The Open Hand

A friend observed to me that you are far more likely to find a church called Faith Baptist than a church called Grace Baptist. Similarly, you are also more likely to find a church called Grace Presbyterian than Faith Presbyterian.

That naming instinct seems to reflect a difference in theological emphasis. Baptist and revivalist traditions tend to accent the human response — the moment of decision, the act of believing, the convert's experience. Reformed and Presbyterian traditions tend to accent the divine initiative — the covenant, the electing grace, the sovereign work of God that secures what He has promised.

Both are naming something biblical. Neither is wrong. But the difference in emphasis shapes everything downstream — what gets preached, what gets celebrated, how assurance is understood, and most importantly, what we quietly believe faith actually is.

Because here is the drift that catches serious Christians off guard. You can correctly believe that faith is not a meritorious work that earns salvation — and still, practically, treat it as a virtue to be perfected. You work on your faith. You cultivate it. You worry about whether it is strong enough, consistent enough, deep enough. Yet slowly, without quite meaning to, the quality of your believing becomes the ground of your confidence before God.

That's not justification by works. But it functions like it.

Acts 13:39 is a useful anchor. Paul, preaching in Antioch, says: 'by him everyone who believes is freed from everything from which you could not be freed by the law of Moses.' The one who believes is freed. But freed by what? By him — by the forgiveness of sins freely offered in Christ. The faith is real. The faith is active. But the faith is not the source of the liberation. It is the instrument by which the liberation is received.

Faith is the instrument by which we receive grace. 

Think of it this way. Suppose I wanted to give you a million dollars. The money is real, it is yours, I intend to transfer it freely. But you need something to receive it — a bank account, a routing number, a connection to the system through which the transfer can be made. Without that instrument, the gift cannot reach you. The instrument matters. But the instrument does not earn the deposit. The account does not make you deserve the million dollars. It simply makes you capable of receiving what is freely given.

Not faith as virtue. Faith as receiving.

This is a distinction with enormous pastoral consequences. When faith is treated as a virtue — as the spiritual quality that God evaluates and rewards — then justification is still functionally by works, just inward ones rather than outward ones. God looks at the quality of your believing and acts accordingly. Which means the anxious question is never far away: is my faith strong enough? Real enough? Consistent enough?

Assurance of your salvation becomes elusive, and anxiety increases.

But when faith is understood as an instrument of reception — as the open hand that brings nothing but simply receives what is freely given — then the ground of confidence shifts entirely. The question is no longer about the quality of the hand. It is about the certainty of what has been placed in it. And that certainty rests not on your faith but on Christ, whose finished work is the certainty faith lays hold of.

The certainty of the freely given promise in Christ quells anxiety and increases assurance.

John Calvin wrote a strong definition of faith. He called it "a firm and certain knowledge of God's benevolence towards us founded upon the truth of the freely given promise in Christ both revealed to our minds and sealed upon our hearts through the Holy Spirit."

So by all means, work on your faith. Read the Word, pray, gather with the saints, take the ordinary means of grace seriously. Faith, like any instrument, is kept in working order. But keep clear on what you are working on and why. You are not polishing the hand in hopes of deserving the gift. You're also not exercising the hand, hoping its grip will be strong enough. You are keeping the hand open so that what is freely given can continue to be freely received.