What if our first question in every situation—every opportunity, every blessing, every difficulty, every obstacle, was this: “God, how am I supposed to use this to glorify you and point people to your gospel?”
When Hebrews 11 says that “all these … did not receive what was promised, since … apart from us they should not be made perfect” (vv. 39–40 ESV), it’s not just saying that “the ones whom God let suffer didn’t receive the promise.” That’s true. But that’s not all of it. None of the people in Hebrews received the full promise. Even the winners in the list. All of them died incomplete.
At first, this can be a little confusing, since some of these people really did seem to receive “the promise.” I mean, Noah got delivered through the ark; Daniel slept through the lion’s den; Abraham got the Promised Land; David knocked down Goliath. Clearly “the promise” in view here was not a promise of temporary relief from pain or a temporary manifestation of power. It has to mean something more. But what?
The life of Jesus provides a hint. Have you ever stopped to think that all of Jesus’ healing miracles on earth were temporary? Lazarus, for instance, was raised from the dead—but there came a point where Lazarus died a second time and was buried a second time. It was probably even in the same grave! Every person Jesus raised from the dead died again. Every blind eye Jesus opened went blind again—because when we die, we’re all blind. Jesus performed incredible miracles, but every person he healed ended up in the grave.
In the same way, all the miracles recorded in Hebrews 11 were, from heaven’s perspective, just temporary. The point was never a temporary miracle. No, all these temporary manifestations of power served a greater purpose—highlighting that God was coming to earth to take the penalty of sin and the curse of death into himself so that we could be saved. God’s purpose has always been to show the world that.
And that’s what the writer means by “apart from us, they should not be made perfect.” “Made perfect” means “made complete.” Somehow, J.D. Greear’s life of faith makes Abraham’s faith complete? That’s a staggering claim. How does it work?
It’s not that my faith is stronger or better than Abraham’s. It’s that I’m completing the purpose for which God has us show faith in the world—to show that he is bigger and that he is better. Until his gospel is understood and believed throughout the world, that purpose is still incomplete. So apart from our efforts, the work of these great heroes is left incomplete.
When we understand that as God’s primary purpose in the world, it changes everything. The point of faith is not to make your life easier; it’s pointing people to the power and worth of God revealed in the gospel. That means however God answers my prayer, in whatever role he calls me to play, my goal is to leverage that to display his power and worth. Whether in prosperity or poverty, popularity or shame, sickness or health, rewarding relationships or dysfunctional ones, my primary question is: How can I use this to glorify God? How can I use this to point people to the gospel?
In order to embrace this, you’ve got to have what I call a “Copernican revolution of the soul.” Copernicus, as you may know from middle school science, was the one who figured out that the earth was not at the center of the universe. Up until him, almost everybody thought that the earth was in the middle of everything, and all the celestial bodies orbited around us. I mean, it’s what it looked like every night. We stood still and everything moved around us. “Oh no,” said Copernicus. “The sun is the center of our solar system, and we rotate around it.”
That’s a great metaphor for how we humans see life. What do we naturally assume? Everything rotates around me. I’m the point. And so I interpret everything that comes into my life based on how it benefits me. I try to discern how everything can be commandeered into the service of my personal little kingdom. And when something happens that doesn’t serve the purpose of my little kingdom, I’m like, “God, what’s the deal? Have you forgotten me?”
You and I need to have a Copernican revolution of the soul. You are not the center of history. Your little kingdom, your little contemporary happiness, is not the point. God’s glory, and the story of what he is doing to save the world, is the point. A person of faith takes everything that comes into their lives, everything—whether good or bad, pleasant or painful—and seeks to leverage it for that eternal purpose.
Think of your life as a movie, and ask yourself, “Who would the main character be?” “Well, naturally,” you say, “if my life were a movie, the main character would be me.” But that’s not the life of faith. The life of faith is that you, like the people in Hebrews 11, see yourself as a part of a larger story where you’re not the main character. Your story plays a relatively small part of a much bigger plot, a plot about him.
The life of faith is an invitation to join with the great men and women of Hebrews 11 in a larger story about Jesus. It’s a story in which you have a role, an important role—sometimes to shine and sometimes to suffer, but always to bring glory to Jesus and help others to know him.
Christian, let me ask you this: What are you going through right now? What difficulty? What unanswered prayer? Have you asked yourself: How might I use this to glorify God? How might I use this to show people I have joy in something better than what the world offers—something that is better than anything else life can give or death could take away?
There is a baton being passed from Hebrews 11, and apart from us, their race is not complete. There are still so many people who don’t know. Whether they personally live or die, succeed or fail, receive earthly healing or not, is not the point. The point is in all things giving glory to Jesus and pointing people to him.
