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In the New Testament, faith takes first of all the form of a movement. It is a concrete step a person takes, that of “coming to Jesus.” Perhaps we could even say that before being a “movement towards” it is more fundamentally a thirst, a desire: “If anyone is thirsty, let them come to me and drink, whoever believes in me” (John 7:37). If Saint John parallels “coming to” and “believing in” (cf. 6:35), he knows at the same time that this “coming to Jesus” depends in the final analysis upon a secret attraction that the Father has already exercised on a person’s heart (6:44). Faith is thus concerned in the first place not with specific truths or with promises for the future, nor even with insights into the existence of a transcendent God. It begins by “going towards” the person of Jesus, and this “going” is often motivated by a thirst. Something is already secretly at work in the heart. It is already attracted to. With the incarnation, with the presence of Jesus as a human being, faith at first takes an extremely simple form: a desire can contain in itself the beginning of faith; a movement already represents the beginning of the road. When Jesus is no longer in the midst of his disciples physically, the movement towards him is no longer expressed by changing one’s place—going towards him and then following him—as was the case before the resurrection. Whoever believes in him still takes a concrete step, but this step involves abandoning oneself to him, handing oneself over and leaving room for him. The paradox of faith thus becomes more evident: it is practically nothing and it is what matters more than anything else. It is a matter of opening the door of our heart to him constantly, while at the same time knowing that he is already inside. Is there anything poorer or more disinterested than that—opening the door to someone who is already there? Christ does not dwell within me like a stranger who wants to take my place. He is there as the one who loves me, who has put himself in my place, who in his love is, in the depths of my being, more myself than I am. And yet it is up to me to open the door to him constantly, for between him and me everything remains personal; nothing happens without me, automatically. Everything is of the nature of a living relationship. Saint Paul, for his part, employs a curious expression: “the faith of Christ” (e.g. Philippians 3:9). It thus does not only mean faith in Christ, either in the sense of recognizing who Christ is or in surrendering ourselves to him. There is more: faith comes from him as a gift; it is the faith of Christ and I receive it as that by which he unites me to himself and enables me to live like him. Here again, my part in faith seems almost nothing. And yet everything is given to me together with faith. This “almost nothing” determines my whole way of being. Brother François
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U Novom zavjetu vjera prije svega preuzima oblik pokreta. Ona je konkretan korak koji osoba poduzima tako što «dolazi k Isusu». Možda bismo čak mogli reći da je to, prije nego «pokret prema naprijed» u svojoj osnovi žeđ, čežnja: «Ako je tko žedan, neka dođe k meni; i neka pije tko vjeruje u me» (Ivan 7,37). Ako sveti Ivan povlači paralelu između «doći» i «vjerovati» (vidi Ivan 6,35), on istovremeno zna da taj “dolazak k Isusu” u krajnjoj analizi ovisi o otajstvenoj privlačnosti koju je Otac već usadio u srce osobe (6,44). Vjera, dakle, nije prvenstveno u vezi s posebnim istinama ili obećanjima za budućnost, niti s uvidima u postojanje transcendentnoga Boga. Ona počinje «dolaženjem» k Isusu kao osobi, a to je dolaženje često motivirano žeđi. Nešto već otajstveno djeluje u srcu. Ono je već privučeno. S utjelovljenjem, s prisutnošću Isusa kao čovjeka, vjera isprva poprima iznimno jednostavan oblik: čežnja može u sebi sadržavati začetak vjere; pokret već predstavlja početak puta. Kada Isus više nije fizički među svojim učenicima, pokret prema njemu više se ne izražava promjenom mjesta – dolaskom k njemu i zatim slijedeći ga – kao što je bio slučaj prije uskrsnuća. Tko god vjeruje u njega, još uvijek čini konkretan korak, ali ovaj korak uključuje prepuštanje njemu, predaju i ostavljanje prostora za njega. Paradoks vjere tako postaje očigledniji: ona je praktično ništa, a opet je ono što je značajnije od ičega. To je konstantno otvaranje vrata našega srca kako bismo ga pustili unutra, istovremeno znajući da je već ondje. Ima li ičega skromnijeg ili lišenijeg interesa od toga – otvoriti vrata nekome tko je već unutra? Krist ne boravi u meni poput stranca koji želi zauzeti moje mjesto. On je ondje kao onaj tko me voli, tko se stavio na moje mjesto, tko je u svojoj ljubavi, u dubinama moga bića, više ja od samoga mene. Pa ipak, na meni je stalno mu otvarati vrata, jer odnos među nama uvijek ostaje osoban; ništa se ne događa bez mene, automatski. Sve je živi odnos. Sveti Pavao, pak, upotrebljava zanimljiv izraz: «vjera Kristova» (npr. Filipljanima 3,9). On, dakle, ne znači samo vjeru u Krista, bilo u smislu prepoznavanja tko Krist jest ili prepuštanja Kristu. Ima nešto više: vjera dolazi od njega kao dar; to je Kristova vjera i ja je primam kao nešto što me sjedinjuje s njim i omogućuje mi živjeti poput njega. Još jednom, moj udio u vjeri čini se gotovo ništavnim. A ipak, zajedno s vjerom dano mi je sve. Ovo «gotovo ništa» određuje čitav moj put. brat François