February 2026
One day, someone asks a simple question.
Why do you believe the Bible is true?
They dont ask why do you value it or what it means to you.
But why you believe it describes reality.
And suddenly the room changes. Words that usually come easily slow down. Familiar phrases appear, but feel thin when spoken aloud. Verses are quoted, witnesses are mentioned and traditions invoked. All of it is true for you but all of them feels insufficient. Not because the answers are wrong, but because they do not reach the question being asked.
What is being asked is not about loyalty to a text.
It is about correspondence with the world.
Most of us live our lives on trust that cannot be proven. We eat food prepared by strangers. We cross streets trusting that unseen drivers will stop. We enter buildings assuming they will not collapse. We do not test our meals for poison or demand absolute guarantees before we act. We live by probability, by pattern and by accumulated experience. We trust because the evidence is strong enough, consistent enough, and confirmed often enough by reality itself.
Faith works the same way.
We believe certain things are true not because they can be proven beyond all doubt, but because the alternatives fail to account for what we see. Because the patterns repeat. Because the consequences unfold as described. Because the world behaves as if certain things are real, whether we acknowledge them or not.
This is where the Bible becomes uncomfortable.
It does not merely tell stories about the past. It describes trajectories. It speaks in terms of cause and consequence, loyalty and outcome, obedience and fruit. It insists that how a people orders its loves will eventually shape its economy, its culture, its labor, and even its ability to recognize what it has lost.
You read a passage.
Then you look up.
And there it is, right in front of you, in real time.
A society that has not only dismissed God, but abandoned all gods. No higher good. No sacred order. No shared horizon beyond preference and power. Everything flattened into utility. Everything measured by outcome. Everything negotiable. And slowly, predictably, the fruit of labor slips away from those who produce it. Meaning thins. Responsibility dissolves into systems. No one is guilty, yet nothing is whole.
The Bible never asks to be believed in a vacuum. It asks to be tested against reality. Lived out. Observed and endured. It assumes that if its vision of the world is false, time will expose it. And if it is true, the world will eventually begin to look like it says it does. This is why the question “why do you believe it?” is so unsettling. Because the honest answer is not abstract. It is experiential. It is historical and it is visible.
We believe because the patterns hold.
Because the consequences arrive.
Because the world, when stripped of transcendence, begins to resemble the warnings it once mocked.
The Bible is not believed because it is ancient, or poetic, or comforting. It is believed because again and again, we read a line, lift our eyes, and recognize the landscape.
And recognition, more than argument, is where belief is born.
There is no need to argue this further.
No need to defend it, or soften it, or explain it away.
Just read this. Slowly, as description. Then pause, think, lift your eyes.
And observe.
The Lord will afflict you with madness, blindness and confusion of mind.
At midday you will grope about like a blind person in the dark.
You will be unsuccessful in everything you do; day after day you will be oppressed and robbed, with no one to rescue you.
You will build a house, but you will not live in it.
You will plant a vineyard, but you will not enjoy its fruit.
A people you do not know will consume what your land and labor produce.
You will become a thing of horror, a byword, and an object of ridicule among the nations.
This is not a puzzle to be solved, nor is it a myth to be decoded.
It is an invitation to notice what happens when a people abandons the source of meaning, order, and restraint. Not all at once. Not dramatically. But steadily, generation by generation.
Read it.
Then look around.
-From the work surrounding The Fall