October 5, 2025 – The Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost

It’s Not About More Faith—It’s About Faithfulness

If there’s one prayer that resonates deeply with all of us, it’s this one: “Increase our faith.”

We might not say it in those exact words, but we’ve all felt it:

Lord, I don’t have enough faith to face this diagnosis.

I don’t have enough faith to forgive what was done to me.

I don’t have enough faith to trust that things will be okay.

I don’t have enough faith to keep serving when I’m tired, or to keep believing when I feel so small.

The disciples’ request seems natural, even noble. After all, who wouldn’t want more faith? But Jesus’ response takes an unexpected turn. He doesn’t congratulate them for their humility or promise to fill their hearts with more. Instead, he says something that almost sounds like a rebuke: “If you had faith the size of a mustard seed…”

It’s as though Jesus is saying, “You don’t need more faith. You just need faith.”

We live in a world that loves to measure things: height, weight, steps taken, hours slept, productivity, likes, followers, and even spirituality. We sometimes think faith works the same way—like a spiritual tank we must keep topped up. We imagine that if we just had more, life would be easier, our prayers more effective, our discipleship more impressive.

But Jesus upends that logic. Faith isn’t about volume or intensity—it’s about direction and trust. Faith, in Scripture, isn’t so much something we possess as something we practice.

The disciples say, “Increase our faith,” as though faith were a spiritual substance that could be measured in teaspoons. But Jesus speaks instead of a relationship: trust as small as a mustard seed—tiny, ordinary, seemingly insignificant—can accomplish impossible things, not because of the faith itself, but because of the One in whom the faith rests.

The power of faith lies not in its size but in its object.

A little faith in a faithful God is infinitely greater than great faith in anything else.

The mustard seed is one of Jesus’ favourite images—it’s not impressive at all. You can hardly see it, yet it holds within it all the potential for life and growth. Jesus is not interested in quantity; he is inviting us to trust the life hidden within the seed.

That is, faith is not about how certain or confident we feel, but about entrusting ourselves, even our doubts, to the living God. A mustard seed of faith is enough, because even the smallest act of trust opens our lives to the infinite possibility of grace.

Think about the widow who gave her two copper coins in the Temple—not much by anyone’s measure, but Jesus said she gave more than all the others. Or the man who said to Jesus, “Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.” Or Peter stepping onto the waves, trembling but still stepping out. These are mustard-seed moments—small, faltering acts of trust that somehow become gateways for God’s power.

Faith, in that sense, is not about eliminating doubt; it’s about daring to take the next step even when you can’t see the whole path.

When the disciples ask for more faith, they’re coming off a hard teaching. Just before this passage, Jesus tells them to forgive—even seven times in a single day—if someone repents. No wonder they respond, “Increase our faith!” They’re saying, “Lord, that’s impossible!” And Jesus replies, “It’s not about more—it’s about trust. Do the small thing, and let God handle the rest.”

We often pray for “more faith” when life feels beyond our control. And it’s understandable. But Jesus reminds us that faith is not an escape from difficulty—it’s the posture we hold within it. Faith does not mean we always understand, but that we trust the One who does.

When a loved one is dying, when we’re faced with a frightening diagnosis, when relationships fracture, or the future feels uncertain—it’s not about summoning some heroic quantity of faith. It’s about holding on, even just barely, to the belief that God is still God, and God is still good.

Faith, then, is not a superpower reserved for the spiritually elite. It’s a quiet, daily reliance—often expressed in routine acts of obedience and love. It’s the choice to show up again and again, even when our hearts feel dry.

Then Jesus pivots to a parable about a servant doing his duty:
“Who among you would say to your servant who has just come in from plowing or tending sheep, ‘Come here at once and take your place at the table’? Would you not rather say, ‘Prepare supper for me...’? So you also, when you have done all that you were ordered to do, say, ‘We are worthless servants; we have done only what we ought to have done.’”

This sounds harsh to our modern ears, but Jesus is making an important point about faith and faithfulness. He’s reminding the disciples that following him is not about earning credit or acclaim, nor is it about heroic displays of spirituality. It’s about humble, steady obedience—doing what love requires, even when it feels ordinary or unseen.

Faith and faithfulness share the same root word. Faith is not an emotion or an idea; it’s a way of living, a way of being present to God and others, in small, daily acts of trust and service.

The servant does what is required—not because it earns him favour, but because it’s what he’s called to do. So too for us. Faith isn’t proven in grand gestures; it’s cultivated in ordinary obedience.

Jesus’ words could be summed up this way: Stop worrying about how much faith you have. Just have faith.

You don’t need to move mountains or uproot trees. You just need to trust God with the next step. That’s where real faith lives—in the next small act of forgiveness, the next prayer whispered in uncertainty, the next gesture of love extended to a neighbour.

Think of a parent sitting beside a child’s hospital bed, holding their hand through the night—that’s faith.

Think of a person praying through grief, not because they understand, but because they trust that God hears—that’s faith.

Think of a volunteer showing up week after week to serve meals to the hungry—that’s faith.

Think of a community that keeps worshipping, keeps praying, keeps loving in a world that often seems cynical or divided—that’s faith.

Faith the size of a mustard seed is still faith. And that’s enough.

We live in an age where we’re encouraged to measure everything, compare everything, curate everything. Even spirituality can become another arena of self-evaluation: Am I faithful enough? Prayerful enough? Involved enough?

But Jesus reminds us that God’s kingdom does not operate on a scale of comparison. God is not impressed by size or spectacle. God honours trust—the small, genuine acts of love that no one else may see.

In the end, the life of faith is less about accumulation—more, better, greater—and more about constancy: showing up, trusting, and serving.

As the late Archbishop Desmond Tutu once said, “Do your little bit of good where you are; it’s those little bits of good put together that overwhelm the world.” That’s mustard-seed faith in action.

Every Sunday, we come to this table. We receive a morsel of bread and a sip of wine—so small, so ordinary, and yet in it, the whole grace of God is offered. That’s the logic of the Kingdom: small things bearing infinite significance.

At this table, we’re reminded that faith is not about what we can muster, but about what God has already done. Christ’s body broken, his blood poured out—this is where our faith begins and ends. We receive, we give thanks, we go out to serve. It’s not dramatic, but it’s faithful.

And each time we do it, we practice the rhythm of mustard-seed faith: trusting that God takes what is small, what feels insufficient, and fills it with divine abundance.

When the disciples say, “Increase our faith,” Jesus essentially replies, “You already have enough.”

Enough to forgive.

Enough to serve.

Enough to love.

Enough to keep walking the road of discipleship.

So maybe the prayer we need today is not, “Lord, give me more faith,” but, “Lord, help me to live the faith I already have.”

Because faith doesn’t grow by wishing for more—it grows by being used. Like a muscle, it strengthens with practice. Like a seed, it sprouts when planted. Like love, it deepens when given away.

So take heart, friends. Whatever faith you have today—whether it feels strong or fragile, certain or uncertain—entrust it to Christ. For even faith the size of a mustard seed can move mountains.

Not because of us, but because of the God who is faithful.

Amen.