From "You Can Do It" to "God Can Do It"

A Reflection on Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16 10 August 2025

Have you ever been through something really hard, something that felt unique to you? I think all of us have, in one way or another. When you meet someone who has been through the very same thing, there’s something special about sharing those memories. You could probably talk all night and still not run out of things to say. When it’s finally time to part ways, you leave with a smile and a promise: “I’ll call you later!” In the sharing of those struggles, a deep sense of connection begins to grow. What might some of those moments be?

In Korea, when mothers get together, the conversation often turns to childbirth. You'll hear one say, "I was in labour for 10 hours!" only for another to chime in, "Oh, that’s nothing, I went through 20!" Then, out of nowhere, someone might drop the ultimate line: "Have you ever had twins?" I'm never quite sure if they're comforting each other or just quietly competing. The stories get embellished with extra details, like, “My husband wasn’t even there with me,” or, in my case, “I was in agony, but my husband was sitting there, nodding off to sleep.” And yes, that husband was me.

So, what experience gives Korean men that same sense of connection? Without a doubt, it’s military service. We swap stories about our service, each making himself sound like a hero: “I had a more important job,” or, “I was entrusted with state secrets.” For me, I had to serve for 28 months right after my first year of university. Officially, they call it “the sacred call of the nation,” but to be honest, it felt more like being dragged away. It seemed as though the golden season of my life was being put on pause while I was pushed into a place I didn’t want to go. And because the Korean War hadn't officially ended, there was always a lingering, unsettling sense of fear.

I still remember it clearly: the pastor and church members praying for me during worship, my family’s faces as they saw me off, and most of all, the thought that I might have to say goodbye to my dear Dana. That was the hardest part. Apart from letters, we had no chance to see each other, except for about ten days of leave in an entire year.

Basic training began, and it was like stepping into a completely different world. Human rights and freedom felt like distant luxuries. What I found hardest of all was that for the first four weeks, I couldn’t go to church. I had never been away from my faith community for that long in my whole life. In that loneliness and emptiness, I longed for God so deeply. I prayed earnestly, "Lord, just let me attend Sunday worship, even if nothing else."

After some time had passed and my uniform was finally starting to feel like it fit, we received the news we could attend religious services.

That Saturday night, a rumour spread through the dorm: "Hey, if you go to church tomorrow, they'll give you Choco Pies and milk!" Instantly, Christians and non-Christians alike declared, "Alright then, we're going to church!" Can you imagine how long it had been since we’d had chocolate? A little later, an update arrived: "Breaking news—the Catholic service has Choco Pies and Coke." Suddenly, the allegiance of many began to shift. Then came the game-changer. Someone shouted, "Everybody listen up! At the Buddhist temple, they're giving out two Choco Pies and a strawberry milk!"

The army chaplain, the Catholic priest, and the Buddhist monk were all competing, in their own way, to win the souls (or at least the attendance) of as many soldiers as possible.

So, where do you think I went? I’ll tell you the ending first: I went to church. But I have to admit, for a tired and hungry twenty-year-old trainee, the pull of Coke and strawberry milk was seriously tempting.

Military life simplified my thoughts and actions. We followed the same routine, obeyed the same orders, wore the same uniform, and saw the same people. We were constantly drilled with a single phrase, which we were trained to hear, shout, and carry out like machines: "You can do it." This wasn’t a word of encouragement. It was a command that left no room for saying, “I can’t.” It was a mental order to erase the word impossible from your mind and push past human limits, driving you to move like a machine.

Of course, that "You can do it" mindset did help me endure and accomplish things. I saw impossible-looking tasks, and sometimes downright ridiculous orders, get done as if by magic because of those words. At times, it even felt like our team could move a mountain. This gave me a sense of accomplishment and even confidence.

The problem was, I carried that same principle with me long after I left the military. Just as I’d been trained, I began to apply it to my entire approach to life, and even to my faith.  “Pray, and it will happen.” “Believe in Jesus, and it will happen.” “Go to church, serve faithfully, and it will happen.”

But over time, I began to wonder, is that really what faith is? Is faith just about cranking up our willpower and pushing ourselves as far as we can go? I came to realise that the faith the Bible talks about is something completely different. Faith isn’t something I can generate out of my own strength; it’s a gift from God. As I grew in maturity, Ephesians 2:8 began to speak to me in a new way: “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God.” I believe this with all my heart, and I absolutely love it.

“I can do it” is really about believing in yourself. It's the idea that if I set my mind to it, work hard, and keep at it, I can make it happen. But faith is about believing in God. That’s a completely different story. It’s not about saying, “Starting today, I’m going to build up my faith.” Faith begins with a prayer: “God, please give me faith.”

Think about it for a moment. Why did I become a Christian? Why do I come to church every Sunday? Why do I serve, believe the Bible, hold on to the hope of heaven, and love Jesus?

Was it just by chance? Was it because I tried hard enough? I honestly can’t explain it. The only thing I can say with certainty is that faith is a gift from God, and the only reason I have it is because He gave it to me.

We often read Hebrews 11 as a list of “heroes of faith,” and we feel the pressure to have great faith like Abel, Noah, or Abraham. It can seem as if they built their faith by sheer willpower. But friends, the real hero of this chapter isn’t Abel, or Enoch, or Noah, or Abraham. The real hero is God—the God who gave them faith as a gift and then worked through that faith to accomplish His purposes.

When we look at Hebrews 11 again, we see it in a new way. Let’s look at Abraham in verse 8: “By faith Abraham, when called to go to a place he would later receive as his inheritance, obeyed and went, even though he did not know where he was going.” What if Abraham had started his journey shouting, “I can do it!”? The Bible might have said, “Abraham was a man of great determination.” But that’s not the story. Abraham set out without knowing where he was going. It wasn’t that his willpower was stronger than others; it was that God said, “Go,” and along with that command, He gave Abraham the gift of faith to believe Him. Abraham's obedience wasn't proof of his determination; it was proof of the power of the gift he had been given.

We see the same with Noah in verse 7: “By faith Noah, when warned about things not yet seen, in holy fear built an ark to save his family…” Did Noah start this massive project with the power of positive thinking? No. In his time, people didn't even have a concept of a flood. But God gave him a gift: the faith to see what was still unseen, what couldn’t even be imagined. The ark isn’t a monument to Noah’s “I can do it” mindset. It’s a towering testimony to the gift of faith God gave him. And it's the same with Sarah’s story; God gave her the gift of faith, even in the midst of her weakness and doubt.

Dear friends, this past week I was busy with a group of youth visiting from Korea. As I spent time with them, I asked, “What is faith?” Why? Well, because I had to preach this sermon today! Your minister is always working. I was curious how teenagers would respond. Their reaction was pretty flat, just a blink. Most of their answers used the same kinds of words: “Working hard. Not giving up. Not doubting. Sticking with it.” Their responses are natural and commendable, but shouldn’t our understanding go deeper?

Looking back over our lives, we might realise how much God has already given us the gift of faith, even when we didn’t notice it. Yet, how often have we treated faith as just another version of “I can do it”? 

The world encourages us: “You can do it. Believe in yourself.” But Scripture speaks differently: “Faith is the gift of God. Believe in Him.” The heroes of faith in the Bible are not the main characters—God is. As we see in the lives of Abraham, Noah, and Sarah, this gift of faith has always been the difference.

So today, my prayer is that the direction of our faith would turn away from ourselves and toward the God who gives faith as a gift. When we read Hebrews 11 and feel that faith is being asked of us, may we pray like this: “Lord, give me the faith You gave to Abraham. Give me faith to obey, even when Your Word doesn’t make sense to my reasoning. Give me faith to look toward the hope of heaven that the world cannot see. Give me faith to trust Your power, even in my weakness. Let me live not by my will and power, but by the gift of Your grace.”

Hebrews 11 uses the phrase “By faith” 25 times. That’s how the stories of the heroes of faith begin, and that’s how your story can begin too.

Try putting your name there:

• By faith, Do Young will treasure the gift God has given me.

• By faith, I will look to God’s promises, even when the world cannot see them.

• By faith, I will trust God’s power to carry me beyond my limits.

• By faith, I will expect God to answer my prayers.

It’s not about “Be like them” or imitating their determination. It’s about looking to the God who gave them faith, because faith is a gift. When we hold on to that gift, everything begins to find its place. The question shifts from, “If I try, can I do it?” to, “I have received this gift—so how will I live with it and guard it?” In the end, success or failure in faith doesn’t define us, because by faith, we are destined to overcome. 

May the story of your life be written not by your power, but by the gift of faith God has placed in you. Amen.