For probably a month now, I’ve been feeling drawn to read James, but I’ve resisted a little. It’s a beautiful book, full of wisdom and memorization worthy verses, but it’s also a book that I’ve struggled with a little, if I’m honest.

Then two weeks ago I didn’t know what to do for yoga.

I teach a yoga class every Tuesday morning at a local church. I usually like to have some little thing prepared, a word we’re going to meditate on, a particular thing I want to invite us to pray for as we move, a poem, or a passage of scripture to consider, etc.

I had nothing… except this pull towards James.

Ok, I get it. We’ll do a series on James.

So, I started reading James and, as usual, it just felt sort of… sentimental, and abstract, and more than a little heavy-handed.

“Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds…”

Ok, so I know James isn’t just talking out of his ass, he had some experience with trials and hardship, to be sure, but this feels like the kind of verse that makes me want to say… Really? What do you know about it? “Count it all joy” what does that even mean?

Then I looked at the greek…

Now, I’m no greek scholar. I’ve never been to seminary (thanks to a number of people talking me out of it when I was young, but that’s a topic for another post). What I am is curious. And what I have is a good Bible app that includes a Strong’s Concordance with Greek and Hebrew Lexicon.

So, here’s what I found:

The word sometimes translated “count it” and sometimes “consider it” is hēgéomai. It means “to lead” or “to go before; in front” or sometimes “to rule, command.”

And now this verse starts to make sense to me. It’s not saying I have to consider every trial I go through a joy. Let me tell you, trials aren’t in and of themselves a joy, or something to en-joy.

But, lead with joy, well that feels like something different. That makes sense. I don’t have to think my trials themselves are a joy, but I can start everything, lead everything with joy, with gratitude, with praise. I can command myself to begin with joy (joy in who God is and who I am in Christ), in all my trials and struggles and temptations.

So, two weeks ago at yoga, we talked about the first four verses of James and this idea of leading with joy and how we can do that because we know our trials produce steadfastness (or hypomonḗ which means “to remain under”) and steadfastness (or remaining under) has the result of making us téleios (complete or mature, grown up) and holóklēros (whole, complete in every part).

That thought honestly does bring me some joy.

I don’t feel grown up, or whole. I feel young, confused, insecure, and divided within myself. But I want to be mature, complete, and whole. I really do.

Then we get to the verse that I’ve struggled with the most, verse six.

Last week before yoga I thought I would probably just skip this section of verses. But, out of curiosity, I decided to look up the greek and the whole verse shifted and changed and opened up — in fact the whole book did.

“If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be giving to him.”

All good so far…

“But let him ask in faith, with no doubting, for the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea that is driven and tossed by the wind.”

Ok, James, we’ve got a problem.

I value doubt. I think questioning and doubting are part of life and even part of the spiritual journey and spiritual formation. In fact, I firmly believe that questioning can make our faith stronger — when we bring those questions to God.

I’ve experienced that.

I think God is big enough to handle our uncertainty.

But, when you look at the greek it suddenly doesn’t feel like James is talking about certainty at all, or about a conviction that God will do what you ask. It feels instead like James is talking about a posture and a posture that’s in contrast to hypomonḗ (to remain under, to stay).

The word for doubt in this verse is diakrínō and it literally means “to separate thoroughly, to withdraw from, or oppose.” The figurative meaning of the word is more what we think of as doubt — to judge, waver, or discern.

But a little digging led me to find there’s another greek word for doubt that James could have used, a word that doesn’t have this posture connotation of “to separate”, but James doesn’t use it.

From a literary perspective a beautiful contrast starts to play out in these verses between two different postures of the heart. One which remains under, stays, and is steadfast, and another which withdraws, separates, and opposes. One draws near and another separates. One remains and another withdraws.

James goes on to say that the one who doubts (separates) is double-minded, which again drives home this picture. The one who is steadfast (remains under) becomes holóklēros (whole, complete in every part) and the one who doubts (separates, withdraws, divides, opposes) is dípsyxos (literally of two souls, split in half — the exact opposite of whole and complete!).

And now it feels like James is not exhorting us towards certainty, but instead saying… Start with joy and have faith in who God is and who you are in him. Trust him. Stay there, steadfast in all your trails and God will make you complete and whole. If you don’t know what to do ask God, go to him, but go to him without pulling away, without withdrawing, without separating some part of you away and keeping it from God. If you do that you’ll just split your soul in two. Go to God completely, asking with your whole self, as your whole self remains in faith and remains under whatever trails you are facing. Then you can trust that God hears you and gives generously without reproach.

Now, we can start to see echos of this theme throughout the whole book. Wholeness vs division. Remaining and staying vs withdrawing (or trying to get out from under something by taking the easy way). Unity vs disunity.

His warnings about picking and choosing who’s important in the church body take on a new connotation: your one body of Christ, don’t divide yourselves, don’t separate (in fact he even uses diakrínō in chapter 2 talking about judging and making distinctions between each other).
His warnings about being doers of the word and not just hearers start to sound a lot like someone who is double-minded, being one thing one the outside and another on the inside.
The way he calls out those who say one sin is worse than another and instead reminds that all transgressions against each other are transgressions against God, feels like wholistic thinking at it’s best, thinking that doesn’t divide, separate, and nit-pick at sins, but instead calls us all to mercy that is without partiality.

“Can a spring pour forth from the same opening both fresh and salt water?”

“Draw near to God and He will draw near to you.”

This makes me excited to keep reading James and digging in more to this book that has always felt like a heavy burden, a little like a noose. Maybe James wasn’t actually being as heavy handed as I always thought.

And maybe I need to spend a lot more time learning Greek.

Grace and peace,
Bethany