If you’re a true athlete, you exult in the test. You desire to show the world you’re better than anyone else. On the golf course, you want to birdie the hole while everyone else only pars. If you’re a true scholar, you’re not satisfied with 99% on a test. It has to be 100%. In fact, you stare angrily at the teacher because he didn’t give you bonus questions so you could exceed 100%.
A competitor knows the greatest joys come from winning the greatest tests.
In the first chapter of his epistle, James writes the following: “Consider it all joy, my brethren, when you encounter various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance.”
In most contexts, we think ‘trials’ refers to the problems we face in life. But the original Greek wording signifies a test. That idea is reinforced in verse 12 of Chapter 1: “Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial…”
How can a Believer be like an athlete or a scholar? Ponder this: What kind of athlete or scholar possesses the best opportunity for success against the ‘test?’ It’s the athlete who trains, the scholar who studies.
So what kind of Believer stands the best chance against the tests invading his life? It’s the Believer who trains and studies.
Let’s examine the most severe test a Believer would face. In early Christian history, the Roman emperor Domitian demanded Christ’s followers worship him instead of God. If the Believers didn’t comply, they were executed.
What kind of Believer wilts before that kind of test? The one who has trained or studied very little. He has no foundation to stand against the pressure to denounce His God. Fear chokes him, and he melts under the pressure.
He mutters, “This isn’t what I signed up for. I signed up to escape Hell.” Or “I joined the church when I was ten. No one told me about this.” Or “I don’t really care about the church potlucks anymore.”
James 1:2 is as far from the wilting Believer’s mind as Croatia is from Hudspeth, Texas.
“Hold on,” the wilting Believer says. “I’m supposed to have joy when some crazy Bozo is about to behead me? Who writes this stuff?”
Well, ultimately, God did. He goes on to say in verse 3: “…knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance.”
The missing ingredient is faith. Instead of God being concrete in his mind, the wilting Believer possesses some sort of ambiguous image of God, usually in some version of Santa Claus.
For the wilting Believer, God isn’t someone he has a personal relationship with. Instead, his idea of God is for the Man Upstairs to be available when, you know, the goldfish dies or his favorite sports team loses. His ‘god’ resembles his representative in Congress. He doesn’t know the guy at all, but whoever he is, he’s expected to do everything he can for him.
The wilting Believer also possesses a hazy view of eternity. He’s heard of heaven and hell. He’s heard hell is worse than going to the dentist. But that happens some obscure time in the future. Meanwhile, he has years upon years of kicking back, living life the way he wants.
That was the case until Bozo showed up waving his sword around and screaming threats. Doesn’t the guy ever take a chill pill? Anyway, the churchy-Christian thing wasn’t that big of deal. Okay, Bozo, you got a deal. No more churchy-Christian thing. We good?
Faith is the linchpin. Faith that a personal God loves you. He loves you so much He is ecstatic about you eventually joining Him in an eternal paradise with Him.
Growing that kind of faith means working like an athlete or a scholar. You train and study. You discover all you can about this personal God, who, for some reason, desires to have a relationship with you. You discover this eternal life He promises—making that future secure in your heart and mind. What follows is unshakable joy. Even when Bozo shows up riding a unicycle and demanding you worship him.