Small Things, Great Love

Last week, I recorded two workshops for a digital conference directed toward people who work cross-culturally. The information below is a distillation of one of them. This philosophy and a theology has a large implication on the idea and practice of generative leadership. Here’s my question:

What if the holiest thing you’ve done all week was set the table for dinner?

As a species, we are myth-mongers. We tell ourselves stories and perpetuate them. Myth becomes legend.

We've mythologized the headline. It’s what we tell ourselves.

Here's the myth:

Headlines are what matter.

Big sermons. Big platforms. Big movements. Big followers. Big news. Change the world. Leave your dent in the universe. Do great things for God and humanity.

Hold up. What if the most world-changing thing you’ll ever do is something so mundane no will probably notice?

Life is not about the headlines. It's in the footnotes few ever read.

We Need a Theology of the Mundane

I've spent a lot of years working in and for the church. Ive seen it. There’s a long-standing habit of dividing life into sacred and secular worlds, as if they are opposing forces. The holy and the ordinary. “Real ministry” only happens in pulpits, mission fields, or church meetings. Occasionally at a homeless shelter. Meanwhile, the rest of life—the 9-to-5 job, the dinner table, the conversations over coffee—feels somehow “less than.”

Jesus lived a non-conflicting life.

In Matthew 9, he does the deeply theological and utterly ordinary act of sharing a meal and religious leaders are appalled: “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?” (Matthew 9:11) Assumption: true holiness means separation from the so-called secular world.

Jesus’ response? “Learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’”

This is a radical redefinition of what matters to God. Pharisees think sacrifice—religious rituals and status—are what sets us apart as holy. Jesus points them to mercy—acts of kindness, compassion, and love in the ordinary moments of life.

Jesus didn’t wait for stadium-sized events. He breaks bread with tax collectors, listens to prostitutes, calls people by name. Small things with great love.

The Torn Veil Means Something Spectacular

One of the most overlooked but theologically seismic moments in the Gospels is the tearing of the temple veil at the precise moment of Jesus’ death.

The veil separated the “holy” space from the “common” space. Only the high priest could pass through it, and then only once a year with the proper preparation. It was the ultimate symbol of separation between God and the everyday. From the holy and the ordinary.

When Jesus died, the veil was torn from top to bottom.

The sacred and the ordinary have been forever united.

The implications are clear: There is no longer a divide between holy work and everyday work. Whether planting churches or sweeping floors, leading a company or making coffee, writing code or teaching kids or driving a truck, Divinity is present in it all.

Your ordinary work matters. Your everyday love matters.

The Most Underrated Act of Worship

Several years ago, my wife and I were in a season of transition and chaos. We had spent years in Mongolia doing what we thought to be the “big” work—missionary work, church planting, leading teams. In 2014, we landed back in the U.S., struggling to figure out where we might fit in a place foreign to us.

In May 2014, I sat on a friend’s front porch, watching people head off to their “regular” jobs, feeling completely lost. Had I left my calling? Was I now stuck in the unremarkable?

Here’s what I know now: the confliction I was feeling wasn’t real. I had preached sermons on the sacredness of work but never internalized it.

God is present in the coffee shop I worked for a time. He is present in ordinary conversations with everyday coworkers. He is present in every act of generous hospitality, and in the simple service of making someone’s day better.

One of the most underrated acts of worship is sharing a meal.

Jesus’ scandalized the religious leaders of his day with the time He spent eating and drinking with the “wrong” people. Jesus used meals as moments of mission. He dined with Zacchaeus, a corrupted tax collector, who radically reformed his ways. He cooked breakfast for His disciples after the resurrection, and it was over that very breakfast Jesus restored to fellowship and ministry.

Think about that—the risen Christ, having conquered death, makes breakfast (and restores his friend who stumbled).

There is deep holiness in these small acts of love.

Keeping Darkness at Bay

Looking at the power games leaders play, from the most local place to the national and international stage, This is an important message for us in 2025.

“Saruman believes it is only great power that can hold evil in check, but that is not what I have found. I have found it is the small everyday deeds of ordinary folks that keep the darkness at bay. Small acts of kindness and love.”

Gandalf — From the movie “The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey”

It’s the difference between Gandalf and Saruman (The problems I have with this movie aside). It’s the difference between leadership that is toxic and leadership that is generative.

The world tells us bigger is better—success is measured in influence, followers, and impact at scale. But Jesus shows us a different way. The Kingdom of God is not a top-down empire. It’s mustard seeds and hidden leaven. The unnoticed, the overlooked, and the small.

Our holy/ordinary divide is causing us to ask the wrong questions. The question isn’t What great thing can I do? The question is: What small thing can I do today with great love?

Our world doesn’t need more heroes chasing grandeur. We need more people quietly, persistently loving their neighbor, welcoming the stranger, lifting the weary, sharing their table.

The work you do today—however small and back page it seems—matters.

Love makes the mundane miraculous.

And you are doing better than you think.