Christian Art | Easter To Pentecost
John 16: 29-33 | King James Audio Bible
29 His disciples said unto him, Lo, now speakest thou plainly, and speakest no proverb.
30 Now are we sure that thou knowest all things, and needest not that any man should ask thee: by this we believe that thou camest forth from God.
31 Jesus answered them, Do ye now believe?
32 Behold, the hour cometh, yea, is now come, that ye shall be scattered, every man to his own, and shall leave me alone: and yet I am not alone, because the Father is with me.
33 These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.
The disciples enthusiastically acknowledge the divinity of Jesus, proved to them in these Bible verses by Jesus’ knowledge of their thoughts, which only God could know. Jesus has indeed spoken plainly to the disciples. Now it may be with some reproachfulness that he asks them: ‘Do ye now believe?’ They have spent such time with Jesus, have witnessed signs and miracles, and now they accept his teachings and express their faith in him.
Jesus in these verses additionally points to the fragility of the disciples’ faith in him. For the moment, they are enthusiastic in their declaration of faith, but very soon they will abandon Jesus, when he is given over into the hands of his enemies. Our faith must be firmer than this, as we confront life’s difficulties and may at times struggle to see God at work in the world and in society. Our faith must be strong as we communicate God’s love to other people, through simple acts of kindness as well as through sharing, explicitly, our Christianity. Our faith must be strong when we suffer, and when our offerings to others are rebuffed.
Christ’s words are an example to us of how we should be when the world seems to flee from us, leaving us feeling alone. Christ will, in truth, not be alone, even when he is at his most physically abject through the course of his Passion. He knows that the Father is with him. This is both perfect knowledge and perfect faith. In a similar way, when we find we are struggling, God is with us.
Christ’s words, then, are for our time. We do indeed face tribulations. The world, contemporary society, does not in so many ways tend toward faith, and there is much that is actively opposed to faith. There are times when we may look at our society and find our love and faith and hope draining from us, confronted, as we may feel ourselves to be, by a spiritual desert. But we must blink and look again. The world, though often hostile, is seeded with love and faith and hope, sometimes most obviously, at other times when we take just a little care to scratch the surface of our impressions of other people, and so to discover the good that shines within. Christ has overcome the world.
‘As light strikes the eyes of a man who comes out of darkness into the sunshine and enables him to see clearly things he could not discern before, so light floods the soul of the man counted worthy of receiving the Holy Spirit and enables him to see things beyond the range of human vision, things hitherto undreamed of.’ St Cyril of Jerusalem
King James Audio Bible Endnotes
‘Do Ye Now Believe?’ | A Call To Deeper Christian Faith
Theologian William Barclay suggests that Jesus’ question to the disciples, ‘Do ye now believe?’ is not a rebuke, but rather an invitation to deepen their faith. Barclay writes, ‘It was not that Jesus thought that their faith was insufficient; it was that he knew that their faith had not yet been really tested. He knew that before the night was over, they would see him taken prisoner, tried, condemned, and crucified, and that then their faith would be really tested.’ (Barclay, William. The Gospel of John. Volume 2. Westminster John Knox Press, 2001)
Similarly, in his book The Cost of Discipleship, Dietrich Bonhoeffer reflects on the significance of the disciples’ scattering and the tribulations they faced. He writes, ‘The disciples had to learn the hard way that faith is only real when there is nothing left to hold onto but God alone. They had to lose their faith in order to find it again in its true form.’ (Bonhoeffer, Dietrich. The Cost of Discipleship. Touchstone, 1995)
Theologian and author Timothy Keller also explores the idea of faith in the face of trials and tribulations in his book, Walking with God Through Pain and Suffering. Keller writes, ‘Faith in God does not prevent hardships but rather enables us to face them with confidence and hope.’ (Keller, Timothy. Walking with God Through Pain and Suffering. Penguin Books, 2015)
A Call To Deeper Faith
As we approach Pentecost, the question ‘Do ye now believe?’ remains a call to examine our own faith and to deepen our relationship with God. It also reminds us that belief in Jesus is not an intellectual acknowledgment of his divinity but a commitment to follow his teachings and to bear witness to his love and grace.
In his book Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis writes about ‘believing in’ God. He writes, ‘Believing in God is not the same as believing things about God. It is possible to believe that God exists and to believe nothing else about Him.’ (Lewis, C.S. Mere Christianity. HarperCollins, 2001)
Therefore, the question of whether we truly believe in Jesus is not about acknowledging his existence or even recognizing his divine nature. It is about trusting in him as our Lord and Savior, and living our lives in accordance with his teachings.
In the words of the Apostle Paul, ‘I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me.’ (Galatians 2:20, KJV)
Faith Through Doubt And Fear
Jesus’ question ‘Do ye now believe?’ challenges Christians to confront our doubts and uncertainties. Even the disciples who had witnessed Jesus’ miracles and teachings faced moments of doubt and fear. In the Gospel of Mark, after Jesus’ resurrection, Jesus appears to the disciples and rebukes them for their unbelief and hardness of heart (Mark 16:14).
The Christian faith is not one that denies or suppresses doubts and questions but rather one that embraces our uncertainty and seeks answers through prayer, scripture, and the guidance of the Holy Spirit. Theologian Frederick Buechner writes, ‘Doubts are the ants in the pants of faith. They keep it alive and moving.’
In his book The Case for Christ, journalist Lee Strobel documents his journey from atheism to Christianity through investigating the evidence for the resurrection of Jesus. Strobel’s journey shows that faith is not just blind belief but a rational and informed decision based on the evidence.
Similarly, in his book The Reason for God, Tim Keller argues that faith and reason are not opposed but rather complement each other. He writes, ‘Faith without some doubts is like a human body without any antibodies in it. People who blithely go through life too busy or indifferent to ask hard questions about why they believe as they do will find themselves defenseless against either the experience of tragedy or the probing questions of a smart skeptic.’ (Keller, Tim. The Reason for God. Penguin Books, 2009)
The disciples Peter, James and John have just witnessed the Transfiguration on the mountain. They have seen the glorified Christ, and now they are puzzled, because they have been taught that Elijah would come before the Messiah. These are the verses from the prophet Malachi, which are the last words of the Old Testament:
The homily reflects the concerns of an early Christian community navigating moral uncertainty, delayed fulfilment, and the practical demands of discipleship. Its tone is pastoral rather than speculative, grounding theological claims in concrete habits of life. The homilist’s central conviction is that the believer’s return to God is both possible and urgent, and that this return takes shape through self-control, repentance, charity, and mutual responsibility within the community [ … ]
The Carrefour will be open, where I can buy nuts for the red squirrel, who lives in Campo Grande. The red squirrel is Valladolid’s best bit. Even as a child, I had never seen one before, apart from in picture books. It was last term’s discovery. The most beautiful encounter. I didn’t know it was there – in the park. A complete surprise. The tiny little thing bobbled and hopped, as it received in its little hands a nut from the man’s hands. Each surprising instant – it was childlike. I whispered: ‘Oh my wow.’ I walk toward the El Cortes Ingles. There is, for now, that settled feel of friends in bookshops. Though a null-affect, neutral day – it won’t glean, it is not to be scratched at. The queues are long in the Carrefour. Though, as it might be, on relatively modest incomes, many people live centrally. Their behaviours neither pinched nor stark. Yet the shop so busy while the street so empty… An error in the simulation, a glitch in the code. I potter about the aisles, which are pleasant enough, then at the tills I flinch at how expensive a little bag of up-sold nuts can be. Nonetheless, I queue for a packet of almonds. Two English men queue directly ahead of me. They are stocky, and have gay voices, their wheelie-bucket piled with soft drinks and party food, while they bitch to one another about the obviously terrible party they’re going to. The air heaves relief as I wander up the way to the broad plaza fringing Campo Grande. This is a place to see – a piece of Spain. There is a tourist information office, though unopened. At these fountains, three girls take selfies. Pompous-looking buildings, the military offices aside, line the park’s nearest vicinities. Hotel-bars have their patches. Liveried doormen idle time, for there are no paying customers, in and out the doorways’ shadows. A mixed group of kids play at the hoops on the pedestrian boulevard, and two boys practise on skateboards, working the thing out. I pass by them, touched by the thought, and happy that they are there. Wistful, I smile at the odds of the ball spilling over to me, and play in mind the agreeable scene of a fleeting connection. Then I am through the park gates. An air now – of humanity become self-selecting. Modestly understated. Understatedly modest. Campo Grande is nice but it isn’t grande… I walk slowly, and very soon hear for a second time English voices. Not them – it is an English family, just a little way ahead, a Dad and a Mum and a younger boy and an older girl, and theirs are Midlands accents. Dad seems to have been here and to know the place. He gestures panoramically. Mum wants her lunch. The girl at a difficult age. She carries a balloon-on-a-stick. Though she is sprouting – yet wears a loud dress. Then leggings, trainers. Her hair is nice… Maybe she is being okay about it. And not horrific. It’s okay once they get into it, but those months… Yet then, they mostly blossom, if they come from a good home, and become rounded personalities, entering into their womanhood. It was that… when yet they weren’t… I shudder to think of it. They walk toward the pond, and I trail, and would follow had I not been going that way. I wish I could say something so they might hear I am English too. (Fake a phone call?) How my voice might sound – there’d be all college hurling around in such matter I… a demented thing, ludicrous blurt – of Henry, Geoff, and all of them – not to mention the personal predicament. Maybe they’re a nice family. She is letting him explain what he needs to explain. And it would blow his fire, me being English. Mum and Dad. You’d probably see them all having their lunch in a little while. All sat round the table. With napkins and the menus out. Dad looks safe. I look into the pond. Terrapins live in there. But not today. I walk toward the join in the paths where the squirrel lives. There, I crumple the packet of almonds, making noise. I peer and I squat and crouch – chewing a mouthful. All the peacocks have perched right up in the trees’ branches. That never looks like something they should be doing. It’s disappointing that the squirrel isn’t here – but then the not-knowing-if is a part of it. Now, next, my visit to the National Sculpture Museum is an obligation. Canon Peter stood literally aghast when I hadn’t heard of it. Mortified, I made resolute promises. Though a few weeks have passed, it isn’t just any old something I could do on the hoof. A great commitment – it must command a known and prepared and anticipated not-just-any-old-time. But, rather, the sort you must wait for – and listen for. [ … ] Beyond Plaza Mayor, there would be a brief series of old-town alleyways. The National Sculpture Museum would be – just up there, this archway, this next…They are bleached and forgotten-looking walls, and the smoothed paving could be medieval. Not that it is making Tomàs anxious – I follow the map. A kind of place – uneasy credit-cards, and modern vaccinations, and a phone, might not help much. I fancy I feel the back-wall of a church, and that – fancifully – pressure-release drawn out of me. Only I am playing games in a nice way – making play-scared on the uncertainty – with only myself to see. The National Museum is there, modestly signed on stencilled plexiglass stuck to the stone wall. A uniformed lady sits just a little way inside the doorway. She reassures me there is no money required, and directs me over the courtyard into the planned route, showing me where I can pick up a free map. I get my […]
