Faith that is Alive

     The current sermon series focuses on how faith must be coupled with action. The fact of the matter remains that belief and trust in an all-knowing, all-powerful, and all-loving God should impact our identity. If our identity is transformed to be in correct relationship with God, then naturally this new identity will produce action. We see this principle at work in everyday life. In our church we have a few firefighters. If their identity is that of a firefighter, but they did not actually do the work of a firefighter, would you consider them a firefighter? If your house was on fire and they said “I’m a firefighter” but didn’t do anything as your house burned to the ground, what good would that be? I think this is strikingly similar to how James portrays Christians who claim to be followers of Christ but aren't actually obeying the words of Jesus. The truth is that real faith will always show up in real ways in our lives.
     James was speaking in his letter to the early church that was comprised of people who were going against the grain in following Christ. These were believers who had counted the cost, faced persecution, and chosen to identify with Jesus despite the social and economic consequences. But even in this scenario, there were some in the church who were claiming to be people of faith in Christ who were only giving lip service to God rather than actual service unto the Lord. Their faith was effectively dead. James asks them, and us, a penetrating question in verse 14: "What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if someone claims to have faith but has no deeds? Can such faith save them?" He's not raising a theoretical theological puzzle for academic debate. He's addressing a pastoral crisis that was undermining the gospel's credibility. His comparison is intentionally shocking, even demons believe in God, and they believe so thoroughly that they shudder at His reality. Yet their belief doesn't save them. Why? Because belief without transformation isn't biblical faith. It's mere intellectual assent to facts about God rather than personal trust in God that changes everything.
     We face this same crisis in our modern day churches. Our congregations are filled with people who possess remarkable biblical knowledge. They can recite the books of the Bible, explain the difference between justification and sanctification, and debate the finer points of eschatology. They've walked the aisle during countless altar calls, prayed the sinner's prayer with genuine emotion, been baptized in front of cheering congregations. But from Monday through Saturday, their lives mirror their unbelieving neighbors in every meaningful way. Same priorities drive their decisions. Same values shape their relationships. Same sins entangle their hearts. Same pursuits consume their energy. The only distinguishable difference is the Christian label attached to their fundamentally unchanged life. This is the dead faith James warns us about, religious activity without spiritual reality, Christian vocabulary without Christian character, claiming to follow Jesus without actually following Jesus anywhere that costs us something.
     Faith and deeds were always meant to be joined together, and if we are people proclaiming to have faith, then we must also be people of action. God never intended for these to be separated, and in fact, they cannot be separated in genuine Christianity. When we attempt to have faith without works, we don't achieve a purer, more spiritual faith as some suppose. Instead, we get a dead faith, a counterfeit faith, a faith that cannot save because it was never alive to begin with. James uses two examples of faith through action in this passage, and his choices are deliberately provocative. The first is Abraham. Faith for Abraham was more than proclaiming that God was in charge of his life. Faith for Abraham was being willing to sacrifice his promised son Isaac. Abraham was showing through his action that his loyalty and devotion to God was above even his most precious son.
     Isaac wasn't just any child, he was the child of promise, the son Abraham and Sarah had waited decades to receive. Every covenant promise God had made seemed to flow through Isaac's survival. The command to sacrifice him appeared to contradict everything God had previously promised. Yet when God spoke, Abraham rose early the next morning and began the three-day journey to Mount Moriah. He didn't merely believe in God's existence, he trusted God's character even when His commands defied human logic.
     Secondly, James references Rahab the prostitute, and we should pause to appreciate how scandalous this example would have been to his original audience. A Gentile prostitute held up as an example of faith alongside father Abraham? Yet Rahab's faith in God, the God of the Israelites whom she had only heard about through stories of His mighty acts, led her to hide the spies of Israel and brought her into the family of God. She risked execution if caught harboring enemy spies. She betrayed her own people and their defensive interests. She wagered everything on a God she'd never personally encountered. Both of these individuals understood that faith in God was not only a verbal declaration of loyalty, but it required action. Their faith was not only theoretical, but it was also incredibly practical. Their trust in the Lord was demonstrated through their deeds, even though their theology was not perfect and they faced immediate risk for their acts of faith. Abraham could have lost the son he loved more than his own life. Rahab could have lost her life itself. Yet living faith acts in spite of risk because it trusts the One who calls us to action.
     This principle becomes even clearer when we read Jesus' teaching in Matthew 21. A father approaches his two sons with the same request: "Son, go and work today in the vineyard." The first son responds with brutal honesty, "I will not." But later, perhaps convicted by conscience or moved by love for his father, he changes his mind and goes. The second son immediately responds with apparent respect, "I will, sir," but never shows up to work. Jesus asks the religious leaders which son did the will of his father, and they correctly identify the first one. Then Jesus delivers the devastating application that must have infuriated them. Tax collectors and prostitutes are entering the kingdom of God ahead of the religious elite. The religious leaders possessed impeccable theological credentials. They had memorized vast portions of Scripture, meticulously observed religious rituals, and maintained ceremonial purity. But when John the Baptist came preaching repentance, they didn't respond with life change. When Jesus arrived announcing the kingdom, they didn't follow with obedient faith. Meanwhile, the "sinners" everyone despised were transforming their entire lives. The religious leaders were the second son, full of religious words but empty of actual obedience. The tax collectors and prostitutes were the first son, initially rebellious but ultimately responsive to God's call.
     We've become masters of the same deception in our modern version of Christianity. We say "I'll pray about it" when God has already made His will crystal clear in Scripture, using prayer as a delay tactic rather than a genuine seeking of God's direction. We accumulate biblical knowledge like collectors gathering rare books, never intending to let that knowledge reshape our daily decisions. We debate theological minutiae while ignoring the weightier matters of justice, mercy, and faithfulness that Jesus said were the heart of the law. We've become the second son, and the tragedy is we've convinced ourselves that our religious words are enough. Paul addresses this from another angle in Philippians 2:12 when he tells believers to "work out your salvation with fear and trembling." This verse has caused unnecessary anxiety for generations of Christians who misunderstand Paul's meaning. Are we working for our salvation? Are we earning God's favor through our efforts? Absolutely not. Paul is clear throughout his letters that salvation is by grace through faith. We work out what God has already worked in. The Greek word Paul uses, katergazomai, means to bring something to completion, to accomplish fully, to work something through to its intended end. Picture a master sculptor who places a magnificent piece of marble in your workshop. Your job isn't to create the marble or to transform it into something it was never meant to be. Your job is to work with what's been given, carefully and skillfully revealing what the master always intended. The salvation is already yours through Christ. Now live it out, express it, let it transform every area of your existence.
     The phrase "fear and trembling" tells us this isn't casual religious hobby. We're not talking about optional spiritual exercises for the especially devoted. We're dealing with eternal realities, handling something holy, working with the very life of God planted within us. The appropriate response isn't paralyzing terror that keeps us from acting, but neither is it casual indifference that treats God's gift lightly. It's the careful attention of someone who understands they've been entrusted with something infinitely precious. But here's the encouragement we desperately need to hear. Verse 13 promises that "it is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill his good purpose." We're not alone in this endeavor. We're not trying to generate spiritual life from our dead hearts through sheer willpower. God is actively working in us, giving us both the desire and the power to do His will. When you suddenly want to forgive someone who hurt you deeply, that desire didn't originate in your natural heart, that's God working in you. When you find strength to resist a temptation that used to own you, that power didn't come from self-improvement, that's God working in you. When serving others brings joy instead of resentment, when sacrifice feels like privilege, when obedience becomes delight, that's God working in you. These aren't your achievements to boast about. They're God's work through you to glory in.
     But we must cooperate with what God is doing. We must act on what He's producing in us. We must take the step of forgiveness when He gives us the desire. We must walk away from temptation when He provides the power. We must show up to serve when He stirs our hearts. God provides everything we need, but we must engage with His provision. He creates the desire, but we must act on it. He supplies the power, but we must employ it. This isn't contradiction or theological confusion. This is the beautiful mystery of how God works with His people, fully sovereign yet genuinely inviting our participation, completely in control yet truly valuing our choices.
     James gives us a memorable image to drive this truth home forever. A body without the spirit is dead. It might look like a person, might be dressed in their finest clothes, might be positioned peacefully in repose. But it's a corpse. There's no life, no breath, no movement, no response to stimuli, no relationship possible. It's dead, and no amount of makeup or positioning can change that fundamental reality. In exactly the same way, faith without deeds is dead. It might look like faith to casual observers. It might use all the right faith vocabulary in all the right faith settings. It might even fool the person claiming to possess it. But there's no spiritual life, no holy breath animating it, no kingdom movement flowing from it, no obedient response to God's voice. It's dead, and no amount of religious activity can resurrect it. This isn't saying we need faith plus works, as if they're two separate ingredients we need to mix together in the right proportions. This is saying that living faith naturally and necessarily produces works, just as a living body naturally and necessarily breathes. You can't have one without the other because they're unified in their essence. Faith is the root, works are the fruit, but you can't have a living root that produces no fruit. That's not a living root, that's dead wood pretending to be alive.


     So what do we do with this challenging but liberating truth?

     First, we need an honest assessment of our spiritual condition. Is there evidence of spiritual life in your daily existence? Not perfection, because that won't come this side of glory, but direction. Not sinlessness, because we all still struggle, but growth. Are you changing in observable ways? Are you becoming more like Jesus in your character, your choices, your concerns? Do others see a difference that can't be explained by self-improvement or religious performance?
     Second, we need to abandon our elaborate collection of excuses. Every dead faith has developed sophisticated justifications for its lack of life. "I'm just not wired that way," we say, as if God's commands come with personality test exemptions. "My faith is personal and private," we claim, directly contradicting Jesus who called us to be light that cannot be hidden. "I don't want to be legalistic," we protest, confusing obedience with earning salvation. These excuses might sound spiritual, but they're actually anti-spiritual, designed to protect dead faith from the inconvenience of resurrection.
     Third, we need to start somewhere specific and concrete. You probably know exactly what God is calling you to do right now. There's likely a specific act of obedience you've been avoiding, a conversation you need to have, a sin you need to confess, a person you need to forgive, a habit you need to break, a ministry you need to join, a sacrifice you need to make. Living faith takes the next step, even when that step is scary, especially when that step is scary, because faith is trust in action.
     Fourth, we need to remember whose work this really is. You're not generating life from death through positive thinking. God is raising the dead through His Spirit. You're not earning salvation through religious performance. God already earned it through Christ's perfect performance. You're not impressing God with your works. You're expressing God through your works. This removes both the pride of achievement and the paralysis of inability.