The Life Cycle of Faith: The Faith of an Adult

Romans 5:1-5; Ephesians 4:11-14

​"Gentlemen may cry, peace, peace – but there is no peace. The war is actually begun!" These words from Patrick Henry, spoken on the precipice of the Revolutionary War, were suggesting that there was a battle, a severe unease that already existed, even though the guns had yet to be fired. And it feels exactly the same way today. No, I don't think a war is coming to engulf us. But I do think there is a war within us, a deep anxiety and unease that feels like it's growing stronger and stronger. The American Psychologycal Association this year told us that more than half of Americans are more anxious than they were the year before — over the economy, political division, finances, food insecurity, affordable housing, a lack of safety, and the looming, uncertain power of artificial intelligence.

To find our way through this mire, as Christians, we turn to faith. And this week we find that the faith of a child or the faith of a teenager will not carry us through. We need to move beyond the innocent faith of a child, past the gumption of a teenager, and into the full maturity of Christ.

The reward is found in Paul's letter to the Romans — peace with God. If the war has already begun, more than anything, we need this peace. And Paul doesn't just tell us that we need it. He gives us a roadmap, a very practical path. "Suffering produces endurance. Endurance produces character. Character produces hope. And hope does not disappoint us."

Suffering Will Come

"Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something." This marvelous quote from that fantastic book, The Princess Bride, tells a profound truth. No life is promised a bed of roses. It's going to be hard.

And inconveniently, there are only two choices before us: to wither and atrophy in the face of that suffering, becoming broken people, or to gird your loins and face life with courage.

Nietzsche understood it this way: "To live is to suffer. To survive is to find meaning in the suffering."

The Apostle Peter believed deep in his heart that he was a man of indomitable will who would not bend under pressure. In his eyes, it was what made Peter, Peter. So at the Last Supper, when Jesus warns all the disciples, "You will abandon me, all of you," Peter refuses to believe it. "Not I, Lord. Surely not I. Even if all of these others fall away, I will remain by your side." But Jesus was not going to pull any punches. He tells Peter the hard truth he needs to hear: "Truly, I tell you, before the rooster crows three times, you will deny me three times."

We all know what happened. Peter lurks at a distance, as they are leading Jesus to die.

Peter sits down with a group of strangers around a fire. And a servant girl looks at him: "This man was with Jesus." "Woman, I do not know him," Peter said. Three times he was asked. Three times he denied it — to the servant girl, to a stranger who insisted he was one of them, to someone who recognized his Galilean accent. And then the rooster crows. And from a distance, Jesus turns and looks at Peter. It was at that point that Peter suffered more than he ever would for the rest of his life.

He wept bitterly.

Suffering Produces Endurance

His belief that he was strong enough, faithful enough, self-reliant enough, was completely shattered. And this is exactly what was needed. Now he understood the truth about himself, and he was ready to trust — not in his own ability to follow Jesus, but in Jesus himself. He was ready to become the rock, ready to endure any trial, because he was finally trusting in God rather than his own strength.

After the resurrection, Jesus and Peter are together, sitting by a fire, sharing a piece of fish — the most normal thing they could have been doing. And Peter is finally ready to hear what Jesus is saying. He has been broken down enough that his pride is gone. His heart is open, and he is eager to listen.

This is the shift from a conventional faith to a reflective one — the most disruptive shift a faith can make. A loss of conventional faith may feel like deprivation, but with perseverance, it's actually a deepening: a mature faith has sufficient character to respect people you disagree with, because you can see that the intention of their heart is pure, even when you don't think their conclusions are the most effective way to achieve their aims. It relies less on our own wisdom, our own ability to understand the faith, and more on God's promises.

I have seen the remarkable power of such a faith in some of the most difficult of circumstances. When a debilitating disease strikes a person in the prime of life, it's absolutely devastating. It can crush everything inside of you. Some years ago, I remember visiting a member in the hospital. They had learned in their mid-40s that they had contracted a cancer that would end their life sooner rather than later.

There are several paths that most of us, myself included, would take. One might be to rail at God: "Why me, God? Why did you allow this to happen?" God can work with that response, but that path can be bitter, long, and hard. Another response might be to abandon belief in God altogether. This also can be terribly difficult, because the person feels like they've been lied to all of their lives by people they love and respect, and they feel like they've been duped and fooled into believing a fantasy. Often this person has a hard time trusting for the rest of their life — not only God, but others around them.

And these two very human, very understandable responses are how most of us might react. And this is why I was not only confounded, but in awe, in that hospital room. And the woman very simply said to me, "At first I did ask, why me, God? Why? Why me? But something helped that perspective change. And it was only a very small change. She began asking, 'Why not me, God? I have friends and family to help me through this time. I have a church and I have good health care. And yes, I know this will be awful, terrible for me and for my loved ones. But I also know that this will not be the end of my story.'"

Endurance Produces Character

It was her very suffering that produced such powerful character.

Jesus shows us the type of character we should strive toward. He suffered the scorn of his people, the judgment of the religious authorities, the pain of crucifixion — but it did not change him. He did not stoop to their level, compromise the truth, or become bitter and hateful. He remained a person of mercy and compassion, and as a result he has inspired the world; even those who don't believe in him as Lord have a profound respect for his character. An adult faith treats a trial as something to be examined, not simply survived — willing to be reshaped by Christ through the hardship, rather than clinging to old, simplistic pictures of God.

The immature Peter denied Jesus. Pulled out a sword at Jesus' arrest. Sank on the water. Misunderstood the Messiah so profoundly that Jesus called him Satan. This man of sinking sand did become the rock. And his character reflected that of his Lord. He found that last stage that Paul talks about: hope. He has gone through suffering. He has endured. His character has changed. And he not only knows hope, but he gave it to so many people.

There is a tender account of Peter outside of the Bible, from Clement of Alexandria around 200 AD. Some years after the death of Jesus, Peter's wife has become a believer, and she would die for her faith. And Peter was there to see it. He didn't run away. He did not deny. And in the midst of his own personal agony at his loss, he knew that peace of God, because he knew where she was headed — not in the next few hours, but for eternity. And so he calls out to her, "Remember the Lord."

Character Produces Hope

"The war is actually begun," Henry said — and he was right, not just about muskets and redcoats, but about the private battle each of us carries. But unlike Henry, we are not left only with a call to arms. We are left with a promise: the suffering we are fighting through is the very road God uses to bring us to peace.

Peter's wife did not go into her death with a call to arms either. She went with three words: "Remember the Lord." And with it she found peace.

We may still cry peace, peace, and find none. But if we walk this road, we will find the war within us has already been won. Amen.