6/14/26 “Practicing Faith”

Click here for worship materials

“Practicing Faith”

I want to start with something funny that I found on an internet site:  A young woman brings home her fiancé to meet her parents. After dinner, her mother tells her father to find out about the young man. The father invites the fiancé to his study for a drink.

“So what are your plans?” the father asks.

“I am a Torah scholar,” he replies.

“A Torah scholar. Hmmm,” the father says. “Admirable, but what will you do to provide a nice house for my daughter to live in, as she’s accustomed to?”

“I will study,” the young man replies, “and God will provide for us.”

“And how will you buy her a beautiful engagement ring, such as she deserves?” asks the father.

“I will concentrate on my studies,” the young man replies, “God will provide for us.”

“And children?” asks the father. “How will you support children?”

“Don’t worry, sir, God will provide,” replies the fiancé.

The conversation continues like this, and each time the father questions him, the young idealist insists that God will provide.  Later, the mother asks, “How did it go, honey?” The father answers, “He has no job and no plans, but the good news is he thinks I’m God.”

What do you think of the young man in the story? Do you think he is a strong believer, or an irresponsible person?

We believe that we are saved through faith in Jesus Christ by the grace of God, not by our works. Yes, that is true. But it does not mean that we do nothing. Some Christians misunderstand “salvation by faith alone in Jesus Christ.” Faith in Jesus means that we believe in Him and follow Him—what He did and what He taught us.

The Letter of James says, “You believe that there is one God. Good! Even the demons believe that—and shudder.” (James 2:19). Demons also believe in God, but they do not follow Jesus.

Today, I want to talk about “Practicing Faith.” In today’s Scripture reading, we see Abraham and his wife Sarah. Let us reflect on their faith journey and learn how to practice faith in everyday life.

The story begins with Abraham “sitting at the entrance of his tent.” It is a simple detail, but it matters deeply. Abraham is not on a mountain. He is not in a temple. He is not in a moment of great achievement or spiritual intensity. He is at the doorway of everyday life.

Faith begins at the doorway of ordinary life. It was perhaps a hot day, and he was resting in the shade under the tree, as if it were just another normal day. And it is there that God appears. Three visitors come, and Abraham does not ignore them. He does not wait to confirm who they are. He does not delay hospitality until he has certainty. Instead, he runs. He bows. He welcomes. He prepares food.

You know, the Israelites’ practice of hospitality included offering water to drink and washing guests’ feet, because of the heat and scarcity of water, and also because travel was done on foot. Abraham offered them not only water but also a great meal and a place of rest. Perhaps this reflects Abraham’s normal practice of loving God and loving neighbor in everyday life.

Yes, God may come into our ordinary days, and we may respond as if it is normal. Faith, in this moment, is not merely a belief statement. It is movement. It is attention. It is openness. It is life itself.

Sometimes we imagine faith as something we think or feel only in extraordinary moments. But Genesis 18 suggests something much more grounded: faith is practiced in the doorway of daily life—when we are interrupted, when we are tired, when life feels routine.

Where is your doorway? Where is the place where God might be showing up in the ordinary?

There is a story often told in churches—told in different ways, but carrying the same painful truth:

A poor man came to a church one Sunday morning to attend worship. He was dressed simply, with worn clothes that showed his hardship. He quietly entered the sanctuary, hoping to join the service. But as he walked in, he noticed the stares. People were uncomfortable. Some moved away. Others whispered. He was not greeted with warmth, but with suspicion. Eventually, he was told—directly or indirectly—that perhaps this was not the right place for him. And so, quietly and without resistance, he left the church.

Anyway, the service continued as usual. Hymns were sung. Prayers were offered. Scripture was read. But afterward, the congregation was told something that stopped them cold: the man they had turned away was, in fact, Christ Himself—coming to them in disguise.

Of course, the story is not meant to be taken literally. It is a parable of the heart. It echoes Jesus’ words: “Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.” (Matthew 25:40)

The question this story leaves hanging in the air is simple but piercing: What if Christ came to our doorway, and we did not recognize Him? Who knows? Jesus may come to our doorway in the form of the sick, the poor, or the ordinary people. So perhaps the real question for us today is this: Where is your doorway—and who might already be standing there?

Hospitality is very important because it shapes the first impression of a guest. Faith is also practiced through hospitality. Abraham’s response is striking. He does not simply greet the visitors—he runs toward them. He offers water, rest, bread, and care. He insists on serving them.

What is remarkable is that Abraham does all of this before he fully knows who they are. This is one of the quiet mysteries of the text: sometimes God arrives in disguise. The writer of Hebrews reflects this when it says, “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing so some have entertained angels without knowing it.”

Hospitality, then, is not just social courtesy. It becomes spiritual practice. It becomes a way of recognizing that God may be present in unexpected people, unexpected interruptions, and unexpected needs.

\Practicing faith means acting with love before certainty arrives. It means serving before we fully understand. It means opening space before we have proof. And this challenges us deeply, because we often want clarity before action, certainty before generosity, assurance before we open the door. But Abraham shows us a different way: faith runs toward love first.

In the middle of the story, the promise is spoken again: Sarah will have a son. But Sarah hears it from inside the tent—and she laughs. Her laughter is not loud or public. It is private, almost hidden—a quiet internal reaction to something that feels unbelievable.

We should not rush past Sarah’s laughter, because it is deeply human.

How many of us have laughed inwardly at God’s promises? Not because we mock God, but because life has taught us limits. Sarah’s body has aged. The promise has been delayed. The expectation has faded.

Actually, this is not the first time God promised Abraham a son. Fifteen years earlier, God promised him descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky (Genesis 15:5). However, even after ten years, there was no child, and Abraham had a son through Hagar, his servant, thinking that this might be God’s way.

So now, again, the word comes: “Your wife Sarah will bear a son.” No more joking. It feels impossible. It feels too far gone. But then comes the question that changes everything: “Is anything too wonderful for the Lord?” This is not a rebuke; it is an invitation—God gently expanding the space of possibility. God makes things happen that we cannot.

Practicing faith, then, is not pretending we do not laugh. It is learning to bring even our laughter—our doubt, skepticism, and weariness—into God’s presence. Faith is not the absence of doubt; faith is a life centered on God even within doubt.

At the center of this story is not Abraham’s generosity or Sarah’s doubt, but God who comes near. God is not distant in this passage. God is walking, speaking, eating, promising, and listening. This is a God who visits and stays with us. If we truly believe that, our faith changes everything.

Faith is not primarily our effort to reach God. Faith is our response to a God who comes to us. God meets Abraham in the heat of the day. God meets Sarah in her hidden laughter. God meets them in the ordinary space of a tent. And God still meets us there.

So what does it mean to practice faith? It means opening the door when life feels ordinary.
It means acting in love before certainty arrives. It means waiting when promises feel delayed.
It means telling the truth about our doubts. And it means trusting that God is already near—already speaking, already present, already working in ways we cannot yet see.

Faith is not a single decision. It is a daily practice. And the question that echoes through this passage is the same question that echoes through our lives. “Is anything too wonderful for the Lord?” May we learn, day by day, to answer that question not only with our words—but with our lives.

Thanks be to God. Amen.