In Defense of Small Things

It is a peculiar folly of our age, a madness that seems to have infected the very marrow of our modern bones, that we have come to despise the small things. We are forever chasing after the grand and the glorious, the monumental and the massive, as if size alone could confer significance. Our eyes are constantly lifted to the horizon, searching for the next big thing, the revolutionary idea, the world-changing event. But in this mad pursuit of the colossal, we have forgotten the divine dignity of the diminutive. We have, in our modern mania, made the grievous error of mistaking bigness for greatness.

Yet, if we but pause to consider, if we dare to lower our gaze from the dizzying heights of our ambition to the humble ground beneath our feet, we shall find that Christianity itself is built upon the celebration of the small. Did not our LORD Himself come to us not as a conquering king, but as a helpless babe? Was He not born not in a palace, but in a humble stable? And did He not choose as His disciples not the learned and powerful, but simple fishermen? Indeed, the entire narrative of our faith is a testament to the triumph of the tiny.

Consider, if you will, the mustard seed, which our LORD used as a metaphor for the Kingdom of Heaven. It is, by all accounts, an unremarkable thing - small, ordinary, easily overlooked. One might walk past a field of mustard and never notice the individual seeds, so insignificant are they to the casual observer. Yet from this tiny seed grows a great tree, providing shelter and sustenance. Is this not a rebuke to our modern obsession with the grandiose? Is it not a divine reminder that true greatness often comes wrapped in the most unassuming packages?

Or ponder, if you can tear yourself away from your smartphone long enough, the widow's mite. In the eyes of the world, her contribution was negligible, hardly worth mentioning. The wealthy patrons of the temple would have scoffed at her offering, perhaps even suggesting she keep it for herself, so little did it matter to the temple's coffers. Yet Christ proclaimed that she had given more than all the others. Here again, we see the extraordinary value that Heaven places on what the world deems insignificant.

It is a curious paradox of our faith, a divine riddle that confounds the wise and humbles the proud, that to become great, one must become small. To be exalted, one must be humbled. This is the great inversion of Christianity, the divine logic that confounds the wisdom of the world. We are called not to be impressive, but to be faithful; not to do great things, but to do small things with great love.

In our relentless pursuit of progress, we have created a world of superlatives. Everything must be bigger, faster, more efficient. We build skyscrapers that scrape the very heavens, yet we have forgotten how to marvel at a single blade of grass. We travel at breakneck speeds across continents, yet we have lost the art of taking a leisurely stroll through our own neighborhoods. We can communicate instantly with people on the other side of the globe, yet we struggle to engage in meaningful conversation with our next-door neighbors.

But what if, in our haste to achieve greatness, we have overlooked the very things that make life truly great? What if the key to a life well-lived lies not in grand gestures and monumental achievements, but in the accumulation of small kindnesses, tiny joys, and minute acts of love?

Let us, then, mount a spirited defense of small things. Let us champion the charm of the child's laughter, the warmth of a friend's embrace, the comfort of a cup of coffee on a cold morning. Let us celebrate the poetry of everyday life - the dance of sunlight on leaves, the melody of raindrops on a rooftop, the satisfying click of a well-fitted puzzle piece.

For in defending these small things, we are defending nothing less than the very essence of our humanity. We are affirming that life is not merely about achieving and acquiring, but about appreciating and cherishing. We are declaring that true wealth lies not in the size of our bank accounts or the scope of our influence, but in the depth of our relationships and the richness of our experiences.

Consider, for a moment, the lilies of the field. Our LORD drew our attention to these simple flowers, not to the cedars of Lebanon or the great temples of Jerusalem. He pointed out their beauty, their effortless grace, their silent testimony to the care of the Creator. In doing so, He elevated the small and the commonplace to a position of honor. He taught us to see the extraordinary in the ordinary, the sacred in the mundane.

But we, in our infinite wisdom, have chosen to ignore this lesson. We have decided that bigger is always better, that more is always preferable to less. We have created a culture that worships at the altar of excess, that equates value with volume. We have become so enamored with the spectacular that we have lost our ability to appreciate the subtle.

Yet, is it not true that the most profound moments of our lives are often the quietest? The gentle squeeze of a loved one's hand in a moment of grief, the soft whisper of encouragement from a friend, the quiet satisfaction of a job well done - these are the things that give life its flavor, its texture, its meaning. These are the small things that, accumulated over a lifetime, create a tapestry of experiences far richer and more beautiful than any grand achievement could hope to match.

In our rush to change the world, we have forgotten that the world is changed not by grand revolutions, but by small, persistent acts of kindness and courage. The Berlin Wall did not fall in a day; it was brought down by countless small acts of resistance, by individuals who dared to dream of freedom. The civil rights movement was not won by a single heroic gesture, but by thousands of ordinary people who refused to accept injustice, who made the small choice each day to stand for what was right.

And what of faith itself? Is it not built on small acts of trust, on daily choices to believe in the face of doubt? The great saints and martyrs of history did not become holy overnight; they were forged in the crucible of daily life, through small victories over temptation, through tiny acts of sacrifice and love. Their greatness lay not in their ability to perform miracles, but in their willingness to be faithful in the small things.

Yet we, in our modern arrogance, have decided that such small things are beneath us. We want instant gratification, immediate results. We want to change the world, and we want to do it now. But in our impatience, we have lost sight of the truth that real change, lasting change, comes slowly, incrementally, through the patient accumulation of small actions and choices.

Consider the act of reading itself. In this age of digital distraction, of endless scrolling and constant notifications, the simple act of sitting down with a book has become a radical act of resistance. To give one's full attention to a single task, to immerse oneself in the thoughts of another mind, to engage in the slow, deliberate process of absorbing ideas - these are small acts that have the power to transform our minds and hearts.

Or think of the family meal, that most humble of institutions. In a world where fast food and TV dinners have become the norm, where we eat on the run and rarely pause to savor our food or the company of our loved ones, the simple act of gathering around a table to share a meal has become a powerful statement. It is a small thing, to be sure, but it is in these small moments of connection and communion that families are built, that relationships are strengthened, that memories are made.

Even in the realm of technology, where bigger and faster is the mantra of the day, we are beginning to see a renewed appreciation for the small and the simple. The rise of the minimalist movement, the growing interest in tiny houses, the popularity of meditation apps - all these point to a hunger for simplicity, for a return to the essentials. It is as if, having gorged ourselves on excess, we are rediscovering the joy of moderation, the pleasure of doing more with less.

But this is not a call to reject progress or to romanticize the past. It is not an argument for a return to some imagined golden age of simplicity. Rather, it is a plea for balance, for perspective, for a recognition that true progress is not measured in the size of our buildings or the speed of our computers, but in the quality of our relationships, in the depth of our understanding, in the richness of our inner lives.

It is a call to rediscover the art of noticing, to cultivate an appreciation for the small wonders that surround us every day. It is an invitation to slow down, to pay attention, to savor the moment. For it is in these small moments, these tiny fragments of time, that we encounter the divine, that we touch the face of eternity.

In the end, it is not the big things that will save us, but the small. Not the grand gestures, but the quiet acts of kindness. Not the earth-shaking revelations, but the gentle whispers of truth. For as our LORD reminded us, it is the meek who shall inherit the earth. And perhaps, in that inheritance, we shall rediscover the magnificent importance of small things.

So let us raise a toast to the small, the insignificant, the overlooked. Let us celebrate the power of the tiny seed, the widow's mite, the mustard seed of faith. Let us recognize that in the economy of Heaven, it is often the least who are the greatest, the last who are first, the small who are mighty.

For in the end, what is our faith if not a celebration of the small? A baby in a manger, a wandering teacher with a handful of followers, a cross on a hill outside Jerusalem - these are the small things upon which the fate of the universe turned. These are the humble beginnings from which sprang a movement that would change the world.

And so, as we go about our daily lives, let us not despise the day of small things. Let us instead embrace them, celebrate them, recognize in them the very fingerprints of God. For it is in the small things, the quiet moments, the subtle gestures, that we often find the greatest treasures of all - love, joy, peace, and the quiet assurance of a faith that can move mountains, one pebble at a time.

-The Seeker's Quill