October 5, 2025
Spoiler alert: I’m about to mention
the end of the movie The Wizard of Oz. Since the movie premiered in
1939, I am assuming that most of us here and most who may be watching from home
know the movie and know its plot. If you don’t, I apologize for spoiling it for
you, but as I said, it premiered in 1939.
Dorothy finds herself in the strange
land of Oz, trying to find her way back home to Kansas. She begins a tumultuous
journey from Munchkin Land to see the wizard who resides in Oz, to ask for help
in getting home. Without even meaning to, she defeats not one but two wicked
witches. She befriends a scarecrow, a lion, and a tin man. She faces flying
monkeys – which were the part of the movie that always terrified me when I was
a kid. And finally she comes face-to-face with the one person she most wanted
to see – the Wizard himself. Only it turns out that the Wizard isn’t so much a
Wizard as he is an old man, who was also stranded in Oz, and made the best of
it by pretending to be a great and powerful Wizard.
All Dorothy wants is to go home, and
she hopes that the Wizard will be able to help her. Even though he isn’t really
a Wizard, he still believes he can return her to her home and her loved ones, but
that plan goes awry at the last minute, leaving Dorothy in despair of ever
getting back to Kansas. But just when Dorothy and the rest of us think that all
is lost, Glynda the Good Witch returns to help. Glynda tells Dorothy that she
has had the power to go home all along. That power is found in the ruby
slippers on Dorothy’s feet; ruby slippers that became Dorothy’s when her house
landed on the Wicked Witch of the East. All Dorothy has to do is tap her heels
together and repeat,
“There’s
no place like home. There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.”
It
works! Dorothy wakes up back in her bed, back in her house, surrounded by her
family and friends. It is a happy ending, one that I accepted without question
as a child. But as I grew older, I started to ask one question that may or may
not be answerable. Why didn’t Glynda tell Dorothy that she had the power to go
home from the very beginning? Why didn’t Glynda clue Dorothy in about the power
of the ruby slippers from the get-go? Dorothy asked to go home, a
straightforward request, and Glynda’s response seemed evasive at best.
I
won’t claim that Jesus was being evasive in his reply to the disciples at the
beginning of our passage from Luke’s gospel, but I will say that his response
seems impatient and just plain strange.
The
apostles said, “Increase our faith!” This is an imperative statement meaning
that they are not just asking for more faith, they are demanding it. Increase
our faith, Jesus! Now please! This demand may seem as though it comes from a
place of entitlement and superiority, but I think it more likely comes from
anxiety and fear. If we were to read the first four verses in this chapter,
that anxiety would make sense. In chapter 16, Jesus was addressing the
pharisees, but now his words are directed once more to those closest followers.
He tells his disciples that they bear a tremendous responsibility for those who
follow them. If someone stumbles and falls short because of the words, actions,
and deeds of a disciple, it would be better for that disciple to have a
millstone hung around their neck and thrown into the sea. Don’t cause a little
one, a person young in faith, to mess up. And if one of you sins against
another of you, you must call out the offender. But if that person repents,
then you must forgive. And if the other sins and repents seven times a day; you
must forgive seven times a day.
Once
again Jesus is telling the disciples that none of this will be easy; that being
a disciple, being faithful, is the hardest task they will ever undertake. And
they respond, “Increase our faith!” Give us more faith, Jesus, so we can do
this. Give us an extra dose of faith, so we have a chance of making this work.
Instead
Jesus says, “If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this
mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea and it would obey you.’”
The
Greek word used for if implies not just a possibility but a reality. So,
it’s more like Jesus is saying, “If you had faith the size of a mustard seed,
and by the way you do, you already have this faith, you could say to the
mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea …”” Just as Dorothy already
had the power to get home, Jesus is telling the disciples that their faith is
already sufficient to do what seems both absurd and impossible.
Had
Jesus ended here, this would have still been a challenging passage, but its challenge
might have felt more manageable. But verse six is not the end. Jesus then
speaks about the relationship of a master and a slave. The use of the word
“slave” grates on my 21st century ears and stings my conscience because of the
brutal history of chattel slavery in our country. Rightly so. It would be wrong
to interpret these words as Jesus justifying slavery, but it also must be
acknowledged that the master/slave relationship was common in that time and
place. The disciples would have recognized and understood it. So, Jesus tells
them that when the slave does what’s expected of him, he doesn’t get praise or
thanks. The slave is just doing what he’s supposed to do. The slave is just
doing what’s required of him; the slave is merely doing his duty.
Jesus
gives this an interesting twist because he implies that the disciples are the
slaves of God. This makes God the slave master, which adds greatly to my
discomfort. But even if we translated the word doulos as servant
instead of slave, I would still be uncomfortable. Because at the end of
the day, I don’t want to think about God being stingy with rewards. And I’m
also honest, I would like some thanks and praise for serving. I suspect the
disciples would too, especially because this serving is hard work. It’s scary
work. It is imposing work. And if they are going to do it, they need as much faith
as possible, and how about a “thank you” thrown in for good measure. It’s not
like Jesus doesn’t speak of their greater reward at other points in the
gospels. Why change that now?
But
I wonder if Jesus is trying to get the disciples to understand that faith is
not about quantity. Faith is not something that can be measured in amounts. You
can’t just fill up your faith like you can gas in your car. When the disciples
cry, “Increase our faith,” maybe they’re not just simply asking for more, but
asking for it to be simpler, easier. Give us an extra jolt of faith, Lord, so
this won’t be so hard for us. Give us an extra measure of faith, Jesus, so this
won’t be so challenging, so intimidating, so frightening. Increase our faith,
so this won’t demand quite so much of us.
But
Jesus tells them, you have enough faith. You have plenty of faith already. You
have the enough faith to tell a tree with the deepest of roots to pull itself
up and jump into the sea. You have enough faith to do what is impossible right
now. But faith is not measurable in a way that is quantifiable. Faith does not
increase because you get a refill or an extra dose or a larger amount. Faith
grows by the doing. Faith is not something you get, faith is something you do.
Faith is serving. Faith is acting. Faith is doing. You serve God and you serve
others because that is what grows faith. Faith is not something you get. Faith
is something you do. You already have enough faith. You already have what you
need. You just have to do it. Faith is not what you get. Faith is what you do.
Like
the disciples, though, I would rather have it the other way around. I would
rather have my faith topped up by some supernatural increase than do the hard
work of faith. Because to do the work of faith requires more of me than I think
or want to give Doing the work of faith requires me to love people who I don’t
want to love and to forgive people I don’t want to forgive. Doing the work of
faith requires me to resist “othering” people, to resist trying to categorize
people under various labels, so they will be the others I don’t have to deal
with. And that is hard work indeed, and everything in our culture suggests that
I should do the opposite. A supercharge of faith would surely help me do all of
this wouldn’t it? It would make it so much easier if my faith could just be
increased. But faith is not something we get. Faith is something we do. If we
want to increase our faith, we must do the work of faith. And we do it not for
reward or praise or thanks, but just because.
In
a few minutes we will come to the table and celebrate the Lord’s Supper. On
this World Communion Sunday, we do this with Christians of every denomination,
of every creed, of every color, of every gender around the globe. At this table
we will be fed and nourished and strengthened. But sharing the bread and
drinking the cup will not magically increase our faith. It is the act of coming
to the table that will increase our faith. It is the act of breaking the bread
and drinking the cup that increases our faith. This table is not about
refueling but about gathering and doing and loving and sending. Faith is not
something we get, faith is something we do. May we increase our by the daily
work of faith, even when that work is hard or seems impossible. May we increase
our faith by the daily work of faith, and daily may we share the mercy and
grace and love of God with all God’s people. Thanks be to God.
Let
all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.”
Amen.
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