Like mustard seeds

One day, walking along the path leading to the monastery of St. George, on the Wadi Qelt, a few kilometres from Jerusalem, the guide who accompanied our pilgrimage detached a small round pod from a tree growing along the road. He opened it and small seeds appeared on the palm of his hand, so small that they looked like black dots.

Who knows how many times we listened to the parable of the mustard seed in which Jesus says that “it is the smallest of all the seeds”; it is enough to have seen it once live to realize that it is something really tiny, almost invisible. If we manage to take one in our hands and place it on the palm, we will lose it; and yet it gives origin not to a blade of grass, but a plant.

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