FAITH IS RISKY. As much as we might prefer to deal in absolute and unassailable certainties, there is no such thing as a proof of God’s nature and existence that will meet every philosophical objection and satisfy every skeptic. At some point, whatever questions we still have, we either believe or we don’t — and live with the risk of being wrong.

As Clinton McLemore insists in his book Christianity for Seekers and Skeptics, however, this doesn’t mean that Christianity is “irrational,” as some try to claim. The Christian faith is as rational as any other alternative — including atheism. If it cannot be proven that God exists, neither can it be proven that God doesn’t exist. Every system of belief and practice involves foundational assumptions that can’t be proven. Faith, therefore, necessarily involves an existential leap, an act of trust that what we believe is true. And on that basis, as McLemore writes, “the leap of faith involves investing and therefore risking one’s time and energy.” We commit ourselves and gamble our resources on what we believe but can’t prove.

There’s a larger social risk as well. We feel this every time we hesitate to let someone know that we are followers of Jesus. What will people think of us? What will they say or do? Will they roll their eyes at our naivete, or mock us for being so out of touch? Will they stereotype us? A whole spectrum of negative responses is possible; in some places, this may still involve arrest and martyrdom.

There has always been a risk to believing that there is one and only one true God, because it necessarily implies that all other gods are false, something that others aren’t keen to hear. We see that tension throughout the Old Testament, as God’s people encountered other nations who worshiped other deities. And that tension appears to be the motivating force behind Psalm 115, the third psalm in the sequence known as the Hallel. Verse 2 sets out the question that the psalm attempts to answer:

Why do the nations say, “Where is their God?” (Ps 115:2, NIV)

The psalm contains shifts in voice and perspective that lead scholars to believe that it was written for a liturgical setting, with different groups reciting or singing different parts of the psalm in response to a worship leader. The lament of verse 2 suggests that the psalm was sung during times in which God’s people were losing confidence and needed reassurance that God still cared, that he would still protect and bless them.

It’s easy to imagine the people feeling mocked for their beliefs by the surrounding Gentile nations, like little kids being bullied on the international playground. But it’s not clear that that’s the tone of the question. Taken by itself, in the Hebrew, the question “Where is their God?” has an air of politeness to it, even humility. I imagine something like the heads of other nations being at a cocktail party, chatting about the Israelites. “And where, pray tell,” one of them asks rhetorically, “is their God?” The others nod knowingly, then the conversation moves swiftly on to other matters of state.

But even if the question isn’t asked in utter derision and mockery, neither is it a mere request for information, as if God had a street address. It’s a rhetorical question that presumes its answer: Their God is nowhere. Thus, bullied or not, the psalm portrays the people as belittled, dismissed, insignificant.

The psalmist will answer the question in a way that invites the worshiping community to join in the response. But first, the psalmist has to set the proper, worshipful tone, lest the attitude of the congregation degenerate into Oh, yeah? Well, our God can beat up your god any day! Thus, the psalm opens with this:

Not to us, LORD, not to us
    but to your name be the glory,
    because of your love and faithfulness. (vs. 1)

Here, the psalmist seems to echo the incident described in chapters 32 to 34 of the book of Exodus, a passage we’ve seen before. When Moses had been gone too long up on Mount Sinai receiving the Commandments, the people got antsy and pressured Aaron into making the infamous Golden Calf. God threatened to destroy the people and start over with Moses himself, but Moses pleaded with God on their behalf and God relented.

What did Moses say? On the one hand, predictably, he asked God to remember and honor his promise to Abraham and his descendants. On the other hand, however, Moses also suggested that it just wouldn’t do to give the Egyptians the satisfaction of saying that God only led the people out of Egypt in order to destroy them. God’s reputation among the nations, in other words, was at stake.

Later, when he caused his glory to pass before Moses, God declared, “The LORD, the LORD, the compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness…” (Exod 34:6). There they are, all the notes struck by the opening of Psalm 115: the glory of God and his holy name; his essential character of covenant love and faithfulness. And all of this comes once more in the context of what other nations might say about Israel’s God.

Not to us, but to your name be the glory. The name of God will be used repeatedly in the psalm. And if the worshiping community heard the echo of Exodus 34 in the psalmist’s words, they would be reminded that this revelation of God’s glorious character came in the wake of their own idolatry. Even if they were to criticize other nations for worshiping mere idols — which, as we’ll see, the psalm will do — they had nothing in themselves to brag about. God was to be praised and glorified because he had shown his people mercy and compassion, love and faithfulness, despite their own idolatry.

Faith has always been risky. Many psalms lament the way in which God’s people are scorned by other nations, and the psalmists understandably pray for vindication. But Psalm 115 reminds us that the glory belongs to God, to the one who has so graciously bestowed mercy on us despite our own weakness, sin, and folly.

May that humble stance be ours as well, always. To God be the glory.