Habakkuk could easily be a man in 2025.
He looks at the world and cries:

“How long, O Lord? Violence, injustice, destruction — and You do nothing!”

He’s not an atheist shaking his fist at heaven.
He’s a believer — but a tired one.
A man who loves God but can’t understand His silence.

And God’s reply is calm, almost fatherly:

“The vision still has its time. If it delays, wait for it. The just shall live by faith.”

In other words: I’m working, even when you can’t see it.

Faith doesn’t remove the mystery; it keeps us standing in it.
Faith isn’t blind optimism — it’s the quiet courage to trust that God’s plan is wiser than our impatience.

That’s where the Catholic faith stands out.
The world says, “If I can’t see it, it’s not real.”
Faith says, “If God has spoken it, it’s already begun.”

Real faith isn’t loud. It’s steady.
It’s the candle that keeps burning when the wind rises.

The apostles echo Habakkuk’s cry:

“Lord, increase our faith.”

They’ve walked beside Christ. They’ve seen miracles.
And yet they still feel small.

And Jesus answers with a surprise:

“If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you.”

He doesn’t give them more faith.
He invites them to use what they already have.

Faith isn’t measured in size but in trust.
A mustard seed looks tiny, but it’s alive.
And anything alive with God’s life will grow.

We don’t need big faith.
We need real faith.
Faith that prays even when it’s tired.
Faith that forgives even when it hurts.
Faith that keeps showing up — like this evening Mass,
quiet, steady, faithful.

Jesus never left us a slogan — He left us a Church.
He said to the apostles:

“He who hears you, hears Me.”

That’s what Catholic faith looks like — visible, sacramental, apostolic.

Many people today say, “I’m spiritual but not religious.”
That’s like saying, “I love music but hate sound.”
Faith without the Church dries up; it loses its roots.

Here, in the Mass, faith has a body.
Here, the Word becomes flesh again.
Here, the Lord we cannot see hides Himself under bread and wine.
Faith bends the knee because it recognises its Friend.

This is why we come.
Not to see something spectacular, but to touch something real.
At every Eucharist, God renews His promise:
“I am with you always, even to the end of the age.”

St Paul says to Timothy:

“Fan into flame the gift of God that is in you.”

That’s not a dramatic command; it’s a gentle one.
Keep the fire burning. Don’t let it go out.

The flame was lit at Baptism.
It was sealed at Confirmation.
It’s fed here at the altar.

But fire needs fuel — and it needs air.
Prayer gives it air.
The sacraments feed it.
Acts of mercy make it shine.

Faith cools quietly if we stop tending it.
It burns again when we give it attention.

So if your faith feels weak tonight,
that’s all right.
God can work with that.
He built the Church on tired fishermen, not spiritual giants.

Even an ember can light the dark.

Then Jesus says a line that makes modern ears wince:

“When you have done all that was commanded you, say, ‘We are unworthy servants; we have only done our duty.’”

That isn’t meant to humiliate us.
It’s meant to free us.

Faith isn’t a transaction — it’s a relationship.
We don’t say, “Lord, I’ve done my bit, now bless me.”
We say, “Lord, You’ve already blessed me — let me love You in return.”

Grace first.
Gratitude second.
Glory last.

That’s the order of Catholic life.
We don’t earn God’s love; we respond to it.
And when we stop trying to impress Him,
we discover the joy of simply belonging to Him.

Most of the time, faith doesn’t feel dramatic.
It looks like prayer before sleep,
a rosary said in the car,
helping someone quietly, forgiving quietly.

At St Mary’s, faith is in the rhythm —
in the people who still come when it’s raining,
who kneel in silence before Mass,
who light a candle and whisper a name to heaven.

That’s mustard-seed faith.
It doesn’t make headlines, but it makes saints.

Habakkuk waited for God’s promise.
The apostles waited for understanding.
The Church still waits for renewal.

Waiting doesn’t mean doing nothing.
It means doing everything in hope.

The just shall live by faith — not by frustration.
The Lord never promised us an easy Church,
only a faithful one.

And faithfulness is the quiet courage to keep showing up,
to keep loving,
to keep believing that God is doing more than we can see.

Habakkuk teaches us to trust when heaven feels silent.
Paul teaches us to keep the flame alive.
Jesus teaches us to serve with humility and joy.

Faith isn’t loud.
It isn’t flashy.
It’s the small “yes” whispered in the dark that moves heaven.

So tonight, as we come to the altar,
bring your mustard seed.
It doesn’t matter how small it feels.
Plant it here.
Let grace water it.
Let Christ make it grow.

Because the vision still has its time.
And the just shall live by faith.