Daily Reflection
August 11, 2026

When I was a little girl, I had a talent for trying to eat things that could not be classified as food, such as crayons, a bit of paper, a mysterious leaf from the yard, a button, or a suspiciously shiny coin. I got very used to hearing the phrase, “Why is that in your mouth?” and suddenly my parents, or my schoolteachers, would quickly assume the role of part detective and part emergency response team, just because I had decided to innocently taste something. So, I smiled as I read the scripture for today, because it felt like an invitation back to that place in my memory.

In Ezekiel, God says something startling to the prophet. God said, take the scroll and eat it. However, in this case, it is not intended as an adventurous snack. It is the word of God—something not just to be read, but to be taken in, digested, and lived. A scroll that contains hard things, such as lamentation, grief, and sorrow, and yet, when tried, tastes curiously sweet, and even, nutritious for the soul.

Much of what God gives us is not easy at first— a life transition, a loss, an opportunity for reconciliation, or a difficult season when we have felt lost in plain sight. However, when we stop fighting the channel of grace, when we surrender and let it sink in, there can be an unexpected sweetness underneath it all. Not because pain is pleasant, but because what stretches us can feed us in needed ways, and God is present in the middle of it all. God’s kingdom is in our midst. Maybe, that is why Jesus’s choice in today’s Gospel feels so perfect, even though unexpected.

In the Gospel, the disciples want to talk about greatness. In other words, they want to know who is most important, who rises to the top, who matters, who is in charge. So, Jesus, with the timing of someone who has heard this sort of thing before, answers by placing a child in their midst. Not a warrior, not a scholar, not a preacher, not the strongest, not the most accomplished, not the most impressive, but a child. Someone small, dependent, trusting, curious, gloriously unimpressed with leadership positions, and yes, with the occasional terrible judgement, sticky hands, probably untied sandals, and with all the vulnerability that comes with being little—and Jesus says—start here, this is what greatness looks like, this is where greatness begins. Jesus answers their ambition by redefining greatness.

Most of us learned to associate greatness with achievement, visibility, and being taken seriously. The disciples were not so different from us. However, Jesus teaches us that the vulnerable are not interruptions to greatness; they are the measure of it. Greatness is not about taking up the most space or being the most recognized, or doing the most; it is about making room for child-like wonder, humility, and having the kind of heart that still knows how to receive. The best leaders know this. The best and holiest people around us know this. Saint Clare knew this.

Saint Clare did not chase greatness, yet greatness found her in her courage, clarity, and quiet authority. She came from privilege, and she could have used her life to secure comfort, admiration, and influence. Instead, she chose a different kind of life—a life stripped down for the sake of love. She wanted Christ without the clutter, and the freedom of belonging completely to God. She invites us to become the kind of people who do not need to dominate a room in order to change it.

Maybe the invitation today is to be more discerning about the strange things the world keeps offering us to consume—status, comparison, a desire to be preferred, fear, noise—and to become a little more like children—open, unpretentious, humble, interested, curious, willing to reach, willing to believe in ideas that fall by the wayside as we get older, willing to be lifted up, willing to be found, ready to be amazed, ready to receive, and maybe like Saint Clare, with a desire to help others see more clearly, and a willingness to let go of what is not essential. The heart becomes, little by little, what it consumes. Many of us are just trying to matter. Many of us are tired of comparing, proving, and managing how we appear. Jesus keeps drawing us away from all that strain. He does not ask us to be impressive. We do not have to be the greatest. We do not have to have everything figured out.

And honestly, that is a relief.

Lord, teach us to receive your word and your love with a child’s heart; make us humble and brave enough to live a life that reflects what we have received from you. Amen.