Faith Does

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

     Sometimes I wonder why God put the various books of the Bible in the order they appear. They’re not all chronological, or alphabetical, or arranged by topic; the two books Luke wrote are split up by John’s Gospel. In several places, the order of Bible books is something that’ll make a person say, “Hmm…” But when I look at the back-to-back arrangement of Hebrews and James, the logic is clear: Hebrews describes what faith is; James describes what faith does.

     Growing up, I was simmered in a stew of King James Version, and still, some verses only make sense to me in the old Shakespearean tongue. The first verse of Hebrews 11 is one of those, the verse that contains the phrase “faith is.” Take a look:

    Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen (Hebrews 11:1, KJV). Other translations give it a good try, but run off track when they go with any terms less solid than “substance” and “evidence.” If the writer of Hebrews wants us to know anything at all about faith, it’s to know that faith will eventually manifest in something solid. And then along comes James…

     When we all get to heaven, James is on my short list of people to have a long talk with. I gotta know: Was his faith, in practice, as vibrant and hard-working as what he wrote about? My best guess right now is Yes, based mostly on the premise that God wouldn’t have a couch-potato-in-the-faith write such an athletic letter. We’ll see, won’t we? One more reason to long for heaven.

     Put the two letters together, Hebrews and James, and we see clearly that faith is nothing like a fine collectible or a museum piece; it doesn’t sit on the shelf and look pretty. Faith is energetic and eager and available. Faith is, AND faith does.

     Several years ago, a fellow showed me a fairly rare and very desirable sports car he owned. It was tucked into a garage, away from sunlight and weather and unauthorized eyes. The owner’s favorite thing about the car was that it had hardly any miles on it – not the fact that it could generate over 500 horsepower, or it could corner like a roller coaster on rails. As a collector, he saw the car as worth more because it had hardly been used. As a driver and quasi-engineer, I saw the car as worth nothing at all unless it was tested, a lot. If it looked like a hundred miles an hour sitting still – and it did – just think of the fun if you get the dang thing rolling. The car was stuck in the realm of “could, maybe.” Somehow, I kept myself from asking if the keys were in it.

     In this largely screen-based existence we’re living now, there’s a constant tug on our faith to become two-dimensional, like the screen – to trade away the actual for the virtual, to leave way too much in the realm of “could, maybe.” Lots of conjecture, lots of couch-potato faith – as if it’s OK to never take it for a spin.

     But here’s a thought: How much leftover faith should Christians have when this life is done? The last verse of 1Corinthians 13 suggests an answer: So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love (verse 13). Why is love the greatest? Because it never ends (see verse 8). The other two expire. When all is revealed and we see Jesus face to face and heaven is our forever home, our faith will become sight and what we’ve hoped for we will have. There’ll be no need for faith, which is why it’s meant to be spent, every particle of it, here in this walk-around world. Or, as one racer’s motto goes: “Use it up, wear it out, eat it all.”

     Turn your faith loose. It’s meant to run. Wind it up, dump the clutch, and feel the satisfaction of driving something powerful. James says, Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything (1:2-4). Green flag, clear track – take a few laps and see how you like it.

     Meanwhile, here’s the same question Andrew asked last Sunday: “What has your faith made you do this week?”  

  

Grace and Peace (and gobs of horsepower),

 

John