone was not only a disciple learning about Jesus, but also an apostle doing hard things for good reasons. I even envied those born and raised in Christian families.

After spending a few months in the West, I felt as though I had awakened from a sweet dream. But thanks be to God, I found places within churches and the seminary, not exactly what I had imagined, but close enough to offer a foretaste of the sweetness of God’s kingdom.

One part I especially treasure is the ending liturgy. After each worship on Sunday, you and I are sent into the world as apostles. We’re commissioned with these words: Go in peace. And we respond: Thanks be to God.

With the peace of Christ that we carry within us, we still see vulnerable people dying from hateful shootings, innocent lives caught in greedy wars, planned theft through store vandalism, and homeless communities, abandoned, not hidden, but out in the open across our big cities.

What’s new?

As apostles, how do we respond to our call as Christians—not react out of fear?

Fear is magnified more than ever these days. And fear doesn’t give us space to trust.

Last week, my husband and I went to the grocery store to buy mustard seeds. We paid at the self-checkout. As we were about to exit, an employee yelled and called us back, saying our payment hadn’t gone through. She pointed to the self-checkout station area and insisted we hadn’t paid.

We showed her our receipt, but she still didn’t believe us until we explained we had used the first station, not the second.

People around us were just watching, trying to figure out what was going on. We had to repeat ourselves several times. She kept insisting we hadn’t paid, even as other employees began watching her more than they were watching us. I opened my eyes wide to signal, “Seriously?”

Later, my husband told me what he’d heard at the Police and Clergy meeting in Lynnwood: there have been recent incidents: people traveling into this area by light rail and stealing from grocery stores. That might explain her reaction.

How can we do better as a society? Let me rephrase that: How can we—carrying the peace of Christ within us—do better?

The church holds a precious gift: the peace the world cannot give. As Jesus said in John 14:27:

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not be afraid.”

This peace is not passive. It’s rooted in God’s presence and promises—even when the world feels chaotic. And apostles are the extension of God’s presence, entrusted with God’s promises.

So what are these promises?

They’re not just words. They’re realities we live into:

• The promise of forgiveness, even when we feel unworthy.

• The promise of new life in Christ—a life not defined by fear, shame, or scarcity, but by grace.

• The promise that we are never alone. God is with us, even in the valley.

• The promise of transformation—that who we were is not who we are becoming.

• The promise of peace—not as the world gives, but as Christ gives: deep, steady, and sustaining.

And then there’s the parable of the servant—or slave, depending on your Bible’s translation. It answers our question: How do we live out this peace?

It’s about our role and our purpose as servants, and how we posture ourselves in the world. It’s a story of humility, responsibility, and the quiet faithfulness of doing what we’re called to do. Not for recognition, but because it’s part of how we’re rooted in Christ by God’s grace, not out of fear or scarcity.

Jesus showed us what that posture looks like. At the Last Supper, he washed his disciples’ feet, a radical act of humility and service.

Paul echoes this in Philippians 2:7, drawing from Isaiah 45:23:

“He emptied himself, taking the form of a servant…”

He did it. And maybe that’s why the number of people who love Jesus in the world is far greater than the number who love the church because servanthood is hard, and grace is often misunderstood.

The world says, “Believe in yourself.” But the church says, “Trust God in Jesus who loves you and restores you to be God’s beloved once again, like in the beginning when God created you.”

We are saved by God’s grace, not by the fear the world keeps throwing at us. So we hold on to what Jesus said:

“Yes, even a little faith—as small as a mustard seed—is enough.”

Last Thursday, I saw the book at church, The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein. That’s one tree for one boy. But the seed of faith Christ has planted within us isn’t just for one person. It’s for all who have said yes—in baptism, in confirmation, in affirmation—whenever new members are added to the church.

Who said, “Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree”? Many believe it was Martin Luther.

But scholars note the quote likely emerged much later—gaining popularity after World War II as a symbol of resilience and trust in God’s ongoing work. Who said it doesn’t matter.

I invite you to gently press your fingers together—just enough to imagine holding a mustard seed. It’s so small, you can’t even feel it. That’s the point.

Faith doesn’t need to be loud or visible to be real. God doesn’t ask for spectacle, just trust. Even this tiny seed is enough.

Because faith isn’t measured by size or show. It’s measured by steady, humble participation in God’s work, one act of love, one moment of courage, one step toward peace at a time, just like the giving tree, the story book I mentioned earlier. 

Each morning this week, I invite you to whisper: “By grace through Christ, rooted in trust, sent in peace, go forth in love.”

Let it shape how you enter your day. Let it be your mustard seed.

You are an apostle

when you comfort a grieving friend,

when you forgive someone who hurt you,

when you choose peace over retaliation,

when you show up, speak truth, and serve quietly,

when you offer a mustard seed of faith

over a cup of coffee with someone who’s questioning everything,

or over a shared meal with someone who’s been excluded or forgotten.

That’s mustard-seed faith in action.

May we, by grace through Christ, be apostles, rooted in trust, sent in peace, go forth in love.

Let’s say it together:

“By grace through Christ, rooted in trust, sent in peace, go forth in love.”

Amen.