Sometimes the problem with those of us who follow Jesus is that we simply aren't content with minor miracles. We prefer a God who is only present, as the Great and Powerful Oz, in smoke and flame and visual ferocity.

We want dead raisings.

We want blind healings.

We want ocean splittings.

I understand this, because if the source of our hurt and concern is death or blindness then the cure should fit the disease.

Yet we can get addicted to the near-computer-generated acts of God in such a way that we develop light blindness to the purely ridiculous simplicity of the way God always works versus the way God sometimes works.

Jesus' stories talked about small things - mustard seeds, yeast, etc. - all of which must be cared for an properly engaged before anything big happens. As an amateur bread maker (boulangersunflower-seeds, for those of you in the know) the sanctity of yeast is nearly saint-like.

You baby it, you watch it and coo at it like a newborn baby until the explosive influence of cultivated mold draws water and sugar and flower into a light and airy mass that begs for butter or a puddle of olive oil.

Hopefully.

If you mistreat the small hero of yeast, however, you pay with time and disappointment as you try to slice something that would be better suited to hold a door open in your home.

Is it possible that the small divinities, the mustard seeds we miss because our eyes are looking for the next lightning flash, are the ground of an everyday revolution that God is calling us into? Is it possible that we could develop a vision of life in which we are constantly attuned to the significant insignificance so as to see a God-on-the-move rather than a headliner waiting for the proper big moment?

If so, I believe we'll be doubly amazed when dead rise and blind see, but in a different way. We'll have tilled the ground of our soul and yielded plants from small seeds and the grandiose miracles will become harvest parties of goodness in our ragtag lives.

May we find the path of Brother Lawrence, practicing the presence of God, whether we see the flames of Oz or not.

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