We never know what will come about because of our ordinary acts of faithfulness—be it a kind, passing word, a whispered prayer, or even a simple question. Indeed, Pascal had his wager, my father had his—“Have you been born again?

Blaise Pascal was a Renaissance man—among other things, he was a philosopher, mathematician, physicist, and theologian. Today, however, he is remembered best as the author of a philosophical argument simply called, “Pascal’s Wager.” Maybe you’ve heard of it?

While not a fully developed proof for the existence of God,—not in the formal, philosophical sense, that is—“Pascal’s Wager” is nonetheless just that—a wager. Indeed, “Pascal’s Wager” is less a strict argument for the existence of God and more an argument for why, even in the midst of uncertainty, belief in God is an infinitely better bet than the alternative. Nor is “Pascal’s Wager” an argument for the God of the Bible, per se, but rather an interesting thought experiment for the existence of a God in general.

It goes a little something like this.

To believe in God and live a life in accordance with what you believe to be His will (denying self, suffering for righteousness’ sake, giving generously, loving God and others above yourself) is an infinitely safe wager because of the infinite stakes involved, even if you should die only to discover that God does not exist. Indeed, you will have lost nothing in the end, for nothing is what you will slip into. At the very worst, you will have lived a life more joyful and fulfilling than most, albeit one that does not ultimately count for anything in the grand scheme of a rapidly expanding and woefully disinterested material universe. However, should God exist, your “wager” or “bet” on His existence will be of eternal and infinite value. God will have been proven to be true and your faith will not have been in vain—infinitely far from it!

On the other hand, one can live a life of fleeting pleasure under the assumption that God does not exist, and if they are correct, they will have lived a life of comfort and experience no eternal consequences for this kind of life because, just like everyone else both good and bad, they will simply slip off into the void, completely and utterly unnoticed. However, should God exist, the unbeliever who lived selfishly and wickedly (or apathetically) will have made the infinite gamble, and as such, suffer infinite loss under eternal judgement in Hell for denying their Creator and spurning His lordship, love, and grace.

Once again, “Pascal’s Wager” is not an airtight philosophical argument for the existence of the God of the Bible, nor was it ever intended to be. It is, nonetheless, a starting place, particularly for unbelievers, wherein one can “count the cost” of their respective worldviews and deeply-seated beliefs in light of eternity. “Count the cost,” Pascal says, “and weigh in the scales between infinite loss and infinite gain, or else not an iota of either.” A powerful proposition. I, however, would like to introduce to you another wager, one that I find far more compelling—The Watchmaker’s Wager.

The story goes that a woman once approached George Whitefield after one of his sermons and said something to the tune of, “Now, I enjoy your sermons as much as the next person, but why must you always keep on saying, ‘Ye must be born again!’?” Without skipping a beat, Whitefield looked the woman in the eyes and thundered: “Because ye must be born again!”

Like countless Christians throughout history, Whitefield rightly believed and preached that spiritual regeneration—being born again by the power of the Holy Spirit—was at the beating heart of the Gospel. In the words of our Lord, “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born again he cannot see the kingdom of God” (John 3:3). Apart from the new birth, a man or woman cannot even see the Kingdom of God resounding all around them, let alone enter into it. If the Spirit has not done this work in a person’s heart, all their seemingly good works and outward religiosity are nothing but lipstick applied to a pig—and a dead one at that. Outside of Christ, we were all dead men walking; our greatest need wasn’t more self-esteem or motivation or even religion—we needed to be raised from the dead. We needed a new heart. Such was the dreadful state of each and every one of us before God gave us new life and washed us with the precious blood of His Son.

Whitefield understood this truth well, and so did my father. This would explain why, well over a decade ago now, he came home from work one evening and relayed an interaction he had with an elderly customer of his—an interaction that went on to change more lives than one.

My father was a watchmaker by trade. It was a dying trade appreciated and patronized primarily by those who had already done most of the living they were going to do here below. Perhaps these elderly customers of my father’s, now that they too were advanced in years, admired the workmanship of timepieces, harkening them back to a simpler time when aesthetics and function went hand in hand; or, perhaps, they simply had a timepiece in their possession that needed fixing and my father was the only one nearby who could make heads or tails of the work that was required. Who knows.

Whatever the case, one such customer strolled into my father’s cramped little shop the day of this particular interaction. Later that evening when my father relayed the conversation, he simply said that he and an older gentleman got to talking about Christianity and the Gospel. My father had asked if the customer was a Christian, to which the man replied, “Yes, I’ve been going to church my whole life.” At this point in the story, I like to imagine that my father adopted a similar posture to Whitefield’s when he responded with, “But have you been born again?”

I can almost see my father’s eyes looking out over the rim of his glasses as they slipped down his nose somewhat, his forehead inclined forward, allowing the question to sit in the stillness for a moment (he adopted this posture with me many times, particularly when waiting for my response to something he asked). If there was anything more to the conversation between my father and this man, I wasn’t aware of it at the time—except that the man seemed to indicate that my father had given him a good deal to think over before his next visit.

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