Tag: faithfulness

Bible 40 Themes 04 Faith

Faith is one of the Bible’s most quietly powerful gifts. It isn’t loud, or showy, or always certain of the next step. More often, faith is the steady courage to keep walking when the road ahead is hidden by mist. Scripture doesn’t present faith as a flawless emotional confidence, but as a deep trust rooted in God’s character and promises.

Hebrews offers a simple and beautiful definition: “Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see” (Hebrews 11:1). That verse carries such tenderness. Faith isn’t pretending we have all the answers. It’s holding on to hope when answers haven’t arrived yet. It’s trusting that God is still present, still working, even when our eyes cannot trace his hand.

The stories of faith throughout the Bible are full of ordinary people stepping forward with trembling hearts. Abraham left home without knowing where he was going. Moses stood before Pharaoh with nothing but God’s promise. Ruth walked into an uncertain future guided only by loyalty and love. None of them had a clear map, but they had God, and that was enough to take the next step.

Faith, then, is less about certainty and more about relationship. It grows not through control, but through surrender. It deepens when we pray honestly, when we wait patiently, when we keep choosing trust over fear. Faith isn’t a demand to feel strong, but an invitation to lean on the strength of God.

Sometimes faith feels solid like a mountain. Sometimes it feels fragile like a candle flame. Yet even the smallest faith, placed in the hands of a faithful God, can shine through darkness. Faith isn’t measured by how steady we feel, but by who we are holding on to.

If you’re carrying questions today, you’re not alone. Faith doesn’t erase doubt, but it invites us to bring our doubt into God’s presence. The invitation of Hebrews is simple: keep hoping, keep trusting, keep stepping forward, because God is trustworthy, even when the way is unseen.

And perhaps this is the quiet miracle of faith, that step by step, we discover we were never walking alone.

This is one of a series of posts outlining 40 themes of the Bible. Previous Next

Stuck in the Mud

Waiting can feel like being stuck in the mud, energy draining away as each step sinks deeper. Psalm 40:1-8 gives language to that experience, the long, faithful waiting that isn’t passive but aching with hope. “I waited patiently for the Lord,” the psalmist says, and then comes the turning point, God inclines, listens, and lifts. The rescue is physical and emotional, drawn up from the slimy pit and set on rock, stability replacing fear.

A new song follows, not forced praise, but gratitude born of being held when escape seemed impossible.

Mark 2:1-12 shows us that same rescue. A paralysed man is carried by friends who refuse to let obstacles have the final say. Their faith climbs, digs, lowers, and trusts. Jesus sees it and speaks words that go deeper than anyone expects: “Son, your sins are forgiven.” Before strength returns to limbs, wholeness begins in the heart. The teachers object, but Jesus names what God has always been doing, healing that reaches beneath the surface. The man is lifted up, and feet made firm. A new song walking out into the street.

These passages remind us that God’s rescue is never shallow. He hears the cry, heals what’s hidden, and steadies our lives from the inside out. True worship isn’t empty offering, but a heart that can finally say, “I desire to do your will, my God,” because it’s known what it is to be forgiven, lifted, and made whole.

From Calling to Witness

There are seasons when hope arrives quietly, almost unnoticed, like the first green shoots after a long winter. We speak of God doing new things, yet we often expect clarity and momentum before we trust. Scripture invites us into a gentler posture of attentiveness.

Isaiah 43:19 whispers promise into dry places, see, I am doing a new thing, now it springs up, do you not perceive it, while Hosea 10:12 urges us to break up unploughed ground and seek the Lord until righteousness falls like rain. Together they call us to watchfulness, to faithful openness, to the slow work of soil being turned and grace already moving beneath the surface.

Isaiah 49:1–7 gives voice to the ache many carry, a sense of calling without visible fruit, labour poured out with little to show. The servant speaks honestly of frustration, yet still trusts that my reward is with the Lord. What feels hidden or wasted is held within a larger purpose, a calling that widens from restoring what is familiar to becoming a light to the nations. God’s work is rarely as small as we fear.

Psalm 40:1–12 captures the texture of lived faith. The psalmist waits patiently, cries out, and is heard. God lifts them from the pit and sets their feet on firm ground. Praise rises, not as performance, but as a life reshaped from within. Obedience matters more than sacrifice, because God’s law is written on the heart. Gratitude for past rescue sits alongside honest prayer for mercy, forgiveness, and help, reminding us that trust is both tender and resilient.

Paul opens his letter in 1 Corinthians 1:1–9 by speaking grace over a fragile community. They are called, gifted, and held, not because they are strong, but because God is faithful. Their future rests not on competence, but on the promise that God will sustain them to the end. It’s a reassurance for every imperfect believer who keeps turning up with open hands.

In John 1:29–42, everything turns on encounter. John the Baptist points beyond himself to Jesus, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. Two disciples follow, hesitant yet curious, and hear the simple invitation, come and see. They stay, they listen, they are changed, and witness begins to ripple outward, one life quietly touching another.

Across these readings runs a shared rhythm of calling before clarity, waiting before fruit, faithfulness before recognition. God works through what feels small, hidden, or unfinished. If we live with expectancy, offering our daily yes, we may discover that we’re already standing within God’s new thing, grace unfolding gently, faithfully, and far beyond what we can yet perceive.

Note: This devotional is based on worship I led at Horden Salvation Army on Sunday 18 January 2026, you can see my full notes by clicking here.

Catching our Breath

The Sunday after Christmas often feels quieter, as though the world is catching its breath. The decorations are still up, but something has shifted. The miracle has happened, and now we’re left to ask what it means to live in its light.

Isaiah 63:7-9 remembers the steadfast love of the Lord, calling to mind all that God has done for God’s people, how in all their distress, God too was distressed, and the angel of his presence saved them. Christmas isn’t God visiting from a safe distance. It’s God stepping into human suffering, choosing nearness over comfort, solidarity over safety. The manger already casts the shadow of the cross, not as threat, but as promise: you are not alone.

Psalm 148 widens the lens. Everything is invited to praise, angels and stars, sea creatures and storms, children and elders alike. Praise here isn’t sentimental, it’s defiant. Creation sings because it has seen that God’s love doesn’t hover above the world but enters it. The baby in Bethlehem draws heaven and earth into a single song.

Hebrews 2:10-18 presses this even further. We’re urged to pay careful attention to what we’ve heard, because this God has shared our flesh and blood. Jesus isn’t ashamed to call us brothers and sisters. He knows fear, weakness, and death from the inside, and by doing so breaks their hold. Salvation, then, isn’t escape from humanity, it’s humanity healed from within.

So this Sunday invites us to linger. To notice the extraordinary humility of God, still wrapped in ordinariness. To keep praising, even when the song feels fragile. And to live attentively, awake to the truth that in Jesus, God has chosen to be with us, fully, faithfully, and forever.

Bible 40 Themes 02 Covenant

Covenant is one of those biblical words that can sound distant, even legalistic, yet at its heart it speaks of relationship, commitment, and promise held steady across time. In Genesis 17, God says to Abram, later named Abraham, I will establish my covenant between me and you and your descendants after you throughout their generations as an everlasting covenant, to be your God and the God of your descendants after you. These words are spoken not into certainty, but into vulnerability. Abram is old, childless by human reckoning, living between promise and fulfilment. Covenant begins there, not with achievement, but with trust.

What’s striking is that the covenant isn’t presented as a contract between equals. Abram doesn’t negotiate terms or offer guarantees. The promise flows one way, grounded in God’s faithfulness rather than human reliability. This is an everlasting covenant, stretching beyond one lifetime, beyond one moment of obedience or failure, binding generations yet unborn into a story of belonging. It reminds us that faith has a long memory and a wide horizon. We inherit promises we didn’t earn, and we live in ways that will shape people we’ll never meet.

Covenant also names identity. To be your God is relational language, intimate and personal, not abstract theology. It speaks of presence, guidance, and care. In a world shaped by transactions, productivity, and conditional acceptance, covenant insists that relationship comes first. We aren’t held by God because we perform well, but because we’re known and named. Abraham’s new name marks that shift, from who he was to who he’s becoming, shaped by promise rather than past limitation.

Yet covenant isn’t passive. Abraham is invited to walk before God faithfully, to live as someone whose future is already spoken for. Covenant creates a way of life rooted in trust, generosity, and hope. It asks us to live now as if the promise is true, even when the evidence feels thin.

In our own lives, covenant can feel fragile. We’re aware of broken promises, fractured relationships, and our own inconsistency. Genesis 17 gently reminds us that the deepest promise does not rest on our steadiness, but on God’s. The covenant holds when we waver, stretches across time, and quietly insists that grace will have the final word.

This is one of a series of posts outlining 40 themes of the Bible. Previous Next