Proverbs 3:1-12

My child, do not forget my teaching,
    but let your heart keep my commandments,

for length of days and years of life
    and abundant welfare they will give you.

Do not let loyalty and faithfulness forsake you;
    bind them around your neck;
    write them on the tablet of your heart.

Then you will find favor and high regard
    in the sight of God and of people.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart,
    and do not rely on your own insight.

In all your ways acknowledge him,
    and he will make straight your paths.

Do not be wise in your own eyes;
    fear the Lord and turn away from evil.

It will be a healing for your flesh
    and a refreshment for your body.

Honor the Lord with your substance
    and with the first fruits of all your produce;

then your barns will be filled with plenty,
    and your vats will be bursting with wine. 

My child, do not despise the Lord’s discipline
    or be weary of his reproof, 

for the Lord reproves the one he loves,
    as a father the son in whom he delights.

The most precious thing you have is not gold, or land, or even intelligence. It is trust. When trust exists, people can accomplish great things together. When it is broken, things fall apart.

Every day you trust hundreds of people you will never meet. At breakfast, you trust the farmers, the shippers and the grocery workers that your food is safe. On the road, your life depends on strangers stopping at the red light. Your health is in the hands of doctors, insurers and drug makers. You trust that your paycheck will arrive. We like to think we are self-reliant. Yet almost everything we do depends on someone else. If you think about it long enough, it is a little scary.

Going it alone is not the answer. We may romanticize living off the grid, but surviving on your own is brutally hard. So, most of us keep trusting our unknown neighbors, even when society seems poorly run, corrupt, or deeply unjust. We hang in there because the alternative is more frightening.

Still, our anxiety grows. Who can we trust? And where do we go when the answer seems to be no one?

Our money says, “In God We Trust.” That is ironic, because Jesus said we cannot serve God and money. Money is only a symbol of trust. It is worth something only as long as someone will take it. People once traded with shells. Today most of our money is electronic digits in a computer. We find it hard to trust a God we cannot see, but invisible money can vanish in a crisis. The crash of 1929 happened with those words stamped on every coin.

Proverbs 3:5 says, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding.”

I will tell you up front: I find this much harder in practice than in theory. Of course, I think we should trust God. But do I? How would I know?

One sign would be less fear and worry. They are not quite the same. Fear answers something present that can hurt you. Worry imagines something absent that might. We spend enormous energy on things that may never happen. Worry, someone said, is like sitting in a rocking chair: plenty of motion, but you don’t get anywhere. I don’t mean that being anxious makes us unfaithful. I can trust God and still lie awake worrying. The question is how much that worry gets to decide for me.

So here is a question. If you had to put a number between one and ten on how much you trust God, what would it be? Take a moment. I would say six on a good day and two on a bad day. Call it an average of four. That may sound low for a pastor. But compared with the twelve apostles’ antics in the Gospel, I might be doing fine.

Why isn’t my number higher? I have three reasons. First, God is subtle. If God speaks in a still, small voice, no wonder most of us miss it. How many Instagram followers can you get with a quiet, wise voice? The algorithms are against it. Burning-bush moments are rare, and Moses was not that wild about what God asked of him. So trust has to grow the way friendship does: through ongoing conversation, over many hours, with a daily commitment to learn how God might be directing me.

Second, some of the people who say they trust God are frightening. Their certainty about their politics, their rightness, their superiority, borders on belligerent. If you really trusted God, when would you need to impose your beliefs on everyone else? That is not trust. That is wanting to be in charge, and I know that temptation well.

Sometimes we use trusting God as an excuse. It can become a way of avoiding responsibility. I trust God, so everything will work out OK. The checkbook will balance, I don’t need to see the doctor. I trust God, so I need not do anything about my neighbors’ suffering. I trust God, so I can skip the hard work of facing my faults. Trust in God with all your heart, but don’t make it a blind trust. It is not the easy way out, but a living relationship through whatever we face.

Third, and most honestly, I like leaning on my own understanding. I like doing things myself. I like the feeling of having accomplished something on my own. I have always loved the old image, often credited to Teresa of Avila, that we are the hands and feet of God. But too often I assume I am the brain as well, the one who must figure it all out.

The best leaders I know understand they cannot lean only on their own understanding. I learned this from Gail Webster, who directed a housing and homelessness nonprofit. Gail regularly called a handful of people from different backgrounds for counsel. We often talked for 30 minutes about how to handle a thorny issue with the city, or an ethical dilemma. She was calling others too, and our views were not always the same. Another advisor, Bill, who managed a large nonprofit, usually chose what he called “the safest path.” I would say it isn’t always safe to play it safe. Sometimes it leads to stagnation.

At the board meeting, I saw that she had listened to all of us and then staked out her own position. She earned great respect because she was clear, yet she did not lean on her own understanding alone. The writer of Proverbs would have liked Gail. The same book that says, “lean not on your own understanding” also says, “in an abundance of counselors there is safety” (11:14). Trust builds community.

Why trust God at all? Because God’s love is steadfast and endures. Life isn’t always safe, but that love holds, even through the worst. Trust is coming to see it, and to rest in it.

What would it look like if I trusted God more and worried less? I would risk trying something new, and fail more often in the hope of growing. I would speak the truth without so much concern for who disagrees. I would take a risk to do what is right. I would be open to this moment rather than dwelling on the past. Trust sounds like the better option. It is still not easy.



Trust is something I need to practice daily. That is why I am a big fan of Brother Lawrence, the seventeenth-century French monk behind The Practice of the Presence of God. He did not think we needed many hours of prayer so much as a mindset: God is always here. His practice was simple. Remember, as often as you can, that God is present in this moment. While many of his colleagues hoped for ecstatic dreams and visions, he looked for God in ordinary life. How was God present as he washed the pots and pans? How might God be present in the next person he met? If we can find God in the ordinary, in the work and wonder of life, we are better trained to find God in crisis and turmoil.

Trust is a fundamental quality of our faith and of living in community. We will not thrive in isolation. Martin Luther King Jr. wrote from the Birmingham jail:

“We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly.”

My struggle to trust is never entirely my own. Sometimes another person helps me trust when I cannot manage it myself. Through one another, we begin to discover what it means to have faith in a God we cannot see.

I cannot make the whole world trustworthy. But I can follow through on what I promise. I can admit when I am wrong and stay present when things get difficult. We can be a congregation where someone can say, “I’m having a hard time trusting God right now,” and know they will have company.

I would like to trust God enough to be a little more courageous than my worry advises. Sometimes that might mean speaking up. Sometimes it might mean admitting I need help. I suspect there is something each of us would do if fear had a little less say.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart.” Even this heart, with its doubts and its need to be in charge.

A father who wanted healing for his son once said to Jesus, “I believe; help my unbelief!” Jesus did not tell him to come back when his number was higher. The father brought the faith he had, along with his fear for his child. He asked for help. That was already an act of trust. I can pray that prayer, even on a day when my number is two.

“I believe; help my unbelief.”