Two Unexpected Products of Trials

Two Unexpected Products of Trials

Do you remember when you first became a believer?

If you’re like me, you probably assumed that something had changed so deeply in your life that the big concepts would just fall into place. Loving other people would be easier. Wisdom would show up whenever you needed to make a major decision. And temptation? That wouldn’t have the same pull anymore. Since you had given your life to Jesus, you would surely be stronger, steadier, more reliable.

For a little while, it might have even felt that way.

Everything was new. Scripture felt alive when you read it. There was a sense that things were finally right. A switch had been flipped. A line had been crossed. Life now made sense because you were a Christian.

Then, almost inevitably, pressure showed up.

You faced a difficult decision and didn’t choose well. You realized that the person you’ve always struggled to get along with still had the same irritating personality. And that temptation you were sure you would never give in to again felt just as strong—maybe even stronger—than before.

That’s usually when uncertainty creeps in.

The enemy is quick to take advantage of moments like these. Questions start whispering in the background. What’s wrong with me? Why isn’t this working the way I thought it would? Did I not really become a Christian after all?

The problem isn’t a lack of sincerity. It’s an assumption that needs adjusting.

In every other area of life, we understand that knowing something and being able to do it are not the same. No one expects to swim just by reading a book called How to Swim. No one expects fluency in a language on the first day they decide to learn it. No skill is mastered without practice, failure, and repetition.

The difference is that we don’t usually think of faith—or the Christian life—as something we must form over time.

The Epistle of James suggests otherwise.

All kinds of trials are normal.

James opens his letter announcing a theme that addresses the very assumption we must adjust.

Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness.  And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing. (James 1:2–4, ESV)

He begins with the uncomfortable subject of enduring trials.

It is essential to recognize that when James talks about trials, he doesn't have extreme suffering or catastrophe in mind, although those certainly qualify for the category. Instead, he mentions "trials of various kinds." His broad language conveys that pressure manifests in many forms, often ordinary ones. Difficult conversations. Delayed answers. Temptations that return. Decisions that expose our impatience or fear.

He doesn't present these trials as unusual experiences. They are a part of everyday Christian life. But he does clarify that these trials are “tests.” A test implies an examination. It means that there is potential for failure.

But James also tells us that testing has a purpose: testing’s design is to produce endurance. Not guilt. Not shame. Not disqualification. Faith is not put on trial to see whether we should discard it. But the test is designed to expose the areas that we must strengthen. 

When the process of endurance, or “steadfastness,” is completed, the believer will be "lacking in nothing.” 

If you think about it, James’ introduction resets how we understand the pressure that we experience as Christians. In fact, this short introduction gave me an insight into two functions of trials that most new believers overlook.

First, trials expose what is lacking in us.

Trials are not spiritual verdicts. They are not pass-fail examinations that determine whether or not a person is genuinely born again. When we walk through a trial, and the pressure reveals our impatience, fear, anger, insecurity, or inconsistency, we might assume that the test is telling us who we really are, and that our conversion experience somehow did not take.

But James does not frame our trials as pass-fail examinations. He frames them as moments that reveal the areas where our faith has not yet been fully trained. The purpose is exposure, not condemnation. Until pressure is applied, we have no idea where our faith is thin or undeveloped.

James writes about testing with the assumption that it will reveal a weakness or deficiency — and that this revelation is necessary. You cannot strengthen what you have not yet identified as weak.

But James does not stop there. He gives us a second insight.

Trials produce as well as expose.

The same pressure that exposes a deficiency also becomes the environment in which growth begins. Testing produces endurance. Trials do not merely show us what is missing — they become the training ground where that missing capacity is formed.

It seems that this is what James has in mind when he writes that endurance should "have its full effect.” Growth requires time — and not time by itself, but time under pressure. If we interpret the exposure of our deficiency as a disqualification of our relationship with God, we may abandon the very process designed to mature us.

Trials are not interruptions to the Christian life. Nor are they evidence that something has gone wrong. They are training opportunities. Trials are the process by which a believer becomes whole, lacking in nothing.

What James is describing is a process.

The testing of faith produces endurance, or “steadfastness." Endurance is not a personality trait that some people have and others lack. And it is far more than tenacity or emotional toughness. Endurance is an acquired capacity. It is a learned skill that develops as faith is exercised repeatedly under pressure.

James speaks of testing producing endurance. Endurance doesn't appear instantly. It develops as a believer consistently chooses obedience and trust in God even while under pressure. Strong faith forms slowly.

"Allow endurance to have its full effect."

This instruction is essential. Experience of testing does not automatically mature anyone. Endurance is an internal work that happens as a person submits to staying in the process long enough for it to do what it was designed to do. But I am not talking about passively accepting that trials are “just the way life is.” Endurance is an internal decision to practice trust, obedience, patience, and wisdom amid the pressure. As we do this, our faith moves from theories to shoe leather — we begin to walk out our claims of faith.

Here’s the bottom line: Trials don’t disintegrate faith—they integrate it.