Why do you believe?
Cranking my bike along the Mississippi River somewhere in Missouri, I wasn’t ready for that question. I’m not sure how I responded—I think I was more concerned with the next hill than a coherent rationale for my faith.
I’ve thought a lot about the question since then. I’m not sure I have a better answer.
I gaze at the nativity scene on the mantle. God became a helpless child, born to a virgin. The creator enters His creation. Infinity chooses to become finite.
It’s absurd. And I absolutely believe it—every bit of it.
Why?
My personal conclusion is that I believe because I believe. It’s a heart thing, a prompting of the Holy Spirit. I’d like to explain it rationally, but “logical faith” seems like an oxymoron.
Everyone believes in something. Some folks choose faith in science, some choose other belief systems.
I believe Jesus was born in a humble stable more than two thousand years ago. I believe He was God incarnate.
I don’t need a reason.
I believe. That’s enough for me.
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