If you ever get a chance to drive along Pacific Coast Highway – Highway 1 – do it. It’s one of the most beautiful scenic drives in America. As a child growing up in California, my family made that detour more than once on our way to visit relatives in Portland.
Highway 1 hugs the rugged coastline from central California all the way up into Oregon. Much of the time you’re driving on a narrow, winding road with hairpin turns that traverse sheer cliffs. Hundreds of feet below, waves crash on the rock walls of the cliffs. I remember looking west from the backseat window of our 50’s Buick and seeing only the vast Pacific ocean and blue sky. The cliffs were so steep, I couldn’t see the ocean waves below.
And that terrified me. I was sure our car, with us in it, would fly off the highway on one of those stomach-churning turns and drown us all in the cold, grey ocean. So I would grab my pillow, move to the opposite side of the car, jam my face between the seat and the back door, pull the pillow over my head, and scream at the top of my lungs.
I didn’t know it then, but what I lacked in my immaturity was what I call “ordinary faith.” Ordinary faith is the kind of faith we employ every moment of every day in order to be able to function in life. Ordinary faith encompasses the basic and mostly unconscious assumptions we make about our surroundings.
For example, this morning I walked into Starbucks to get my coffee and write this post. The moment I opened the door, my ordinary faith kicked in. I assumed I had reason to believe the building this Starbucks is in was designed and built by reputable architects and craftsmen and wouldn’t collapse on me. When I ordered my coffee and Chorizo egg sandwich, I assumed the barista knew how to make my Pike coffee and that the Chorizo sandwich I got was properly made. When I sat down in this chair I’m sitting in, I assumed it would hold me up.
Okay, you get the point. When we drive our car, when we fly on a plane, when we shop at our grocery store, etc., all of that involves ordinary faith. Now I want you to notice some things about ordinary faith.
First of all. everyone – and I mean everyone – has ordinary faith. It’s impossible to live without it. We would instantly become catatonic if our ordinary faith suddenly disappeared.
Second, ordinary faith is not necessarily trivial. We often – in fact many times a day – stake our lives on it. When we drive through an intersection with a green signal and assume that the light for the cars crossing it is red, we are risking our lives based on ordinary faith.
Third, ordinary faith is necessary for us to live because we are not omniscient. If we knew absolutely everything with certainty, then there would be no need to make assumptions about anything.
Fourth, ordinary faith is based on a growing awareness and trust of our surroundings. For example, as I grew from a child into a teenager, I came to learn that my father was an excellent driver and had never had a traffic violation. Therefore, I realized that I had little to fear when he drove us on Pacific Coast Highway, to the great relief of my family!
Fifth, ordinary faith is no big deal. When I, say, cross a massive bridge over a huge river in my car, I don’t stop on the other side, get out, and shout, “Hey look, everybody. I risked my life and crossed that bridge!” Nope. I don’t do that. If I did, everyone would think I was very strange. That’s because ordinary faith makes death-defying feats like crossing a huge bridge over a massive river, well, ordinary.
And sixth, because ordinary faith is not based on absolute knowledge, but on our own contingent experience, it is subject to being violated. I said above, “I had little to fear” when Dad drove us on Pacific Coast Highway.
But the fact that my dad was an excellent driver didn’t mean I had nothing to fear at all. My dad could have fallen asleep, or the car could have had a mechanical malfunction. We really could have flown off that cliff.
Thus, in every situation where we exercise ordinary faith – which is always – ordinary faith can be proved wrong. This Starbucks building could indeed fall down on me. The Chorizo breakfast sandwich could make me sick. The light at the intersection could malfunction. And on, and on, and on. But in all of these situations, my ordinary faith subconsciously tells me, “Yes, all of these outcomes are possible. But based on my experience, and the experience of others, they’re not probable.” And it’s this assessment – “That’s highly improbable. Therefore I should go ahead and do it.” – that determines whether or not we will exercise ordinary faith.
And that brings us to how the concept of ordinary faith fits into the faith we Christians practice. The greatest praise Jesus gave to anyone was to a centurion who demonstrated ordinary faith in him.
When Jesus had entered Capernaum, a centurion came to him, asking for help. “Lord,” he said, “my servant lies at home paralyzed, suffering terribly.”
Jesus said to him, “Shall I come and heal him?”
The centurion replied, “Lord, I do not deserve to have you come under my roof. But just say the word, and my servant will be healed. For I myself am a man under authority, with soldiers under me. I tell this one, ‘Go,’ and he goes; and that one, ‘Come,’ and he comes. I say to my servant, ‘Do this,’ and he does it.”
When Jesus heard this, he was amazed and said to those following him, “Truly I tell you, I have not found anyone in Israel with such great faith.”1
Notice here how the centurion had incorporated Jesus into his understanding of the world. He obviously had been observing Jesus and how he had been miraculously healing people. He arrived at the conclusion that he was no charlatan. So, since the centurion had a servant who was in desperate need, he asked Jesus to heal him. And then when Jesus asked the centurion if he wanted him to go to his home, the centurion draws the obvious conclusion: “There’s no need for that, Jesus, just say the word. That’s how I operate. I’m sure you can operate that way too.”
Did the centurion know that there was a possibility that he might be wrong about Jesus? Of course he did. But based on what he had observed, he came to the conclusion that the possibility that Jesus was a fraud was highly improbable. And so, exercising ordinary faith, he simply asked Jesus to heal his servant, and to do it remotely at that. No. Big. Deal.
Ordinary faith takes what previously seemed unthinkable, scary, even life threatening and makes it mundane. And ordinary faith is all that God is asking of us. The same faith that we practice every minute of every day of our lives, he is asking us to practice toward him. And the more we practice ordinary faith toward God, the easier it becomes.
It seems to me that God must view many of us Christians the same way my parents must have viewed me when I was in the back seat of our car screaming my head off as we drove through some of the most beautiful scenery in the world: as immature and more than just a little bit irritating.
This post first appeared in NewCommandment.org.
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