Claiming Christ

by Patrick Oliver Griswold

It was a strange thing—how much a person said without thinking. Words just tumble out, like water from a busted pipe, pooling into places they were never meant to settle. And actions—well, they were even worse. A whole day could pass in a series of missteps, miscalculations. And in so many missed opportunities.

If you were going to claim Christ, you had to mean it. Otherwise, you were just another man talking to hear himself speak. And God—God is always there, always listening, watching. Always knowing when you were pretending. The lost see it, too. They are good at spotting frauds. Maybe because they’d been fooled before, or because they, too, are frauds.

You can't just force Jesus on people, not like a stone through a window, shattering everything. Faith wasn’t a thing to be hurled. Faith has to be accepted. To be lived, breathed, and moved through, like settling into a house in which you intend to remain. And if I were to say I believed, then today I’d have to prove it.

“If anyone thinks he is religious and does not bridle his tongue but deceives his heart, this person's religion is worthless.” James 1:26

“In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.” Matthew 5:16

“Examine yourselves, to see whether you are in the faith. Test yourselves. Or do you not realize this about yourselves, that Jesus Christ is in you?—unless indeed you fail to meet the test!” 2 Corinthians 13:5

The Significance of Faith in Christ: A Theological Meditation

The Significance of Faith in Christ: A Theological Meditationby Patrick Griswold

I want to share something with you; something that isn’t just true, but life-changing. It’s the single most powerful reality of our faith. A truth that doesn’t just inform what we believe but transforms who we are. It heals what’s broken. It breathes life into dead places. It shifts the very foundation of a soul searching for meaning.

And at the center of it all—at the center of everything—is Jesus Christ. Not just a name in a book, not a distant historical figure, not some abstract idea. He is the living, breathing reality of God’s relentless love reaching out for you. From the first breath in Genesis to the final word in Revelation, the story has always been the same—God chasing after His people, redeeming what was lost, and bringing dead hearts back to life. And all of it—all of it—finds its fulfillment in Him.

Ephesians 2:8-9 flips everything we think we know upside down: Salvation isn’t something you earn. Let that sink in. It’s not about how many good deeds you’ve stacked up, how much you’ve accomplished, or whether you think you’ve “done enough.” It’s a gift—completely unearned, poured out by a God whose grace knows no limits. You can’t work for it. You can’t claim credit. It’s all Him.

And then there’s John 14:6. One of the boldest, most earth-shattering claims ever spoken: “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.” That’s not an opinion. That’s not one option among many. That’s truth—unchanging, unshaken, uncompromising.

But here’s the thing—faith isn’t just agreeing with these words. It’s stepping into them. Hebrews 11:1 says faith is assurance—confidence in what we can’t yet see. It’s trust when the path ahead is dark and the storm rages. When you don’t have the answers and everything in you wants to quit. It’s standing firm because you know God is who He says He is, and will do what He’s promised.

And here’s where the true stuff lives—when you walk in this faith, you step into something the world can’t manufacture: peace. It's not a peace that depends on circumstances. Not the kind that fades when life gets hard. But the kind Paul describes in Romans 5:1-2—a peace that holds steady because you’ve been made right with God. A peace that anchors you when everything else is falling apart.

But this faith? It’s not just about what happens to you. It’s about what happens inside of you. It changes your heart. It renews your mind. It reshapes how you live, how you love, and how you respond when life presses in. It’s not just belief—it’s transformation.

So don’t keep this truth at arm’s length. Don’t let it sit on a shelf like a book you never open. Let it take root. Let it redefine you. Draw near to the Father—walk with Him, abide in Him, and let His grace become the air you breathe.

“As you, therefore, have received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk in Him, rooted and built up in Him and established in the faith, as you have been taught, abounding in thanksgiving.” —-Colossians 2:6-7

Jesus is the way. The truth. The life.

No one else. Nothing else.

Just Him.

Grace

 The surrounding hills rose and fell like the swell of the ocean. The olive trees stood watch, their branches swaying like quiet sentinels over the land. In their shade lived Grace, a woman with hands calloused from years at the loom. But she wove more than fabric—her threads carried stories. Hope ran through each careful stitch, a quiet defiance against a world that often gave more struggle than rest.

     One morning, as the sun lifted over the hills, a Stranger walked into the village. He moved with quiet dignity, his presence remarkable among the villagers. Some knew his name. Others didn’t. But when he spoke, the wind itself seemed to pause, as if leaning in to listen.

     From her place by the window, Grace watched the Stranger beneath the old oak. He spoke in stories—of lost sheep found, of mustard seeds growing into something vast enough to shelter the birds of the air. His voice carried smooth as river water, and before she knew it, her hands had fallen still from the loom. She listened.

     When the crowd drifted away and the dust settled, his gaze found her. He saw the weight she carried before she spoke a single word.

     “Your heart is heavy, Grace.” The Stranger knew her name. "What troubles you?" His voice was steady, knowing.

     She told him of her mother, fading like autumn leaves. Of the stubborn ground that refused to yield, whispering of a hard winter ahead. She spoke of exhaustion deep in her bones, of the weariness of pressing forward when nothing seemed to change.

     Jesus listened—not just to her words, but to the silence between them.

     “Grace,” He said, His voice like a balm, “your faith has already moved mountains within you. Even the smallest seed, given time, grows strong enough to shelter others. Trust. He will provide.”

     Together, they walked to her home. He knelt beside her mother—not offering a miracle of the body, but something deeper. And by His grace, she was healed—not in the way the world expected, but with a peace no one could explain. A peace that settled into the room and into Grace's heart.

     In the fields, He blessed the land—not with sudden abundance, but with the promise that faith and labor would not go unseen.

     When Grace returned to her loom, she approached her work as an artist would, with a vision of what she would create, as if given instructions from

God himself. Her hands moved with new purpose, weaving His words into thread, carrying them into the heart of every home.

     Years passed. Grace aged. Her hands were much slower than before, but her faith remained steady. And she told and retold the story of that day—not of burdens lifted, but of the strength given to bear them. In the telling, in the steady rhythm of her hands, the story lived on.

     "For truly I say to you, if you have faith as a grain of mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there',' and it will move. And nothing will be impossible for you." -

Matthew 17:20