I woke up late one night thinking about faith. Faith is usually described as believing in what we cannot see. It is trusting in a God who dwells in heaven and who will one day come and judge the earth. The concept of faith is anchored in the unseen. I have not seen Jesus with my own eyes, and therefore I must have faith that He exists. Based on that faith, I act accordingly. My life, my decisions, and my moral choices are shaped by the belief that He is real and that His words matter.
But if Jesus were standing in front of me, the nature of my faith would change. I would no longer need faith that He exists, because I would see Him. Instead, I would need faith that He truly was who He claimed to be—the Son of God, the supreme authority over heaven and earth, the one whose words carry eternal consequence. And if I were in Heaven and could see Him every day, my need for faith would change yet again. I might not doubt His existence or identity, but I would still trust in His goodness. I would trust that He would not forget me, abandon me, or turn indifferent toward me. Our longing for Jesus would be fulfilled in His presence, but the possibility of separation would still matter. In one form or another, faith would still exist.
There are moments, however, when part of that need for faith is fulfilled. There was a moment in my life when I experienced the presence of God personally. I do not mean the moment when I intellectually concluded that there must be a God. I mean something far more direct. There was a time when I felt immersed in the presence of God. I sensed Him with my whole being. I knew He was real in the same way that I know my wife or my children are real. His presence left no room for doubt.
It was the kind of encounter Scripture hints at when Jesus tells Thomas to place his fingers in His wounds. It was the kind of encounter the disciples experienced on the road to Emmaus, when their hearts burned within them as Christ revealed Himself to them. My heart felt as though it were leaping in my chest as I sensed His presence. In that moment, belief in His reality was no longer something I held by faith alone. It was something I had experienced.
After that moment, my struggle was no longer primarily about faith in His existence. My struggle became one of obedience, pride, and understanding.
If Jesus is real, then certain things naturally follow. There are basic things He asks of us: care for the poor, be generous, show kindness, make peace, love our families, work honestly, and seek God. There are also very practical commands: do not lie, do not murder, do not covet, honor the Lord’s Day, fast, and pray. These teachings are found plainly in Scripture, a book accepted by Christians across many traditions.
In matters I could not personally verify, I still needed faith. But once I had encountered Christ, belief in His reality was no longer a matter of speculation. Faith exists where doubt is possible. You can have faith that gravity exists, but if you jump off a cliff, gravity will prove itself whether you believed in it or not. Once doubt disappears, faith gives way to recognition. At that point, the real question becomes obedience. If Jesus is real, what will I do about it? Will I listen to Him, or will I ignore Him? And what are the consequences of each choice?
I have many close Christian friends who encountered Jesus within different denominations of Christianity. This raises an important question: how do we understand what Jesus wants from us? Even when instructions appear simple, people interpret them differently.
As a business owner, I see this regularly. If I ask several workers to move items from one area to another and clean up the space, the results can vary dramatically. One worker may carefully move every item exactly as it is. Another may organize everything neatly. Another may decide some items are unnecessary and discard them. Another might finish the task in a single day, while another might take a week. Yet if I ask each of them what they did, they will all say that they followed my instructions.
Understanding Jesus can be even more complicated because we are not only interpreting words—we are doing so while affected by human weakness and sin. Catholics might say Martin Luther caused a division in the Church. Certain Orthodox communities make similar claims about other historical divisions. But centuries later, a child born into a Lutheran family, raised by faithful parents, and taught by a sincere pastor is not consciously rebelling against Jesus. He is following Christ as he has been taught.
There is only one perfect understanding of Christ, and that understanding exists in Christ Himself. But because we are separated from Him physically on this earth, misunderstandings are inevitable. There is an important difference, however, between misunderstanding that comes from sincere effort and misunderstanding that comes from disobedience. The first deserves patience and mercy. The second is another matter entirely.
Even within the Catholic Church there are disagreements about certain practices, such as the rosary or the use of Latin in worship. These disagreements often arise from sincere attempts to honor God. At some point, however, disagreements must give way to authority. Authority is what ultimately resolves disputes and clarifies misunderstandings. At the root of many denominational differences lies this same issue: authority.
The idea that Jesus intended Christianity to fragment into thousands of competing denominations seems difficult to accept. There is one God. The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit exist in perfect unity. They do not argue or contradict one another. It seems unlikely that the Holy Spirit would deliberately guide believers into thousands of conflicting interpretations. There must be one truth and one path.
This does not mean that God lacks mercy for those sincerely seeking Him. The road to Heaven might be compared to a path with wide shoulders and tall grass. Walking along the path itself is easier than fighting through the weeds. Those who wander into the grass may still be moving in the right direction, but the journey becomes harder and more dangerous.
Consider a practical example: the command to honor the Lord’s Day. Originally, this referred to the seventh day. After the Resurrection, Christians moved the observance to Sunday. Most Christians acknowledge this change. The question then becomes what it means to honor the Lord’s Day.
The Catholic Church provides a clear answer: attend Mass on Sunday and refrain from unnecessary work. What qualifies as “work” can still involve discussion. Police officers, for example, may need to work because society still requires protection. But a stockbroker could not make the same argument. Most Christians would agree that unnecessary work—things like mowing the lawn or doing laundry—should be avoided when possible.
In many Protestant communities, however, the meaning of honoring the Lord’s Day has been interpreted differently. Some treat it largely as a personal decision. Some encourage church attendance but do not make it mandatory. Others strongly insist on gathering for worship. Without accepting a universal earthly authority, Christianity struggles to answer the question definitively. Understanding becomes shaped by personal opinion.
Perhaps the better starting point is what Christians already share in common. We all acknowledge that there is a Lord’s Day. We agree that Jesus said the Sabbath was made for man. It was given to help us remember God and draw closer to Him. We could likely agree that prayer should be encouraged and unnecessary work should be avoided.
But human beings are easily distracted and easily tempted. Gathering together helps strengthen obedience. Community prayer supports those who struggle. Encouraging one another to honor the Lord’s Day helps us remain faithful to the command God gave.
If society believes it is necessary to create laws against harmful practices such as prostitution, why should honoring the Lord’s Day receive less attention? Free will allows people to choose sin, but it does not remove the responsibility to encourage virtue. God has already given the command. Human authority, when aligned with God’s law, simply reinforces what Heaven has already declared.
This example illustrates a broader principle. Christians must establish earthly practices that reflect heavenly truths. These practices should be consistent and guided by sincere leaders who seek the direction of the Holy Spirit. When leaders genuinely pursue Christ, they should eventually arrive at the same understanding, because truth is unified.
Jesus said that we would recognize His followers by their fruits. The fruits of following God’s word are peace, joy, and love—not merely the temporary versions offered by the world, but the deeper kind that remains even in suffering. Christians throughout history have faced lions, prisons, and burning stakes while maintaining peace in their hearts.
That kind of peace comes from seeing the world the way Christ sees it. And when a person truly sees Christ, faith begins to give way to something deeper.
Obedience.
The musings of Peter 