Commit Your Way
In July of 1990, I said, “I do,” and committed myself until “death do us part.” I kissed the brown-eyed girl—a benefit of my commitment—and then shared my retirement savings, included her on the deed, loved no one except her, and built my life, my future, and my dreams hand-in-hand with her.
To commit is to step, engage, consign, surrender, pledge. To commit is to make up one’s mind regarding your way going forward and be all-in.
When I committed myself to the brown-eyed girl, I decided to gamble my life on her. Prior to our wedding day, I pondered how my life would be different: I knew nothing would be the same.
I considered the probabilities. In May of 1982, I committed to Becky—and five years later she forfeited her commitment to us. Statistically, marriage has less than a 60-40 chance of working—and when it fails, it is utterly brutal.
Prior to saying “I do” to Dianne, I went to the mountains to sort through my soul’s reticence. Did I love this girl? Yes. Did I trust her? Yes. Did I have reservations? You bet.
Were there any guarantees, any ways to hedge against the risk of marriage (again)? No. None. I either stepped up on the dais before “God and these witnesses” or I went fishing, a much surer bet.
In July of 1990 I committed all of my ways to the brown-eyed girl—and she’s still here. Everything in my life is intertwined with everything in her life. All of the ways I approach life are comprised of her ways and our ways. It’s what we committed to back in 1990.
Faith is not something you see. Rather, it is a trust granted.
Life is filled with commitments, but “I’ll meet you for lunch at 11:45” is a different level of commitment than “until death do us part” or the “no man left behind” that the military and first responders pledge to one another. From small to large though, commitment operates on trust—and these are the principal ideas in Psalm 37:5.
“Commit your way to the Lord, / Trust also in Him, and He will do it.”
On the one hand, committing your way to the Lord makes all the sense in the world. Given that God is offering total redemption to you, even though you bring nothing to the table, are of irretrievable uselessness to Him, and have no capacity to redeem yourself, committing yourself to Him is a no-brainer.
Yet, on the other hand, abandoning yourself into His care is a trust not easily given. It is a hard sacrifice to renounce your status as a god and humbly cast yourself upon the mercies of God.
Lewis wrote, “It is a poor thing to strike our colors (i.e., surrender) to God when the ship is going down under us; a poor thing to come to him as a last resort, to offer up 'our own' when it is no longer worth keeping. If God were proud He would hardly have us on such terms: but He is not proud, He stoops to conquer.”
Rationally, it is perfectly reasonable to rely upon the indwelling Spirit to live the life He gave to you as a gift. How difficult should it be to commit your way to the One who is the way?
The commitment of those mentioned makes sense.
But rational faith only works on paper. In reality, there is still a trusting step toward faith, believing that God is as committed to you as you perceive you need Him to be. As Scripture notes, faith is not something you see. Rather, it is a trust granted.
There is an aspect of faith that responds to God as King of kings and Lord of lords. From this vantage point, the only response that makes sense is to bow your knee. But there is another aspect of what God is proposing that is relational and interactive. From this vantage point, as is true with all relationships, there is negotiation, give and take; a certain working out that both parties engage to their mutual benefit.
Trust is a piece of this dynamic, but at its core, relational success depends on mutual respect. Why God condescends to this arrangement is what Lewis terms “divine humility.” That we are invited to interact with God is a bit of a mind game that produces either arrogance or a corresponding humility.
On the one hand, who are you to wrestle with God? But on the other, God invites you to “go to the mattresses,” to quote the Godfather.
These folks lived their earthly lives embracing faith in a God that didn’t deliver.
Hebrews 11 is known as the faith chapter. Forty verses reference men and women of Scripture who demonstrated faith. Their stories are inspirational, and in hindsight, the commitment of those mentioned makes sense.
Why should you hesitate to commit your way to the Lord given the testimony of those listed in this chapter?
It’s a great question that makes good sense—until you get part way through verse 35.
There, following the semi-colon, not even meriting sufficient distinction to have a verse number, the glorious stories of faith and deliverance shift. “Others” are referenced who had equal faith to those anchoring Chapter 11, but their faith did not result in deliverance. Instead, they suffered immeasurably, all while believing God would do right by them. In truth, the chapter summarizes the experiences of your predecessor’s faith—all forty verses of them—and confesses, “All these… did not receive what was promised” (11:39).
God promised. His people believed. God didn’t deliver.
Why is faith hard? Why are commitment and trust mentioned in the same verse in our Psalm?
Commitment is challenging because your desired outcome is not a foregone conclusion. The folks in Hebrews 11 believed God and died without benefit.
My “I do” to Dianne was dynamic because of the remarkable pain I suffered from Becky’s betrayal. In his book, Job’s motive is suspect, but his statement is striking because it has history attesting to it: “Though He [God] slay me, / I will hope in Him” (13:15)—says the man whose children were dead, his household ruined, and his servants slaughtered.
The [apparent] divine duplicity of Hebrews 11 is resolved as the chapter concludes and the next begins. The heroes of the faith, we see in retrospect, did not see the promised One because their role in God’s story was to set the stage for the Messiah and showcase Him for us who followed. They did not witness God’s promise because their enduring faith was necessary for us to clearly understand Christ’s coming.
Once those who preceded us died and went to heaven, Chapter 12 makes it clear that their faith was not betrayed after all, not in the grand scheme of divine initiative. God is indeed true and His promise was rock-solid. Given this, from heaven’s grandstands they cheer us forward in the life of commitment.
Still, these folks lived their earthly lives embracing faith in a God that didn’t deliver what He promised. It’s tempting to read Hebrews 11 without suffering angst because we know the rest of the story. The folks in the chapter did not know the rest of the story, yet they committed, and that’s the point.
It took forty-two chapters for Job to work through his arrogance, pride, and self-justification. God’s patience is remarkable and Job’s realization is inspiring: Paraphrasing Job’s conclusion, “Lord God, I’ve heard about you all my life, but now I see you” (cf. 42:5). It’s a refreshing commitment from Job—and there is generous restoration from God. Still, while Job’s fortunes and family are reestablished, his first sons and daughters and servants are dead and Job will not see them until he gets to heaven.
You will recall in Lewis’s Narnia series the exchange between Susan and Mr. Beaver regarding Aslan-the-lion, who is a type of Christ: Susan asks Mr. Beaver if Aslan-the-lion is safe. “Who said anything about safe?” says Mr. Beaver. “Of course he isn't safe. He’s a lion. But he's good” (paraphrased).
The folks in Hebrews 11 hitched their faith and future to the Lord God Almighty, Jehovah, Yahweh, the Beginning and the End, Alpha and Omega. They believed God… NOT that He would make their lives work out palatably, but that He who is completely good would ultimately do what is good by them and all concerned. Even when they didn’t see God’s hand, they committed to His heart for them. In their lives, that meant grave risk to life and limb. It meant believing and not receiving. It meant hoping against hope.
Which sounds like a vain aspiration. Unless your hope is in God. Then, hope is not misplaced or ill-conceived. It is hope in a Promise, Jesus-the-Christ, who is as certain as God’s integrity is good—even though they did not live to see His birth and we view it in retrospect. Titus speaks of “God who cannot lie, [and] who promised long ages ago” (1:2). Your hope, like theirs, is legitimate, but hope has no date attached. If committing your way to the Lord is a certain step, then the associated faith and trust in Him are sham dedications, hollow pledges, and safe investments.
Is God safe, predictable? No way.
So, is faith in God a safe bet? You bet. Your faith in Father God is not hedged against this life but against God’s integrity and goodness in the long term. You are not committing your way to God so today will turn out like you want. You commit your way to the Lord because your way is eternal, not circumstantial or confined to your earthly today or tomorrow. Commitment is a long game.
You commit for the long haul.
Thus, you believe when it appears you shouldn’t. You rely upon Him when it appears He’s absent. You commit your ways to Him when your way is tumultuous and your journey is a jangle of nerves.
Hebrews 11:35ff reports men and women of the faith enduring torture, denial, mocking, scourging, chains, imprisonment; they were stoned to death, sawn in two, killed by various means, and left destitute, hungry, and homeless—every dread that evil, debauched, depraved, and deceived human beings who are dedicated to evil can devise in an effort to dissuade Believers of their commitment to Christ.
Yet, “Commit your way to the Lord,” our Psalm says.
You commit for the long haul. There are no guarantees for tomorrow beyond God’s enduring indwelling. There are no promises of ease, tranquility, or a second home in the mountains. There are no pledges that society will respect and revere your faith or treasure domestic tranquility.
Committing is more profound than lip service or statements of allegiance within the cloister of your home group. Committing requires trust—and in our Psalm there is a literary hard return between your step of commitment and your dedicated trust. This is followed by space before God responds. The passage has three phases: Commit. Trust. Then, God acts. Your calling is to commit. Then you trust alongside the One who is trustworthy. Now, God acts.
You could argue this makes faith conditional. Or, you could embrace that faith is relational and reciprocal. Conditions are like formulas. Relationships are like waltzing.
God will act. He will do what is just, and right, and good, but His timing and purpose are information unavailable to mortal man. God did not fail the people of Hebrews 11. Their commitment paid off. God delivered on His promise—it’s just that His purposes span the time gap between Chapters 11 and 12.
Given this, given God’s ways: Will you step? Will you commit your way to Him and His ways?
Your only guarantee is God’s integrity for all eternity. The alternative is to bear the burden of discerning good and evil as makes sense to you, a god among gods, with limited vision and marginal control over today, let alone your destiny or tomorrow.
“Commit your way to the Lord,” Psalm 37:5 advises. To do so requires that you trust, not in fate, but in Him who is not safe but who is good. This is the next phrase in our Psalm.
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