What Is the Good of Faith? (Ja 2:14-26)

The Courageous Faith of André Trocmé and His Church

In 1934, a French Protestant pastor, André Trocmé, moved with his wife and four young children to Le Chambon-sur-Lignon, a little village in southern France. Little did he know that in less than a decade, he would become a leader in the perilous effort to hide and protect Jewish refugees from Nazi Germany. When the Nazis took control of the land in 1940 and began to seek out and deport Jewish people to labor camps, Trocmé continued to preach to his congregation of Christ’s imperative to care for the stranger and the oppressed. His family and several others in the church would come to lodge a number of Jewish refugees, whose children they quietly integrated into the village school.

In one remarkable story, the French National Secretary for Youth, Georges Lamirand, visited the town, hoping to drum up support for France’s version of the Hitler Youth (a sort of Boy Scouts that indoctrinated young people in the Nazi ideology). A dozen of the older students in the village approached Lamirand with a letter that they had prepared. I’ll share just a portion:

Dear Minister Lamirand,

We have learned about the scenes of horror that took place three weeks ago in Paris. French police, on the orders of the occupying powers, arrested all the city’s Jewish families in their homes….  Fathers were snatched from their families and deported to Germany, children brusquely taken from their mothers, who met the same fate as their husbands….

We want you to know that there are several Jews among us. But we don’t distinguish between Jews and non-Jews. That would be contrary to the teachings of the Gospels. If our comrades, whose only fault is their birth into a different religion, receive a deportation order or are required to list their religion in a census, we will encourage them to disobey these orders, and we will do our best to hide them.

Not long after this encounter, Pastor Trocmé received an angry visit from another official even higher up the government food chain. “Pastor,” the official spat, “this was supposed to be a day of national harmony. You are sowing division! … In a few days, my staff will come and identify the Jews living in Chambon.” To which Pastor Trocmé responded: “We don’t know what a Jew is. We only know men.”[1]

In the end, the lives of over three thousand Jewish men, women, and children would be saved as a result of Trocmé’s church and support from the surrounding village.

“Can Faith without Works Save Anyone”

“What good is,” James asks in today’s scripture, “if you say you have faith but do not have works? … Can that kind of faith save anyone?” (Ja 2:15). It is a stunning question—for me at least. What I learned in church about faith was simple. Faith saved me. If I had faith in Christ, then I would be saved.

But James shatters this notion by suggesting that faith is about a salvation greater than our own. He gives the example of a poor, hungry person. If we say to them, “Have a good day” or “Take care,” but do nothing to supply their needs, “what is the good of that?” (Ja 2:16). If faith does not take on flesh in this world, if it is not incarnated in the same way that God’s love was incarnated in Christ, then what difference does it make?

For James, faith is meant to make a difference—not in some heavenly ledger, but here on earth. The courageous witness of André Trocmé and his little church is an extreme example to prove the point. Faith is about much more than a personal salvation for the afterlife. Faith saves lives in the here-and-now.

Salvation for This World

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, another pastor who lived during the reign of the Nazis—a German pastor who resisted the regime and ultimately paid for it with his life—wrote from prison a series of letters to a dear friend. In these letters, he reflected quite a bit on the Bible in light of his experience. One of his most astute observations was that in the Old Testament, salvation is entirely something that happens in this life, in this world. He said salvation in the Old Testament is “thisworldly.” Just look at the Psalms, where David’s desperate prayers for salvation and his subsequent prayers of gratitude all concern events in his own life, whether they be his escape from King Saul or his struggles against political opponents.

Bonhoeffer then looked toward the New Testament and wondered whether Christianity had misplaced its emphasis on an afterlife, on an otherworldly salvation. He reflected on the ministry and teaching of Jesus and concluded that Jesus’ good news was not primarily about an afterlife but about God’s salvation in this life. Consider, for instance, Jesus’ own prayer: “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it [already] is in heaven.” The good news of God’s kingdom, he concluded, is about God’s salvation come to earth.

I think James would have agreed.

Faith Revealed by Works

In the latter half of today’s scripture, James provides two biblical examples to prove his point that faith is revealed by not by its words, but by its works. First James mentions Abraham, whose faith that God wants to bless all the world through him leads him to leave behind his family and all that he knows and to go live in a strange land.[2] Next James mentions Rahab, the Canaanite prostitute in Jericho whose faith in the God of Israel leads her to risk her life hiding two Israelite spies. In both cases, the characters’ faith becomes visible the moment it translates into saving action.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that James mentions these two characters. Both of them share a common feature: their faith saves. Their faith leads them to do things that will bless and save others. Remember James’ rhetorical questions from earlier: “What good is [a faith without works]?” and “What is the good of that [kind of faith]?” In other words, faith is meant to translate into goodness. Into action that heals and saves and redeems.

I think also of the story of the paralytic man whose friends carried him all the way to Jesus and then, when they could not find a way into the house, they took him up onto the roof and lowered him down into the room. Mark reports, “When Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralytic, ‘Son, your sins are forgiven” (Mk 2:15). What a rich phrase—“when Jesus saw their faith.” How exactly did Jesus see their faith? By the extraordinary lengths to which they were willing to go. How did he see their heart? By what their hands were willing to do. Because they believed that their friend’s health was worth it, and because they believed that Jesus might be able to help, they went to the trouble of carrying him to Jesus, and they didn’t shy away from making a scene to ensure Jesus would see him.

And, to return to an earlier point…notice whom their faith saved. It wasn’t themselves (at least not in an immediate sense). It was their friend, who received forgiveness and healing.

Taking a Faith Audit

James’ musing on faith—how it is revealed not by its words but by its works—inspires me to reflect on my faith in a fresh way. I think and talk a lot about faith. But as James would be quick to point out, thinking and talking are theoretical. Thinking and talking, by themselves, do not save anyone.

In the end, a person’s faith is hidden. Secret. Known only by God. What a person says or thinks about their own faith, is little more than a Facebook or an Instagram profile, a carefully curated presentation to themselves and others. They are seen as they desire to be seen; and as Jesus might have said, they have their own reward.

I’m inspired to think that if I wanted to conduct a faith audit, James would have me ask not “What’s in my heart?” but rather “What are my habits?” James would have me look at my bank statement to see where I spend my money. James would have me look at day planner, to see how I spend my time. James would have me look at my browser history, to see what my real interests are. James would have me look at how I drive in traffic, how I shop in a crowded store, how I treat little children and the elderly and the person with an intellectually disability. James would have me look at my hopes for the future, at what I’m planning for the next ten, fifteen, twenty years. And only after I’m done looking at all of this evidence, James might ask me, “So…what’s actually in your heart?” The point of a faith audit for James would not be measurement. It would not be to quantify my faith (e.g., “how much good have I done?”) and determine whether I pass or fail. The point would be to become a bit more honest with myself. Where do I really put my faith? Do I truly trust that God’s love is saving the world? Do I live accordingly? Or do I trust in smaller things? Do I trust instead in little distractions, whether they be a coveted purchase or a desirable experience or just a bag of chips that I can’t set down? Do I trust that these little distractions will numb enough of the pain and anxiety of living in a broken world so that I can just get by?

Because for James, a healthy faith in Christ is about so much more than “just getting by.” It is about so much more than personal salvation. It is about God’s kingdom come on earth. It’s about God’s love saving us and others. And a faith like this can’t help but get off its feet and take action.

And lest the examples of people like Abraham and André Trocmé intimidate us into thinking we must do huge things, I want to conclude by sharing a short report. A week ago, I visited with June Brooks in the hospital. She mentioned having recently received five or six cards from friends here at church. I was flummoxed at such a coincidence until I remembered that two Sundays ago Kathy Flickinger had shared with me a request for prayers for June, which I then passed onto you. A number of you later sat down and wrote a note and sent it to June. Faith given flesh. Faith bearing fruit. June didn’t sugarcoat her experience or how she was feeling in the hospital, but she told me that those cards gave her a strength she wouldn’t have had on her own.

Faith saves. In big ways and in small ways. And that, to answer James’ question, is the good of faith.

Prayer

Dear Christ,
Who is faithful in word
And gracious in deed,
Inspire us by your example
And by other stories in which
Faith has touched and saved lives
…
So that we might not despair
And strive for distraction and personal security
But might instead do little things
With great love,
Trusting in God’s grace
To bring everything to completion.
Amen.

 

---

[1] Plough Quarterly 45 (Autumn 2025): 91-92

[2] James also mentions Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice Isaac as evidence of his faith. I have qualms about the traditional interpretation that celebrates Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his son, but that’s for another time. 

“Mercy Triumphs over Judgment” (Ja 2:1-13)

Not a Problem but a Person

When I was growing up and my mom taught kindergarten and first grade, she would occasionally come home with stories from school. There was Bobby, who pushed a pencil up his nose and got an eraser lodged in one of his nostrils. There were Joe and Alex, who went missing one day during school, only to be discovered in the boys’ bathroom, standing in the toilets and laughing as they pushed the flushers with their feet. But usually, the stories had to do with students whom teachers might be tempted to identify as “problem students.”

I asked my mom recently about how she handled these students. She said that early on she had learned from other teachers that the best way, actually, was to avoid engaging the student in a battle of wills. There was no “winning” at the end of such a battle, even if for a moment the student did what you wanted. Instead, the best thing to do was to give the student a special task or responsibility. With one such student named Danny, my mom would regularly write a short note for a teacher somewhere else on the hallway and then ask Danny to please deliver it for her. The benefits of this little strategy were twofold. First, he would be temporarily removed from the classroom and whatever situation had triggered him. Second, and perhaps even more importantly, Danny would feel singled out in a good way; he would feel special and important. Because he was being treated not as a problem but as a person, not with bitterness and antagonism, but with respect and dignity.

“Do You…Really Believe?”

1   My brothers and sisters, do you with your acts of favoritism really believe in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ?  2 For if a person with gold rings and in fine clothes comes into your assembly, and if a poor person in dirty clothes also comes in, 3 and if you take notice of the one wearing the fine clothes and say, “Have a seat here, please,” while to the one who is poor you say, “Stand there,” or, “Sit at my feet,”  4 have you not made distinctions among yourselves, and become judges with evil thoughts?

At the beginning of today’s scripture, James seems to express a value with which our culture is very acquainted. Namely, the equality of all human persons. Just over a week ago, our nation celebrated the 250^th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, which near its beginning asserts: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.”

But upon closer inspection, James is calling for more than the adoption of an egalitarian mindset. To begin, notice the severity of his accusation: “My brothers and sisters, do you with your acts of favoritism really believe in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ?” (Ja 2:1). James effectively charges his audience with atheism, equating their preferential treatment of the rich with a rejection of Jesus’ teaching and way.

Remember that when Jesus begins his ministry, what makes him “go viral,” so to speak, is the table. At the table, religious leaders see him eating with tax collectors and sinners, getting friendly with the outlaws and outcasts (cf. Mark 2:16; Luke 5:30). Think about some of the specific standout “table moments.” There’s Jesus at the Pharisee’s house, where a woman identified by Luke as a “sinner”—which is probably code for “prostitute”—bathes Jesus with her tears and receives his forgiveness and peace (Luke 7:36-50). There’s Jesus inviting himself over to the home of the crooked and despised tax collector Zacchaeus, who subsequently is inspired to give away nearly all he has (Luke 19:1-10). There’s Jesus reminding his disciples that in the kingdom greatness means not lording it over others but serving others (Luke 22:24-27). The common thread among these table moments is not that Jesus treats everyone equally, but that he gives preferential attention and care to the very people who are disgraced and overlooked by society.

When James asks his fellow Christ-followers if they really believe in Jesus, he’s pointing out that there’s a difference between believing in Jesus and believing in Jesus’ ideas. Believing in Jesus can just mean, “Sure, I believe he’s God’s son and died for my sins and has the keys to heaven.” Anyone can believe in Jesus. As James will point out later, even the demons believe in Jesus (cf. Ja 2:19). But to really believe in Jesus is to believe in Jesus’ ideas. To really believe in Jesus is to say, “I believe that the ideas he taught”—things like turn the other cheek and don’t return evil for evil (Matt 5:39), like bless those who curse for you (Luke 6:28), like give to everyone who begs from you (Luke 6:30), like give pride of place to the poor, the crippled, the blind, and the lame (Luke 14:13)—“these ideas aren’t just some impossible ideals that will be realized on the other side of heaven, but are actually viable ideas that with God’s grace we can practice now.”

For James, to really believe in Jesus, to believe not just in Jesus as a password for heaven but in his ideas as a way of living here on earth, would mean receiving the “poor person” or the person in “dirty clothes” as Jesus did, as though they were a beloved child of God. James proceeds to expound on this idea, giving special emphasis to the virtues of the people on the margins….

“Heirs of the Kingdom”

5 Listen, my beloved brothers and sisters. Has not God chosen the poor in the world to be rich in faith and to be heirs of the kingdom that he has promised to those who love him? 6 But you have dishonored the poor. Is it not the rich who oppress you? Is it not they who drag you into court? 7 Is it not they who blaspheme the excellent name that was invoked over you?

Here James echoes one of Jesus’ most revolutionary—and uncomfortable—teachings, namely “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God” (Luke 6:20). Whatever else it means, this short, simple assertion equates material poverty with the capacity for spiritual abundance. To have little in the way of possessions is to have hands open to receive God’s gifts.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that James goes on to talk about the rich in opposite terms, as those who oppress, as those who exercise control in the courts. He implies that to hold onto things is to have closed fists, to insist on getting one’s way, to be incapable of receiving God’s gifts.

It’s true, we could hear James to be drawing up a simple dichotomy: the poor are good, and the rich are bad. But I think that would be missing his point. He’s encouraging his fellow Christ-followers to see the world as Jesus saw the world, through a spiritual lens that is finely attuned to the dangers of possessions, power, and prestige. He’s pointing out that the people whom they are apparently overlooking or dismissing, the “poor” folks wearing “dirty clothes” (Ja 2:2), are in fact guides to the kingdom of God, while the people for whom they are rolling out the red carpet are especially susceptible to the insidious spiritual diseases of pride and greed. The point is not to label people as good or bad, but to become aware of the spiritual dimension of life. Better to have little and trust in God daily, than to have much and to treat God as a divine butler who does as one bids.

Mercy versus Judgment

8   You do well if you really fulfill the royal law according to the scripture, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” 9 But if you show partiality, you commit sin and are convicted by the law as transgressors. 10 For whoever keeps the whole law but fails in one point has become accountable for all of it. 11 For the one who said, “You shall not commit adultery,” also said, “You shall not murder.” Now if you do not commit adultery but if you murder, you have become a transgressor of the law. 12 So speak and so act as those who are to be judged by the law of liberty. 13 For judgment will be without mercy to anyone who has shown no mercy; mercy triumphs over judgment.

In these final words, as James warns against favoritism toward the rich and neglect of the poor, it becomes clear that he is espousing more than simple egalitarianism. He is saying more than just treat everyone the same. It’s easy to miss, but here James is giving voice to one of the gospel’s most scandalous propositions: God is not fair; God is merciful.

Notice how he does not call for equal treatment of rich and poor. Rather he begins with what he calls “the royal law,” an ancient verse from Leviticus that Jesus lifted up as a central commandment: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself” (Lev 19:18). By calling this the “royal law,” James indicates that this law of love is foundational to the kingdom of God. Lest there be any confusion about what “love” means or looks like—because, sadly, people throughout history have called all sorts of violent and coercive acts “love” on the basis of their outcomes—lest there be any confusion, James clarifies that love entails mercy. Indeed, he asserts that any behavior without mercy falls short of the royal law of love and will result in hurtful consequences. “Judgment will be without mercy to anyone who has shown no mercy” (Ja 2:13). If that strikes you as a contradiction—how could a God of mercy issue judgment without mercy?—then I applaud your thinking. Jesus makes very clear that our God is merciful to all, dispensing his care alike to the righteous and unrighteous (Matt 5:45; Luke 6:36). God is like the father to the prodigal son, treating us not according to our deeds, but according to his love (Luke 15:11-32). Judgment is not the reward or punishment doled out by a legalistic god, but rather the natural consequences of our action (or as Jesus liked to put it, the “fruit” of our deeds).

When Jesus says, “Judgement will be without mercy to anyone who has shown no mercy,” he indicates that we choose which world we live in. There is a line in the Psalms addressed to God—“with the pure you show yourself pure; and with the crooked you show yourself perverse” (Ps 18:26)—which gets at this truth. We live in a world that reflects our own attitude. If we judge others, that judgment is a two-edged sword and will tear us down. If we are merciful to others, that mercy will draw us ourselves into God’s embrace. “Blessed are the merciful,” Jesus said, “for they will receive mercy” (Matt 5:7).

I think back to the hard-earned wisdom of elementary school teachers that my mom learned. If she saw her difficult students as problems, then she would have her hands full of problems. But if she saw them as children of God, as people in God’s image with gifts to share (however difficult it might be to see those gifts!)—if she treated them with dignity and entrusted them with responsibility, then she would have a classroom filled with children who were learning and growing. Those children would feel better, and so would she.

James’ final line, “Mercy triumphs over judgment,” is a defiant—and scandalous—proclamation of the gospel. It is the insistence, not only that mercy is a better way to live than judgment, but also that mercy will emerge victorious from the wreckage of judgment. Judgment does not restore; it can help to manage and control, but it does not heal. If the churches to whom James writes continue to judge the poor among them and only associate with the rich, then perhaps those churches will grow rich and big and famous. But they will also be forfeiting God’s kingdom and consigning themselves to the bitterness and conflict and empty striving of the world. They will be depriving themselves and others of the scandalous ingredient that makes God, God. Mercy. It is what heals us and others. It is what connects us with others. It is what leads us into God’s embrace.

Prayer

Compassionate Christ,
Who ate with tax collectors and sinners,
Who gave pride of place to the last and the least:
Inspire us by your scandalous mercy,
Which is not fair
…
So that we might love others and ourselves
And know the goodness of your kingdom.
Amen.

"Doers of the Word" (James 1:19-27)

God’s Message

Suppose that God wanted to tell each and every human in the world, “I love you.” And so at the start of the day, God made a beautiful sunrise, the dark deep indigo of the night sky blossoming slowly into violet and pink and orange. “I love you.” The birdsong in the trees. “I love you.” Little flowers popping up—even in the unlikeliest of places, such as sidewalk cracks and clogged gutters. “I love you.” In the middle of the afternoon, lengthening shadows offering a cool, shady refuge from work. “I love you.” The gentle murmur of a creek with clear, cold water. “I love you.” At the end of the day, a stunning sunset, followed by a velvety black sky spotted with the sparkling twinkle of stars. “I love you.”

Who would hear God’s message?

Would it be heard by the business-people glued to their laptops, talking forcefully into their phones? Would it be heard by the lawmakers gathered in meeting rooms? Would it be heard by the couple embroiled in conflict?

Would it be heard by the little children? The boys and girls without any agenda but to explore, to discover?

“Welcome with Meekness the Implanted Word”

In today’s scripture, James picks up on the idea that the church are a people who have recognized themselves to be beloved children of God. Just as on the banks of the Jordan River, Jesus heard God say, “You are my beloved son, with whom I am well pleased” (Luke 3:22), so followers of Christ have been given “birth by the [same] word of truth”  (Ja 1:18). Christ has helped us to hear God’s message, “I love you.”

James wants, however, to ensure that we keep hearing this message, that it doesn’t get lost amid the noise. So he offers a few instructions:

19   You must understand this, my beloved: let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger; 20 for your anger does not produce God’s righteousness. 21 Therefore rid yourselves of all sordidness and rank growth of wickedness, and welcome with meekness the implanted word that has the power to save your souls.

Benedict of Nursia, who lived in the sixth century and helped to develop the monastic rule by which monks and nuns would seek to grow in their faith, writes, “Every day, we begin again,” hinting at the idea that people of faith are always beginners, never experts. In a similar way, beloved Zen master Shunryu Suzuki advises his followers: “Always…keep the beginner’s mind. … In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities; in the expert’s mind there are few.”[1]

In our scripture today, James offers similar counsel, urging his fellow followers of Christ to listen more than they speak, which is not unlike advising them to adopt the posture of a beginner rather than an expert, the posture of someone who is learning rather than someone who knows it all. His instruction to be “slow to speak, slow to anger,” even suggests a certain connection between anger and speech. Frequent speech may betray a spirit of anger. I think I could attest to this. Anger generates many grievances and self-justifications, a never-ending commentary on how something or someone else is wrong and there’s little I can do about it. Anger is the fantasy of control through words. (In this way, frequent speech may betray a spirit hell-bent on control.)

I think back to those folks in our opening thought experiment who missed out on God’s message, “I love you,” because they were otherwise engaged in angry speech, or in the fantasy of control. The folks who hear God’s message, on the other hand, are the beginners, the curious, the explorers, the little children with no agenda. “Welcome with meekness,” James writes, “the implanted word that has the power to save your souls” (Ja 1:21). It’s a way of saying Listen. Open yourself. Make yourself available.

Sometimes small groups and reading circles have strict guidelines in place to limit speaking to one person at a time. (They may even use an object, like a round stone, which must be held in order to speak.) I’ve discovered in settings such as these a certain holiness. When only one person can speak at a time, their sharing becomes sacred and everyone else is invited into a posture of deep listening. They become receptive to wisdom that isn’t available otherwise. It is similar in the quiet space of prayer and meditation, where we might suddenly receive an inspired idea that would have never come if we’d been speaking.

“Not Hearers Who Forget but Doers Who Act”

22   But be doers of the word, and not merely hearers who deceive themselves. 23 For if any are hearers of the word and not doers, they are like those who look at themselves in a mirror; 24 for they look at themselves and, on going away, immediately forget what they were like. 25 But those who look into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and persevere, being not hearers who forget but doers who act—they will be blessed in their doing.

I do not think it is a coincidence that James chooses as a metaphor for hearing God’s word, the idea of looking into a mirror. If we return for a moment to the banks of the Jordan, we see that what Jesus heard from God was essentially a word declaring who he was. “You are my beloved son, with whom I am well pleased” (Luke 3:22). And James says we are given birth by this same word (Ja 1:18). So then, to hear God’s word is indeed like looking into a mirror. We see our truest selves. We see that we are beloved children of God. To have seen ourselves this way and then to go live as though it’s us against the world, as though we must secure our little sliver for ourselves, or as though we’re competitors and must take as much as we can, is indeed like looking into a mirror and then forgetting who we are.

What strikes me about James’ advice, however, is that he doesn’t simply prescribe remembrance as the antidote to forgetting. He doesn’t say, “Keep reading scripture, keeping reminding yourselves of who you are.” What he says, instead, is to be “doers of the word” (Ja 1:22). The best way to remember who we are is to live like who God has told us we are. Conventional wisdom and common sense tell us that we think our way into a new way of living, but the truth seems to be the opposite, actually. We live our way into a new way of thinking. The more we live like beloved children of God, the more we will leave behind our old ideas—that we and others are competitors, that we and others are fighters and scrappers for whatever we can get—and instead we will come to inhabit the truth that we are beloved children of God.

I experienced this truth—about living my way into a new way of thinking—when I began the practice of relocating bugs and critters from inside my home to the natural world outside. For example, when I encounter big hairy spider that naturally fills me with a feeling of repulsion, but then I carefully put a cup over top of it and slide a sheet of paper underneath it and take it outside, I find myself looking upon it with almost tender eyes as I set it down on the ground. To be sure, my repulsion of spiders has not been cured, but it is being changed, simply by the act of showing care for them.

In a similar way, I have a friend who shares the story about a person who really got on her nerves. She decided that she would begin to pray for this person every day. Slowly but surely, she discovered that she was beginning to see this same person with compassion. They even became friends. Her action—her regular prayer—changed the way she thought about herself and about this other person.

“To Care for the Needful”

 26   If any think they are religious, and do not bridle their tongues but deceive their hearts, their religion is worthless. 27 Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to care for orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world.

James wraps up today’s scripture with a summary statement, again advising against speech and instead advocating for action. He insists that the measure of faith is not what a person says but what they do. “Orphans and widows” may seem rather specific, but in the Jewish tradition from which James is writing, it is shorthand for needful people. Again and again, in the Old Testament, God implores that Israelites care for the stranger, the orphan, and the widow. These are people who have no natural networks of support.

If you watch advertisements, you’ll likely notice that the underlying promise of many products is that they will make you “feel good.” People who want to feel better about themselves are enticed to think that if they have this or that product, this or that experience, then they will finally feel good. But James is revealing a counterintuitive truth. Feeling good doesn’t come from what we have or from the power we exercise or from our reputation in front of others. (In fact, we have plenty of evidence that people who have these things, desperately want even more. Chasing possessions, power, and prestige is apparently like drinking salt water for your thirst.) Feeling good comes, rather, from doing good. When we live as beloved children of God, showing others the mercy and compassion our Father has for us, then we begin to feel different about ourselves. We remember who we really are.

This World Cup, I’ve read and heard a number of stories that I would describe as “feel-good” stories. There were the people in Lawrence, Kansas, who decided to show hospitality to the visiting fans from Algeria by putting up Algerian flags in their shop windows and by learning how to say “Welcome” in Arabic. There was the city of Boston falling in love with the Scottish fans, known as the “Tartan Army,” which culminated in the mayor of Boston and the Glasgow City Council announcing a friendship between their cities; they are now formally recognized “twin cities.” Now, certainly, these are trivial examples and I can’t help but imagine that some of these experiences are motivated by things other than genuine care for other people (motivated by things like brand and profit). But I think the reason these stories touch our hearts and become known as “feel-good” stories is because, deep down, we sense the goodness of certain actions: acts of hospitality, acts of generosity, acts of curiosity and patience between cultures. These stories “feel good” because they are about people “doing good.”

And lest we draw the conclusion that all we need is to do our “good deed for the day” to be happy, that our faith is just a checkbox exercise, it’s helpful to remember that for James, at least, this doing is rooted first in hearing. It all begins with that simple message, “You are my beloved child, with whom I am well pleased.” This message inspires us to do the truth, to live as the beloved children of God that we are. Moreover, we do these good deeds not for some mercenary or ulterior motive of simply “feeling good.” Our motivation is much larger than just personal happiness or pleasure. Our motivation is that God’s Word won’t be limited to empty and “worthless” talk (cf. Ja 1:26), but rather might take on real flesh in our world. Our motivation is that God’s kingdom might take root. When we align ourselves with God’s word and act accordingly—when we do the truth of who we are—then yes, we will certainly feel good, knowing ourselves to be beloved and cared-for children of God, but more importantly we will begin to see that not just us but this whole world is good. We will see God’s kingdom, growing from a seed planted in our heart.

Prayer

Christ, our friend and savior,
You stopped at nothing
To share with us the good news
That you had heard,
The good news that we are beloved children of God.
…
May your good news inspire us
To do good and care for others,
As children who act in like manner to their heavenly father.
Amen.

 

---

[1] Ernest Kurtz and Katherine Ketcham, The Spirituality of Imperfection: Storytelling and the Search for Meaning (New York: Bantam, 1992), 142.