Homily – St Gilbert of Sempringham – Trusting In God

Today’s readings speak about a danger that is easy to miss:
trusting in numbers, reputation, and human strength instead of God.

In the first reading, King David orders a census.
On the surface, it sounds sensible — a ruler wants to know how many soldiers he has.

But Scripture is clear:
David is counting what he can control
instead of trusting the God who protects him.

When the numbers come back, David realises what he has done.

“I have sinned greatly in what I have done.”

Why is it a sin?

Because David has shifted his confidence
from God
to power.

From faith
to statistics.

And the result is suffering for the people.
David’s pride does not stay private.
It spreads.

Then we turn to the Gospel.

Jesus comes to Nazareth, His home town.
They know His family.
They know His trade.
They think they know Him.

And because they think they know Him,
they cannot believe in Him.

“Where did this man get all this?” they say.

They measure Him by familiarity
instead of faith.

And St Mark tells us something sobering:

“He could work no miracle there…
and he was amazed at their lack of faith.”

Not because Jesus has no power —
but because they will not receive it.

In David’s case, pride blocks repentance.
In Nazareth’s case, familiarity blocks faith.

Both are forms of the same problem:

relying on human measures instead of God’s work.

This is where Saint Gilbert of Sempringham belongs with today’s readings.

St Gilbert lived in a small English village.
He was not a great noble.
He did not found something impressive by human standards.

He simply began by teaching children the faith
and caring for young women who wanted to serve God.

From that small beginning came a new religious order —
the only one founded in medieval England.

But Gilbert did not trust in numbers.
In fact, his communities were often poor and struggling.
They depended on prayer, discipline, and God’s providence.

Gilbert could have tried to build success.
Instead, he built fidelity.

And that is the difference the readings are pointing to.

David wanted security.
Nazareth wanted familiarity.
Gilbert chose faithfulness.

David learned that counting soldiers does not save a nation.
Nazareth learned that knowing about Jesus is not the same as believing in Him.
Gilbert showed that trusting God in smallness
can change the Church.

There is also something personal in the Gospel today.

“They took offence at him.”

They were not angry because Jesus was evil.
They were angry because He did not fit their expectations.

Sometimes we do the same.

We want God to act in ways that suit us.
We want Him to confirm what we already believe.
We want Him to stay within the limits we understand.

But God comes as He chooses.

David had to learn that strength comes from repentance.
Nazareth had to learn that salvation does not come from familiarity.
Gilbert learned that holiness grows quietly,
not loudly.

And St Mark gives us a warning:

“A prophet is only despised in his own country.”

We can become so used to God
that we stop listening to Him.

So today’s question is simple:

Where do I place my trust?

In what I can count?
In what I already know?
In what feels safe?

Or in what God is doing now?

St Gilbert did not found an order by clever planning.
He responded to what God placed in front of him.
Teaching children.
Sheltering the vulnerable.
Living simply.

And God did the rest.

David’s story ends with repentance.
The Gospel ends with astonishment at unbelief.
Gilbert’s life ends with perseverance.

All three teach us the same thing:

God does not need impressive numbers.
He needs willing hearts.

He does not ask for control.
He asks for trust.

He does not ask us to be extraordinary.
He asks us to be faithful.

So today we ask St Gilbert to pray for us:

that we may not measure God by human standards,
that we may not block His work by pride or familiarity,
and that we may trust Him enough
to do small things with great faith.

Because when faith replaces counting,
and trust replaces pride,
God can work miracles —
even in ordinary places
with ordinary people.