Faith is a funny word that gets tossed around a lot in the Christian community. I find that it has become synonymous with a lifestyle. Talking about it is kind of like sharing pictures of a new grandchild; it is passed around and around the room, and we all squint at it and look at it and nod appreciatively. We understand how that Christian does things, how he or she lives out this Christian walk. Maybe we admire them. Maybe their faith-baby-grandchild looks really cute, and we’d like something like that. Maybe we envy them.
I don’t think that’s what faith really is.
Faith has two meanings in the Christian community. These definitions can be likened to a compound and an element. If you are not currently in a science course of any kind (like me) or didn’t major in a science in college (also like me), a compound is a chemical mixture of a bunch of different elements, while an element is a homogenous, pure chemical substance.
“Living out one’s faith” is a Christian phrase that asks this question: how will the world see Jesus in you? This is a very important question that should cause us to stop looking at other people’s lives and stare hard at ours. Every person expresses their relationship with God differently, from worship styles to ways we serve, depending on the environment and culture which she or he might find herself or himself in. And yet, while we express Jesus in us differently, we are all bound by the same cloth. Faith the element is a part of this whole compound. When I think about faith and the legacy of Christians that come before me, I think of someone from an old 50s movie clenching their fist and muttering, “We’re from good stock,” full of family pride. We hold Faith the compound like something precious, like the cloth that binds us is made of silk.
That is Faith, the compound. Faith, the element is different. The Bible says that faith is “being sure of what we hope for, and certain of what we do not see” (Hebrews 11:1). It’s gritty and gutsy, more burlap than silk. It’s present whenever doubt is lurking at the door. It’s present on the nights that you cry yourself to sleep. It’s present in the questions, in the Why’s and What If’s. Faith the element is the choice to trust that something good is coming, that the promises of God are true.
We talk about faith like it's a piece of us, something we pull over our hearts like a sweater, something that is easily seen by the people around us. And sometimes you feel the fuzzy warmth of that sweater, a presence that brings tears prickling to the eyes and certainty to the insecure soul. And then there are days that the comfort of this so-called "faith" unravels, and we are left with what faith actually is-- a desperate, dogged, sometimes shaky confidence that God is still with us, that his Spirit still dwells in us, and that, somehow, we are going to be okay. It’s lying awake at night and praying along with St. Julian of Norwich, “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” It’s singing along to Glorious Unfolding by Steven Curtis Chapman, believing that your story is not yet over and trusting every word, while tears stream down your face.
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I think it’s interesting that Jesus talks about faith being a mustard seed. If you’ve never seen a mustard seed, it’s about the size of a sesame seed. That is definitely what faith has felt like for me for probably the last six months. It’s tiny. It’s a seed. I’ve buried it in the ground and hoped that it will grow, but in the words of Andrew Peterson, sometimes faith is just hoping “for a sign that this death will give way to a birth.”
And it’s hard to live in that place. There are days when I wake up and it’s a victory to just reach out and hold my Bible in my lap. I’ve been waiting and trying to take steps in the direction of a future I can’t see. I don’t know how I’m going to pay off my student loans. Sometimes it feels like I’m clinging to nothing. But I always manage to hold to the hope that, even though I don’t know how I’m going to figure these things out, that someday I will. And that’s definitely not something I can do all by myself.
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My mom says that every situation that we go through, every trial that we face, there are two questions that we have to answer: “Is God good?” and “Is God trustworthy?” Faith looks up from the battle, exhausted, and chooses to believe that those things are good, even though everything else may be crumbling. It continues to fight, however feebly, to trust that good things are ahead.
I hope that I’m not making faith sound like something glamorous and perfect. I’m not saying that faith can be defined in a 700-word blog post. The purpose of this piece is to express that a difficult and dark situation does not diminish faith, even when it feels like it’s not there at all. No one can tell you that you are suffering because you don’t have enough faith. I want you to know that God is gentle with us in our suffering, when our faith is weak and small. He remembers who we are. He holds us close without judgment or question. Hold fast knowing that you are held.
Photo by Cherry Laithang on Unsplash