There are seasons in life when faith can feel like it’s pulling us in two directions. On one side, there’s the call to stay true to God—to keep that inner fire burning, to keep reading the Word, to keep praying and trusting. But on the other side, there’s the world around us: friends who don’t believe like we do, social changes we can’t ignore, people suffering in ways we don’t understand, and cultures that stretch our assumptions. Connective faith doesn’t make us choose between the two. It teaches us to stand firm while reaching wide.

I’ve come to believe that true faith doesn’t run away from the world—it leans in. It listens first, it learns, and then it speaks gently. It loves with a boldness that doesn’t need to prove anything. It says, “Because I know who I am in Christ, I’m not afraid to engage with the world around me.” And at the same time, it whispers, “Even when the world feels confusing or loud, I still know the sound of my Shepherd’s voice.”

One of my favorite pictures of this kind of faith comes from Psalm 1:3:

“That person is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither—whatever they do prospers.”

A tree like that doesn’t panic when the weather changes. The wind may blow, the seasons may shift, but because its roots are deep in living water, it remains steady. It’s not stiff, but it’s strong. That’s what connective faith looks like. It’s planted, but it’s also responsive. It’s not rigid or brittle. It bends, but it doesn’t break.

And that brings me to something else I’ve been learning: connective faith is flexible faith. It’s not afraid of change. It doesn’t conform to the world around it, but it also doesn’t sit in a corner pretending nothing is happening. It discerns. It adapts. It engages. But all the while, it stays grounded in God’s truth.

A flexible, connective faith listens. It doesn’t rush to judge or to correct. It watches. It waits. And when it moves, it moves with grace—not just with opinion. It’s the kind of faith that knows what it believes, but it doesn’t use belief as a wall to hide behind. It’s not afraid to enter a room where everyone thinks differently, because it knows the light it carries.

Think of a missionary entering a new culture. If they insist that faith must look exactly the same way it does back home—with the same music, the same clothes, the same words—they’ll probably miss the heart of the people they’ve come to serve. But if they come with open ears and soft hearts, if they listen first and learn the culture, they can share the love of Christ in a way that actually connects. Not by changing the gospel, but by letting the gospel come alive in that place. That’s connective faith.

Sometimes, we get stuck thinking faith is only about belief. What we believe, how strongly we believe it, how we defend it. But belief alone isn’t the full picture. The Bible reminds us of this in 1 John 4:20:

“Whoever claims to love God yet hates a brother or sister is a liar. For whoever does not love their brother and sister, whom they have seen, cannot love God, whom they have not seen.”

Faith that doesn’t love is not real faith. That’s what connective faith teaches me. It’s not enough to be right. It’s not enough to be holy if we’re cold. God calls us to be connected—to Him and to others. And sometimes that connection is costly. It means forgiving when it’s easier to stay angry. It means reaching out when we’d rather turn away. It means being present with someone in their pain, even when we don’t know what to say.

And let me say this, too: connective faith doesn’t mean we always have it all together. It’s not about being super spiritual or always sure. Sometimes we’re barely hanging on. But even then, this kind of faith reminds us that connection is more powerful than certainty. Even when we doubt, we can still choose to stay close to God. Even when we feel weak, we can still show up for others. There’s a quiet strength in just staying connected.

I think of the man in Mark 9:24 who cried out to Jesus, “I do believe; help my unbelief!” That’s connective faith. Honest, raw, holding on even with shaking hands. It says, “I may not have all the answers, but I’m not letting go.”

In a world where people are more connected digitally but more lonely emotionally, we need a faith that knows how to truly connect. Not just through likes and comments, but through presence. Through eye contact. Through compassion. Through silence when words aren’t enough. Through prayer that says, “Lord, help me love as you love.”

Connective faith moves us toward people. It calls us out of our comfortable spaces. It invites us to sit at tables we didn’t build and listen to stories we didn’t grow up with. It stretches our hearts and widens our understanding of what God is doing in the world.

And yet, it never asks us to lose ourselves. We don’t become something else just to fit in. No, we remain rooted—like that tree by the stream. Our source is always Christ. But because we’re rooted, we can grow. We can extend. We can bear fruit. We can love without fear.

So if you find yourself in a season where your faith feels like it’s being stretched—maybe by new people, new ideas, or unfamiliar places—don’t panic. Maybe that’s not the end of your faith, but the beginning of a deeper, more connected one. Maybe that’s what growth looks like.

Faith that connects is faith that lasts. It doesn’t stay in one place. It moves. It learns. It reaches. It holds. And in every season, it trusts the One who planted it.