There’s an important word that happens all throughout the New Testament:

ἡ πίστις

It takes up a full three pages in most greek dictionaries. Jesus used it in so many of his teachings. A friend of mine once wrote his entire dissertation on it.

Most of our bibles translate ἡ πίστις as “faith,” or “belief,” but those fall short of what the biblical authors had in mind when they penned it.

If you read its (very long) entry in Bauer, Gingrich and Danker’s Greek English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature, for example, you’ll find a deeper meaning:

Trust

When scripture invites us into “faith” or “belief,” it’s not calling for some cognitive grasp of terms and definitions. It’s asking us to trust something. When Jesus said, over and over again, “believe in me,” he wasn’t expecting us to believe things about him (son of God, savior, Messiah, etc.) he wanted our trust.

Whatever it was that he wanted us to trust him for, he seemed to want it really badly, threatening anyone who stood in the way:

“If anyone causes one of these little ones who trust (ἡ πίστις) in me to stumble, it would be better for them to have an extremely large millstone hung around their neck and tossed into the ocean.” ~ Matthew 18:6

Sure, Jesus wanted his followers to believe the right things about him, but the devil believes the right things about him. Nazi Germany believed the right things about him.

There is a huge difference between someone who embraces the proper facts and figures about a chair, for example, and someone who has enough trust to actually sit in it. In the same way, “faith” has to go much farther than theology, bible knowledge, church attendance, politics; all the stuff the devil could do if he walked amongst us.

You’ll have to pardon my use of the term “devil.” I don’t mean to imply that he actually exists, i.e., a somewhat human entity that roams about trying to undo everything God does. He/she/it might be real. St. Paul and Jesus seemed to think so. Don’t forget the many human entities roaming about trying to undo what God does, many of them warming our Sunday morning pews.

I’m simply trying to make the point that one can be truly evil and simultaneously do a bunch of things that we call “Christian.”

I once watched a politician cite scripture and talk about Jesus in front of his newly minted Christian followers. He had no prior record of anything that remotely resembled Christian behavior, but his newly minted antics were more than enough to declare him the savior and protector of American Christianity.

He divided the United States like no politician in my lifetime and became a laughingstock in the global arena. But that’s OK so long as he gave sufficient evidence of “faith” and “belief.”

Please don’t hear me passing judgment on whether or not Donald Trump is a Christian. That’s not my place. What I am passing judgment on is the uncritical acceptance of someone who manipulated American Christianity’s lust for a political savior.

There’s nothing that Donald Trump did or said that the Devil couldn’t do or say. If us Christians are going to be the fundamental pillar of support for a politician, we should look for more. But we’re not. As long as our favorite leaders believe certain things and adhere to a culturally acceptable list of behaviors, they are Christian. So is anyone else who “believes,” including the devil.

Trust is Different

It’s much more difficult to be truly evil and simultaneously trust Jesus to take care of us while we do all of the impossible things he commanded us to do. Evil, for example, cannot forgive. There is no reason to. It’s emotionally and spiritually expensive. It’s risky. There’s no real payoff.

But if I “believe” (ἡ πίστις) that Jesus wants me to forgive and that he’ll place great power at my disposal to make it a reality, I can forgive. Sure, I’ll enter an arena that’s fraught with difficulty and pain, but I’ll come out on the other side a changed human, much less likely to play the devil. I might gain a friendship in the process.

Ask me how I know.

I can also “believe” all of the things I’m supposed to believe about God and simultaneously place great faith (ἡ πίστις) in the religion of power, force, and retaliation, cutting off relationships and spreading my assholery far beyond myself.

Ask me how I know.

Both scenarios require trust. In one I’m trusting a way that makes no sense, a road less travelled, one that feels like it might kill me. In the other I’m placing great faith in something that makes me feel righteous but ends in chronic anxiety and an ever-decreasing circle of friends.

Back in the day, Jesus’ followers had to a) believe certain things about who he was so that b) they could do all of the crazy things he commanded them to do. I’m not trying to downplay the importance of facts and data about God – those are just as fundamental as anything else.

But if we stop there, we’ve robbed our faith of trust. And robbing our faith of trust ultimately robs us of the hope that follows.

Photo by Allec Gomes on Unsplash