Great Faith 

What kind of faith impresses Jesus? We talked about this question out at the jail this week. The immediate context was the story of the Roman centurion in Luke 7. His servant is suffering terribly and he pleads with Jesus to heal him. Jesus agrees and says he will come, but the Roman centurion says, “No, I’m not worthy to have you come under my roof. Just say the word and he’ll be healed.” To this, Jesus famously responds, “I tell you, I have not found such great faith even in Israel.”

I’ve mentioned before that the guys at the jail love Jesus’ healing stories. The centurion’s servant, blind Bartimaeus, the friends who lower their paralyzed friend through the roof, the woman who has been bleeding for twelve years who reaches out to touch the fringe of Jesus’ garment and is immediately healed, the paralytic who’s been lying by the pool for long years. It’s not hard to imagine why the guys are drawn to these stories. In each case, someone who has been suffering for a long time is instantly cured at the word or touch of Jesus. No twelve-step program, no rehab, no endless testing and diagnoses and medications, just pure, instant relief! How desperately some of them would love this. And in each instance Jesus praises the faith of the person who was healed. Usually some variation of “Your faith has made you well.” Such great faith!

I love the stories, too. And I love the guys’ reactions to them (especially if they’ve never heard them before, which is often the case). But I sometimes grumble a bit at Jesus internally when we read these stories, even as I’m celebrating his healing power. “You’re kind of setting these guys (and all of us) up for a fall, aren’t you, Jesus?” If “great faith” is the kind that unlocks the quick fix, what does that say about the faith that doesn’t appear to get the desired results? Is it sub-optimal faith? Unimpressive faith? We can quite easily conclude that there’s a formula at work here. Great faith gets the miracles. And of course, not far behind that formula is another one. No miracles = not-so-great faith.

What is “great faith?” Is it strength of conviction? Emotional intensity? Cognitive certainty? Depth of trust? Theological precision? If we believe hard enough or long enough or truly enough, will we get the healing we desire? If we stack up enough prayers from enough people with enough (and the right kind of) faith will this move God’s healing needle? Most of us probably wouldn’t put it this baldly, but I suspect that lingering around in our subconscious is some kind of assumption that the quantity and quality of prayers (and pray-ers) must surely have an effect. And, frankly, stories like those cited above could seem to support these assumptions. Great faith gets the miracles. No miracles? Not-so-great faith. Obviously. 

Ah, but Jesus also says things about faith like a mustard seed and about not heaping up empty phrases in our prayers. He says, “your Father knows what you need before you ask him.” He gives the strong impression elsewhere that he admires humble faith, desperate faith, faith not tied to outcomes (“a wicked and adulterous generation demands a sign!”). He talks about widows who weren’t fed and lepers who weren’t healed without any hint that this had anything to do with the quality of their faith. Frustratingly, Jesus is all over the place. And, of course, in Gethsemane Jesus didn’t get the deliverance he prayed for. We probably wouldn’t want to find ourselves in the position of questioning the quality of Jesus’ faith… 

What does “great faith” look like? We batted this one around a bit at the jail. Undeniably, the kind of faith that has no doubt that Jesus can heal impresses him. But we also suspected that the kind of faith that perseveres even in the absence of “results” is also “great.” The kind of faith that keeps on getting up to try again, even after countless failures. The kind of faith that clings to the mercy of Christ. The kind of faith that believes that life is the final word on our story despite being surrounded by “death and all his friends” (to borrow a line from Coldplay). The kind of faith that receives and extends forgiveness in obedience to Christ, seventy times seven. The kind of faith that perseveres through trials and suffering. The kind of faith that sometimes can only whisper, “Jesus, remember me.” 

At the end of John’s gospel, the disciples have encountered the risen Christ. They are coming to terms with this miracle of miracles, this staggering victory that nobody saw coming. Thomas has demanded (and received) his empirical verification of life’s triumph over death. He gasps, “My Lord and my God.” Thomas has what so many of us long for. He has his proof. And his profession of faith follows hot on its heels. But Jesus doesn’t seem terribly impressed. “Because you have seen me, you have believed,” Jesus says, I can imagine with the faintest hint of a smile on his face. “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” This, too, is great faith.