If someone asked you, "Do you believe in God?" you could probably answer fairly quickly. A more difficult question: how do you know?
There is a difference between what we profess to believe, what we think we believe, and what we actually believe.
First, there are the things we profess. These are the things we say. We confess that Jesus is Lord. We say that Scripture is true. We affirm that God is good. These professions matter--but saying something is not necessarily the same as believing it.
There are also the things we think we believe. This is where things get more complicated. We can sincerely think we believe something and discover, when life puts pressure on us, that our actual beliefs are different.
Peter is a good example. When Jesus told His disciples that they would abandon Him, Peter confidently insisted, "Even if I must die with you, I will not deny you" (Matthew 26:35). Peter likely wasn't lying. He genuinely thought he would remain faithful. But when the pressure came, he discovered something about himself that he didn't know before.
Perhaps it is accurate to say that we actually believe something when we are prepared to act as if it were so.
That changes the question.
Do I believe Jesus when He says, "It is more blessed to give than to receive" (Acts 20:35)? Then perhaps I can look at my wallet and my generosity and see whether my life reflects that belief.
Do I believe Jesus when He says, "Do not be anxious about your life" (Matthew 6:25)? Then perhaps I can look at what happens inside me when the future becomes uncertain.
Do I believe that God is faithful? Perhaps I can look at what I do when I don't understand what He is doing.
The last two Sunday mornings, we have explored the contrasting biblical concepts of mammon and manna. Mammon has a way of spreading a lie that is prominent in our culture: satisfaction is just one more thing away.
One more purchase. One more promotion. One more vacation. One more accomplishment. One more follower. One more house. One more experience.
The Rolling Stones captured something universal when they sang, "I can't get no satisfaction." The problem isn't that we never experience satisfaction. We do. The problem is that satisfaction never seems to last.
Psychologists sometimes describe this phenomenon as the hedonic treadmill. We experience something wonderful, enjoy it, and eventually return to something like our previous emotional baseline. So we start chasing the next thing that promises to make us happy. The new thing becomes ordinary, and we start looking for another new thing.
And social comparison has a way of speeding up the treadmill: we look at someone else's house, marriage, vacation, career, body, possessions, or seemingly perfect family and (perhaps subconsciously) conclude that our own life is lacking. Meanwhile, they are looking at someone else and doing the same thing.
Jesus offers a different mental map.
"One's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions" (Luke 12:15).
"Do not be anxious about tomorrow" (Matthew 6:34).
"Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness" (Matthew 6:33).
Jesus doesn't promise that following Him will make us perpetually happy. Instead, He teaches us where our lives can be rooted so that we aren't constantly dependent upon the next good thing to make us whole.
Think about sitting in a chair. You don't spend five minutes convincing yourself that the chair will hold you before you sit down. You simply sit. You trust it. Gravity works the same way. You don't wake up each morning and remind yourself to believe in gravity. Your understanding of reality is so deeply settled that you live accordingly.
This is the kind of faith Jesus invites us into.
Jesus lived with a particular understanding of reality: God is Father. God is present. God knows. God provides. God is trustworthy.
Because that was Jesus' understanding of reality, He could tell His disciples not to be consumed by anxiety. He could tell them to seek God's kingdom first. He could tell them not to be afraid.
The goal of Christian faith is not merely to memorize the right beliefs or say the right words. It is to have our understanding of reality gradually reshaped by Jesus until we begin to live as though what He says is actually true.
So perhaps the question isn't simply, "Do I believe in God?"
Perhaps the better question is: what do my life, my choices, my fears, my relationships, my time, and my money reveal that I believe about God?
And perhaps an even more uncomfortable question: what do I keep chasing because I believe it will finally satisfy me?
Our lives are constantly answering those questions.
The invitation of Jesus is not simply to believe or try harder. It is to follow Him—to spend enough time with Him that His vision of reality slowly becomes ours.
And perhaps that is what faith really is: learning to live as though Jesus is telling the truth.