The mind cannot grasp it, the logic of men rejects it, yet it lives—faith that stands where facts fall. In the face of terminal diagnoses, barren seasons, violent displacements, and national betrayal, some still whisper the name that parts seas and silences storms: Jesus. Their faith is not foolishness, it is divine defiance—an audacity rooted in revelation, not information.
Scripture is replete with this paradox. Noah built without clouds, Abraham climbed with no lamb, and Mary believed a message that biology dismissed. Today, that same seed is alive in the Nigerian mother who tithes her last naira, in the persecuted convert in Kaduna who still gathers under the tree for worship, and in the child reciting Psalm 91 in a war-zone. Faith, in its purest essence, is not mere assent—it is covenantal conviction birthed in the Spirit.
Theological history is anchored in such irrational certainties. Saint Augustine called it Credo ut intelligam—”I believe so that I may understand.” It is not the product of empirical alignment, but of spiritual illumination. Pastor Chris Oyakhilome puts it plainly: “When faith speaks, circumstances listen.” This faith speaks from the altar of mystery, where God remains God, even when prayers delay or pain lingers.
The Igala elders say, “Afukia ju lili neke woli n, ama enwu kia woli che, ewe gbo mu gbo oli ugbo ili nwu”—it is not the wind that uproots, but the tree’s disloyalty to its roots. This faith is rooted in covenant—not convenience. It is the theology of even if—as in, “Even if He does not deliver us, we will not bow.” In that furnace, faith is not extinguished. It is revealed.
In an age of secular certainties and digital gods, this faith still confronts culture. It builds orphanages without sponsors, sends missionaries into unreached terrains, and revives the spiritually comatose. It is the liturgy of resilience and the creed of the contrite. Bishop Abioye calls it “the force that pulls eternity into time.” Indeed, it is not intellectual assent but prophetic stubbornness—believing God not because of evidence, but in spite of it.
Faith like this may be mocked in academic halls and dismissed in policy rooms, but it remains the last weapon of the wounded soul. It is not safe, but it is sacred. It is the melody of martyrs, the madness of miracles, the hope of a groaning creation. When the world has exhausted its logic, faith alone will remain—standing, singing, and still believing.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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