A leap of faith should not be a leap of cluelessness, and a step of faith should not be a leap at all. One of the temptations of an insecure faith is the belief that it ratifies impulsiveness. Scripture is cooler than this. “Test all things,” it says (I Thessalonians 5:21), and also says that our hearts are routinely deceived (Jeremiah 17:9). The implication is that there is no sin in waiting. The God who speaks into our hearts can also speak through the ordering of events, the doors of opportunity that open for us, and the wise counsel of people he places in our lives. Though God does lead us just one step at a time, it is reasonable to seek corroboration outside our hearts for what we think he is saying, and to find confidence in what the next step ought to be. God does not call us to be rash.
And yet I think I have the opposite problem.
To act impulsively, to act rashly—to follow my own pride instead of God’s will—is indeed a danger for me. But the greater danger in my own case seems to be my inclination to give the final say to my doubts.
My brain is busy. I tend to overthink any unusual step I might take. I tend to over-anticipate the risks and potential failures, and I am imaginative enough that I can come up with plenty of these. Before I proceed, therefore, I wait until I am sure—but then I am never sure. And so I hold off indefinitely on taking the step that God is urging me to take, even as he fills me with enthusiasm to take it.
This blog is an example of a step of faith. Maybe it’s a small step by any absolute measure, but it’s a big step for me. I didn’t think I’d have the time. The lack of time seemed to suggest that I would simply fail at this project and soon abandon it, so why begin?
Still, the notion that I might find joy in quietly sustaining such a project seemed to keep coming at me in different ways, over the course of more than a year, even as I continued to brush the notion aside, until the day came when I simply got started.
I think what finally convinced me was a song.
Some musicians at our church got together to produce a CD. I was listening to one of the songs they recorded—“One Pure and Holy Passion” by Mark Altrogge, a song whose lyrics I had distractedly sung in services various times—when I finally, fully heard a line from the song for the first time.
“Lead me on and I will run after you,” the song says.
I realized: These steps we take toward God are running steps.
When we proceed with joy, we don’t walk, we run. We run toward God, meaning we can see the distant point toward which we are racing. Yet because it’s a run, it is natural to misstep and even natural to stumble. If a runner crossing unknown terrain hits a patch of loose ground and slips, that’s to be expected. We get up and laugh it off, and we run some more.
In other words, it’s OK to try to follow the will of the Lord in our lives and see our attempts and undertakings sometimes fail.
It’s OK that I will do this thing wrong sometimes—this whatever-it-is-that-I-do to follow God.
We don’t know perfectly how to proceed. We learn as we go, and in particular we learn through failure, so let’s take the failures as enthusiastically as we take the visible progress. Reimagining my journey as a run gives me confidence to keep on taking new steps.
That song hit me at a particular moment. It really helped. If you have a song within you, I hope you will share it. It might not be a song of music, but might instead be a song of nurturing, counsel, or craft. We refract the light of God in unique and individual ways. As implausible as it seems—as unworkable as it seems—God actually set up his kingdom to do his work on earth through us, with each of us channeling the love and light of God according to his or her own special sculpting and circumstances.
A person refracting this light touches the heart of the person whom God will illuminate next. We might never see the one we touch or know what role we played—except that there is a radiance that results.
There is a glow that keeps on warming a fallen world so long as the people who receive the light continue to pour it out according to their gifts, so that the next person can receive the light in turn, and pour out the light in turn, and on and on and on.
And yet I think I have the opposite problem.
To act impulsively, to act rashly—to follow my own pride instead of God’s will—is indeed a danger for me. But the greater danger in my own case seems to be my inclination to give the final say to my doubts.
My brain is busy. I tend to overthink any unusual step I might take. I tend to over-anticipate the risks and potential failures, and I am imaginative enough that I can come up with plenty of these. Before I proceed, therefore, I wait until I am sure—but then I am never sure. And so I hold off indefinitely on taking the step that God is urging me to take, even as he fills me with enthusiasm to take it.
This blog is an example of a step of faith. Maybe it’s a small step by any absolute measure, but it’s a big step for me. I didn’t think I’d have the time. The lack of time seemed to suggest that I would simply fail at this project and soon abandon it, so why begin?
Still, the notion that I might find joy in quietly sustaining such a project seemed to keep coming at me in different ways, over the course of more than a year, even as I continued to brush the notion aside, until the day came when I simply got started.
I think what finally convinced me was a song.
Some musicians at our church got together to produce a CD. I was listening to one of the songs they recorded—“One Pure and Holy Passion” by Mark Altrogge, a song whose lyrics I had distractedly sung in services various times—when I finally, fully heard a line from the song for the first time.
“Lead me on and I will run after you,” the song says.
I realized: These steps we take toward God are running steps.
When we proceed with joy, we don’t walk, we run. We run toward God, meaning we can see the distant point toward which we are racing. Yet because it’s a run, it is natural to misstep and even natural to stumble. If a runner crossing unknown terrain hits a patch of loose ground and slips, that’s to be expected. We get up and laugh it off, and we run some more.
In other words, it’s OK to try to follow the will of the Lord in our lives and see our attempts and undertakings sometimes fail.
It’s OK that I will do this thing wrong sometimes—this whatever-it-is-that-I-do to follow God.
We don’t know perfectly how to proceed. We learn as we go, and in particular we learn through failure, so let’s take the failures as enthusiastically as we take the visible progress. Reimagining my journey as a run gives me confidence to keep on taking new steps.
That song hit me at a particular moment. It really helped. If you have a song within you, I hope you will share it. It might not be a song of music, but might instead be a song of nurturing, counsel, or craft. We refract the light of God in unique and individual ways. As implausible as it seems—as unworkable as it seems—God actually set up his kingdom to do his work on earth through us, with each of us channeling the love and light of God according to his or her own special sculpting and circumstances.
A person refracting this light touches the heart of the person whom God will illuminate next. We might never see the one we touch or know what role we played—except that there is a radiance that results.
There is a glow that keeps on warming a fallen world so long as the people who receive the light continue to pour it out according to their gifts, so that the next person can receive the light in turn, and pour out the light in turn, and on and on and on.
