In today’s gospel reading, we have the words that launched a million bumper stickers and sporting-event signs: God so loved the world that he gave his only-begotten Son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life. Those are perhaps the words that most often put Catholics in a bit of an ideological conflict with other faith traditions. In fact, the language of much of the Gospel of John seems to spell it out fairly plainly: Believe in Christ, get into heaven.
I’m not an expert theologian, and it’s pretty unlikely I’ve had previously unknown insight that could unequivocally square the circle of divergent beliefs that have gone back hundreds of years. However, I have given this sentiment a fair bit of thought and reflection over the years, and I’d like to offer up my own insight.
Stepping back, I find it helpful to ask myself: What is belief? It’s a word with a surprising range of connotations. At one end of the spectrum, I believe in Santa Claus; I don’t believe in an actual red-suited man who literally scoots down chimneys and drinks Coca-Cola while dispensing handcrafted toys, but I believe in a spirit of giving that transcends our own human limitations. It’s a helpful fabrication to place that larger spirit into a comprehensible force.
At the other end of the spectrum, I believe in gravity. Every fiber of my being knows gravity to be true, and my body and mind rely on the existence of gravity countless times a day. When I walk, when I sleep, when I pick up or put down objects, I believe that gravity will work as I expect it should — as I’ve known it to work since birth.
For most people — myself included — I think a belief in Christ falls somewhere along that continuum. I’m not at the “Santa Claus” side of the continuum, coming up with a mental slight of hand where I can say “Well, yes, but not really . . .” Nor am I at the “gravity” end of the spectrum, utterly certain of the presence of Christ in all aspects of my life, permeating the essence of my existence, rendering me incapable of even envisioning an existence without Him.
So if belief in Christ is all that’s needed to get into heaven, then what is the required magnitude of that “belief”? Is it the barest wisp of faith, saying, “Oh, sure, I believe in Christ” on your deathbed with a sheepish uncertainty one might use for “Yes, I believe the 8:15 train will be on time”? If so, then why does Jesus spend so many stories, so many lessons, so many maxims teaching us how to act and treat each other? If John 3:16 is the be-all and end-all of salvation, then why is it easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for one who is rich to enter the kingdom of God? Can’t the rich guy say, “Oh, yeah, I totally believe,” and rest assured?
There are many instances of Jesus chastising his disciples for their lack of faith. (In the Gospel of Matthew alone I can point to 8:26, 14:31, and 17:20, just to name a few.) If the people who are in the presence of the Son of Man — who’ve witnessed Him do actual bona fide miracles, who saw firsthand each day the sinless perfection with which he lived his life — don’t have sufficient faith, then what hope do the rest of us have?
I view faith and deeds to be part of the same cycle. Our goal is not the check box “yes, I believe” bumper sticker (although that’s certainly a fine place to start!). That seems pretty clear from many points in the Bible; just to pick one, there’s Matthew 7:21: “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father in heaven.”
No, that initial belief to follow Christ leads to loving God and loving one another. It leads to seeking the presence of Christ by feeding the hungry, welcoming strangers, and comforting the desolate (Matthew 25:37-40). I would argue that someone who doesn’t feel drawn to do those things doesn’t really “believe” . . . not in the sense that could ensure our eternal salvation. Those charitable encounters with Christ lead us to seek him further — in the Eucharist and other Sacraments — which hopefully moves our faiths further along the spectrum. As our faith grows, our desire to do more should grow as well, our beliefs becoming stronger and stronger.
We shouldn’t seek to “believe in Christ” like we believe in the 8:15 train, or we believe in Santa Claus. Rather, I think we’re drawn to know Jesus, to serve God, to feel the Spirit; we’re called to foster and increase our belief in Christ’s promise of salvation until it reaches our belief in the sun, in gravity, in the ground upon which we walk. Our belief in the physical world is completely unshakable; is our belief in the gift of the world hereafter as certain?
