I grew up in the generation of TV faith healers. They promised that with enough faith — and enough financial donation — anything was possible. There were scenes of people running who had previously been in wheelchairs or on crutches, testimonials of great miracles, and an overarching sense of guilt that I would never have the kind of faith that brought instant healing and prosperity. It turns out the system wasn’t broken. The assumption was.
Faith, more often than not, is formed in disillusionment — in the stubborn presence of what is not seen.
And yet the church is still often treated like a system that should work if properly followed. When the miracle does not happen — or does not happen as expected — the instinct is to discard faith.
The irony is that this is not a relationship of faith at all. It is transactional.
Transactional relationships assign worth to behavior and measure value by outcomes. I remember being at a service once when we were asked not to pray for the pastor’s father to be healed because he wanted to die. He was in his eighties and had cancer. But what a massive assumption was made — that if we prayed, he would automatically be healed and unhappy.
Humans, whether in biblical times or now, look for signs and wonders to prove the existence of God. Jesus Christ always had a following waiting for signs and wonders, and Pharisees waiting to cleverly trap him. All of this misses the point of faith and spirituality.
Even in the Gospels, miracles do not produce the faith expected. Crowds gather, are healed, are fed — and still walk away. Proximity to power does not create trust.
Numbers 17 records a telling story on this very issue. The children of Israel are wandering in the desert. They have seen the Red Sea part, followed a cloud that gives cover by day and a pillar of fire that provides warmth by night. They are fed daily with the bread of heaven and want for nothing. They are not prosperous in the way we define it — cars, houses, or a strong stock portfolio — but they are provided for, their needs met, sustained by the goodness of God.
Despite signs, wonders, and provision, the Israelites question whether they have the right leadership. A rebellion occurs. After it is addressed, Moses has each tribal leader place his name on a rod. God will prove his chosen leadership by causing one rod to sprout. Moses places the rods in the presence of God, and when he returns, Aaron’s rod has budded.
It is striking that the instinct to question God as Creator continues despite signs and wonders in our own lives.
If signs don’t produce faith … then what does? If even the cross does not secure it, what does?
Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen (Heb. 11:1–3). By faith, the universe was created by the word of God, so that what is seen was not made out of things that are visible.
Grace is God’s action — provision prior to and apart from our response. It is often invisible, not tangible, and mysterious — which is precisely what makes it difficult to trust.
The garden of Eden existed before humanity — a place prepared, not earned.
Grace is often recognized only in retrospect, if at all. Assurance is the confidence formed through encounters with grace, recognized or not.
Faith is the choice to live within that provision — with that confidence. Not a provision of a healthy, long life, a beautiful house, a new car, or a strong stock portfolio — but the provision that our lives are prepared and held, and that what is needed is given through the indwelling of the Holy Spirit to live a life that is given and good from our Creator.
Grace is not something we secure or measure — it is something we are given. And nowhere is that more clearly received than at the Table.
It is tempting to treat grace as something to be gained, something our actions might secure. But unmerited favor does not yield to effort; it is given. There is something about coming forward — not achieving, not proving, not standing apart — and simply receiving. Not showing, not striving, not distinguishing myself. Just receiving.
To receive that grace alongside my brothers and sisters in Christ — even next to clergy — is profound.
At its core, the church is not meant to be a spectacle — no visible proof required, no outcome to verify, no demonstration that the system is working. Faith was never meant to be a material guarantee. Coming to church is not about horizontal relationships, excessive volunteerism, or proximity to leadership.
At its best, the church is not a system to make things work but a place where something is received — week after week.
Christianity is distinct in this: the “work” has already been done — and not by us. There is no outcome to secure, no status to prove — only the act of receiving what is given. Not proven. Received.
And still, the question lingers: is it really enough?
Disclaimer
This essay reflects the author’s perspective as a clinician and is offered for educational and reflective purposes only. It is not a substitute for professional mental health care.
