Perspectives
on Faith: From Substance to Surrender
These are difficult times for those of us in the United States. As a country we are increasingly dropping into the abyss of a fascist dictatorship. We are under the control of a president who mistakenly believes he "owns" this country just as he owned his various companies as a business person. He does NOT own the US. We, the citizens, own it. We will not allow him to bankrupt us as he bankrupted most of his businesses. These times call for a depth of hope, faith and action like we have not experienced before. It is with these conditions in mind I offer a few thoughts about faith.
Faith is often spoken of as something solid—something we can
lean on when the world feels uncertain. The writer of Hebrews captures this
beautifully: “Faith is the substance of what is hoped for, the evidence of
things unseen.” [1] It’s
a picture of faith at its strongest, when belief feels grounded and hope rises
naturally from that deep inner assurance. In this season, faith is not fragile.
It has weight. It has texture. It has presence.
But faith does not always remain in that confident state.
Life has a way of shaking foundations we once thought immovable. Circumstances
shift, prayers go unanswered, certainties dissolve. In those moments, faith can
begin to fray. What once felt like substance now feels thin. What once felt
like evidence now feels distant.
It’s in this vulnerable space that another truth emerges:
Hope becomes the last vestige of a disintegrating faith. [2]
When faith weakens, hope doesn’t vanish. It lingers—quietly,
stubbornly, almost defiantly. Hope becomes the final thread connecting us to
what we once believed. It is the ember that refuses to go out, even when the
fire has nearly died. In this stage, hope is no longer the flower of faith; it
is the root that survives the winter.
And then comes the moment Kierkegaard describes—the moment
of the leap of faith. [3] This leap is not taken from a place of
certainty. It is not supported by substance or evidence. It is taken precisely
when those things are absent.
A leap of faith is an act of courage in the face of
unknowing.
You leap without guarantees.
You leap without clarity.
You leap without knowing how—or whether—you will land.
For Kierkegaard, this is the essence of faith: not
certainty, but risk. Not assurance, but surrender. It is the willingness to
step into the unknown because something within you insists that the leap is
still worth taking.
When these three perspectives are placed side by side, they
reveal a full emotional and spiritual arc:
• Faith
at its strongest gives rise to hope.
• Faith
under strain is held together by hope.
• Faith
in action requires a leap when hope is all that remains.
Together, they remind us that faith is not a static
possession. It is a living journey—one that moves from confidence, to doubt, to
the brave decision to keep going. And perhaps the deepest truth is this:
Hope is both the child of faith and its caretaker.
When faith is strong, hope blossoms.
When faith falters, hope holds on.
And when faith demands a leap, hope whispers, “Jump.”
[1]
“Faith is the substance of what is hoped for…”
The Holy Bible, Hebrews 11:1.
(Traditionally attributed to the author of Hebrews;
translation wording varies slightly by version.)
[2] “Hope is the last vestige of a
disintegrating faith.”
Anonymous.
[3] Kierkegaard’s “Leap of Faith”
Kierkegaard, Søren. Fear and Trembling. 1843.
(Concept introduced in his exploration of Abraham, faith, and
existential risk.)
