Love is born of faith. And faith—how does it come? It comes by hearing. “So then faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word of God” (Romans 10:17). When a man truly hears the word of God, something stirs in his spirit. It is not a mere intellectual acknowledgment. It is a disturbance—a conviction. A fire kindled in the bones, as Jeremiah knew it (Jeremiah 20:9). That stirring produces passion for God, and that passion is love. It takes root in the heart, and from the heart it establishes faith—living, breathing, active faith. For “faith worketh by love” (Galatians 5:6). The two are inseparable. Love fuels faith, and faith, when acted upon, nurtures deeper love. They feed one another in an upward cycle: the more you obey, the more you love; the more you love, the more you believe; the more you believe, the more you obey.
But here is where the whole matter rests on a knife’s edge: this cycle does not begin with man. It begins with God. All of it—the hearing, the stirring, the conviction, the love, the faith—is contingent upon His will, at His appointed time, for the person He chooses to move upon. “So then it is not of him that willeth, nor of him that runneth, but of God that sheweth mercy” (Romans 9:16). A man can will all he likes. He can run himself ragged. But unless God opens his ears to hear and softens his heart to receive, there is no ignition. The engine of faith does not start itself.
The Tragedy of Knowing Without Doing
And this is the great tragedy: a man can know. He can know deeply, broadly, and fluently. He can speak of God with eloquence and parse doctrine with precision. And yet—when the moment comes that demands action, he fails. He fails not from ignorance but from something far worse: a knowing that never matured into doing. Paul himself confessed this war: “For the good that I would I do not: but the evil which I would not, that I do” (Romans 7:19). Such a man is, as Paul warned Timothy, “Ever learning, and never able to come to the knowledge of the truth” (2 Timothy 3:7). He is ever knowing, never proving, never nurturing, never loving. Never walking in the faith he so readily recognises in others and so readily names with his mouth.
James puts it plainly: “Be ye doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving your own selves” (James 1:22). The man who hears and does not act is not merely negligent—he is self-deceived. He has convinced himself that knowing is enough. That recognition is the same as possession. But it is not. You can recognise a fire from across the room and still freeze to death. Knowledge without action is a barren womb. It conceives nothing. It births nothing. It sustains nothing (James 2:17-26).
The Desperation That Opens the Door
Why does such a man fail to pursue and receive the mercy of God? Because he is not desperate enough. He still has something to hold on to. He still believes he has options. He still thinks he can manage. And as long as a man thinks he can manage, he will never throw himself entirely upon God. It is only when a man comes to see that he has nothing left—that he is already dead, already spent, already bankrupt—that he can truly pursue God with the kind of abandon God requires (Mark 10:23).
This was the exact mindset of the prodigal son. Consider him. He had taken his inheritance—everything his father had set aside for him—and squandered it on reckless living. When famine struck, he found himself feeding pigs, longing to eat their slop, and no one gave him a thing. He was finished. There was nothing left to protect, nothing left to lose. And it was precisely there—in the pigsty, at the bottom, in total ruin—that something shifted. The Scripture says, “He came to himself” (Luke 15:17). What a phrase. He came to himself. He woke up. And he said, “I will arise and go to my father, and will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son” (Luke 15:18–19).
And what did it cost him to return? Nothing. He had nothing left to give up. His desperation was not his defeat—it was his doorway. The father did not meet him with a lecture. He met him with a robe, a ring, a feast, and a kiss (Luke 15:20–24). That is the mercy of God. But it only comes to the one who has stopped pretending he can save himself.
The Lesson of Abel Beth-Maacah
There is a remarkable episode in 2 Samuel 20 that illuminates this truth with startling clarity. A man named Sheba, the son of Bichri, had rebelled against King David and drawn Israel after him. When the rebellion collapsed, Sheba fled and took refuge inside the city of Abel Beth-Maacah. Joab, David’s commander, pursued him there and laid siege to the city. He battered the walls. He was prepared to destroy everything—every man, woman, and child—to get to the one man who had caused the trouble (2 Samuel 20:15).
Then a wise woman from within the city called out to Joab. She reasoned with him: “Why will you swallow up the inheritance of the LORD?” (2 Samuel 20:19). Joab answered plainly—he did not want the city. He wanted the man. Give him up, and the siege would end. The people of the city looked around. They saw their walls crumbling. They saw an army they could not defeat. They understood with perfect clarity: if they continued to shield this man, the cost would be their total destruction. But if they gave him up—this one man, this single source of all the commotion—they would live. So they cut off Sheba’s head and threw it over the wall to Joab. And Joab blew the trumpet, and the army withdrew, and the city was saved (2 Samuel 20:21–22).
They reasoned aright. They counted the cost and chose survival over misplaced loyalty to a traitor.
Surrender the Traitor Within Your Walls
Now consider: you are that city—the inheritance of The Lord (Deuteronomy 32:9). Your soul is the population—the inhabitants who live within your walls. And a traitor is living among them. It is the flesh. It is the uncrucified nature, the indulged appetite, the sin that has been given shelter and protection for far too long. And because of that one resident, the armies of God’s judgment are at your gates. The walls are crumbling. The situation is beyond you. You have no strength to go forward this way.
The wise man recognises this. He does not pretend he can withstand the siege. He does not try to negotiate from a position of strength he does not have. Instead, he reasons aright and says, “Why should I keep suffering for the sake of the very thing that is destroying me? This situation is beyond me. I will seek the face of God. I will seek His mercy in fasting and prayer, knowing that He is merciful and will hear a prayer made from faith—a prayer rising from a destitute heart.”
And God will hear it. “The LORD is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit” (Psalm 34:18). “If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land” (2 Chronicles 7:14). He will answer. He will give relief. He will give rest. “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).
But this mercy comes at a cost—not a cost to you, for you have nothing left to lose, but a cost to the flesh—the traitor. You must hand over the traitor. You must surrender the one who caused God to set Himself against you (Isaiah 54:16). You must mortify the deeds of the body (Romans 8:13). “And they that are Christ’s have crucified the flesh with the affections and lusts” (Galatians 5:24).
[At a lodging place on the way, the Lord met Moses and was about to kill him. But Zipporah took a flint knife, cut off her son’s foreskin and touched Moses’ feet with it. “Surely you are a bridegroom of blood to me,” she said. So the Lord let him alone. (At that time she said “bridegroom of blood,” referring to circumcision.) —Exodus 4:24]
Cut off his head. Throw it over the wall. And the siege will end. The trumpet will sound. The army will withdraw. And your soul will be saved. For “what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?” (Mark 8:36). The flesh was already condemned. Letting go of it costs you nothing you were not already losing. But keeping it—ah, keeping it costs you everything.
[“Woe to the city of blood, full of lies, full of plunder, never without victims! The crack of whips, the clatter of wheels, galloping horses and jolting chariots! Charging cavalry, flashing swords and glittering spears! Many casualties, piles of dead, bodies without number, people stumbling over the corpses— all because of the wanton lust of a prostitute, alluring, the mistress of sorceries, who enslaved nations by her prostitution and peoples by her witchcraft.”
— Nahum 3:1–4 (NIV)]