Soaked in Faith: The Folly of Dry Devotion

Soaked in Faith: The Folly of Dry Devotion

By Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

You say you believe. Yet you do not bleed when the world is bleeding. You do not pour when others thirst. You do not move when mercy beckons. Then what is your belief? It is easy to chant holy words when your hands remain clean, untouched by the grime of giving, the sweat of sacrifice, or the tears of compassion. Many today say they have faith, but faith that produces no change is like a well with no water it appears promising, but when needed, it fails to nourish.

The truth that stirs the soul and offends the slothful spirit is this: your actions will always reveal your convictions.

The man who loves does not have to say it a thousand times; his life testifies louder than his lips ever could. The woman who trusts the Creator does not need to constantly explain it her decisions, her peace, her resilience prove what her heart has already decided. To claim belief while ignoring the call of service is like professing to be drenched after never stepping into the rain. You don’t get wet by talking about water. You get wet by walking into it.

I once heard a story from a river village where a man bragged about being the most faithful in his community. Every morning, he sang loudly to the skies, calling upon the Creator. He wore white robes, quoted wisdom, and fasted when others feasted. But the elders watched him pass the orphaned child without pause. They watched him ignore the widow who cried in the market. They saw him hoard food during drought and speak of divine provision while doing nothing to be part of it. Then came the flood.

And as the waters rose, the village had only one man ready: the one who had built boats for the needy, raised homes on stilts, and trained the children to swim.

They called him quiet, but faithful. They called the other man loud, but dry.

This is the heart of the matter: real belief moves. It touches. It builds. It gives. It suffers. If your faith is confined to silent thoughts and hidden corners, what impact does it have? Belief, true belief, is a force. It changes your posture, your pace, your priorities.

When we say we walk with the Creator, are we just echoing religious slogans? Or have our steps aligned with the sacred rhythm that lifts the fallen, feeds the hungry, and forgives the unworthy?

There’s a kind of spiritual arrogance that poisons the soul the belief that faith is a private possession that asks for nothing. But what kind of love demands no expression? What kind of truth needs no demonstration? Imagine a candle claiming it is lit, but emitting no light. Would you not say it is lying? So too, the one who claims connection with the

Divine but displays no compassion, no justice, no sacrifice, no patience they are not soaked in the Spirit. They are dust with delusion.

Faith is not passive. Faith is not mute. Faith does not sit idly while the world burns. If your faith has no fingerprints on the oppressed, no footsteps toward the broken, no fingerprints on the hand of another being lifted up, then your faith is theory, not life. And life life with the Creator is never just theory.

Let me tell you another tale. A tale from the lands of sun and wind, where a mother carried her child across the desert. She had no food, no water, and no map only belief. But her belief was not in her mouth. It was in her movement. Each step, blistering and burdened, cried out, “I trust.” When she reached a village, she did not beg. She built. She gathered stones and built an oven. She planted seeds in dry soil. She taught other mothers how to trap dew in cloth at night to nourish their children. Her child survived, not because she waited on miracles, but because her trust in the Creator caused her hands to work.

The people in the village asked her, "How did you do it?" She smiled and said, "I did not do it. The Creator did it through me." Her faith did not make her passive. It made her powerful. That is the sacred irony: true faith never makes you idle. It sets you ablaze.

Now I must ask: do you believe? Not in the sense of agreeing mentally with ancient truths, but in the sense of trusting enough to obey, to act, to serve. Because too many profess belief while treating the Divine like a spare tire something to call upon only in emergencies.

But a true relationship with the Creator is not built in panic. It is nurtured in practice.We live in a world that praises loud belief but punishes quiet doing.

We have elevated those who shout sacred words over those who live sacred lives. But in the eyes of eternity, the one who cleans the wounds of the stranger is greater than the one who preaches purity yet passes by the hurting.

You say you are faithful then show me your healing touch, your generous hands, your patient tone, your open door.

Show me your changed mind, your restrained anger, your kindness in conflict. Show me the way you treat your neighbor, your spouse, your enemy. Show me not what you say, but what you are.

For faith that bears no fruit is like a tree that promises shade but never grows. Like a stream that sings but never quenches thirst. Like a heart that beats only for itself. And here is the danger: many have become addicted to self-sufficiency. They call themselves blessed, yet curse others with their pride.

They say the Creator is good, but serve only their ego. They lift hands in worship, but never extend them in service.

They are not soaked. They are dry actors in a divine play they do not believe.

The Creator is not fooled by our songs.

The Universe is not moved by our lip service. The heavens watch for the evidence. Do we forgive when it is hardest? Do we give when it hurts? Do we trust when the lights go out? Do we love when we are not loved back?

Faith without fruit is a myth. And worse, it's a spiritual insult. The One who breathed life into dust expects that dust to rise, to move, to reflect glory. We are not called to observe the Creator like a star in the sky. We are called to embody the Divine like breath in the lungs.

There is an African proverb that says, "The one who fetches water is the one who gets wet." You cannot approach the well of the Creator and stay dry. You cannot be in the womb of the Divine and come forth barren. You cannot walk with Spirit and not leave footprints soaked in mercy.

I knew a man who always spoke of love but never gave it. He prayed eloquently, quoted sacred texts, and criticized those he called "lukewarm." But when his brother fell into addiction, he turned his back. When his neighbor lost a job, he said, "The Lord will provide," but never shared his bread. When asked why, he said, "I have faith." I asked him, "But where is its fruit?" He had no answer.

And I have seen another an old woman with no titles, no pulpit, no audience. But she wept with the grieving, cooked for the hungry, rocked babies who were not hers, and whispered blessings over the heads of strangers. She never once announced her faith. But you could feel it when she entered a room.

She left wet footprints of Spirit wherever she went.

So I ask again, do you truly believe? Because true belief is not something you store. It is something you pour. It spills. It leaks. It touches. It lives.

The tragedy of this age is that many mistake knowledge for faith. They know doctrine, but not devotion.

They recite verses but do not reflect them. They shout about God but do not show God. The fruit is missing, but they keep clapping. The tree is dying, but they keep singing.

Have you seen the one who scorns kindness? Who mocks gentleness? Who turns from gratitude to grasp at shadows of status? Are these the works of faith? Or are they the actions of fear disguised as strength?

The Creator is not a theory to be discussed. The Creator is a river to be entered. And once you enter, you come out wet. You come out changed.

By time, surely humanity is in loss except those who believe and do what is right. This truth echoes through every sacred tradition, every prophet's cry, every ancestor’s wisdom. Belief without expression is deception. And the only cure is action.

So, my beloved, do not ask how much faith you have. Ask how much your faith has done. Has it fed anyone? Has it forgiven anyone? Has it healed, lifted, liberated, or protected?

If not, perhaps it is not faith you have, but fantasy.

And still, it is not too late. Begin now. Choose one act. Pour your faith into it. Let it be the seed. Let it be the spark. Let it be the first step into the waters of the Spirit.

You don’t need to scream you believe. Just walk drenched in goodness, soaked in mercy, dripping in justice. And the world will know.