The English poet Ralph Hodgson once wrote, “Some things have to be believed to be seen.” Centuries earlier, St. Augustine offered a similar reflection: “Faith is to believe what we do not see; the reward of this faith is to see what we believe.” These two statements, though separated by time and context, weave together a truth about human experience: belief often precedes perception, unlocking realities that remain hidden to the skeptical eye. When we consider the virtues of faith, hope, and love, this idea takes on even greater depth. These qualities—celebrated in scripture and literature alike—act as lenses through which we encounter the invisible, transforming the way we see the world and one another. For me, this truth has played out vividly in my own life, particularly in my marriage to my wife, Mary, the family we’ve built together, and in the creative whirlwind of my workplace at Southern Methodist University (SMU).
Faith: The Foundation of Sight
The one of the main bad guys in the movie “Mission Impossible Fall Out” uses the line “hope is not a strategy” and is then immediately told “you must be new here,” since hope is the main ingredient in even attempting a mission that is deemed… “Impossible.” At its core, faith is an act of trust in what lies beyond the tangible. Augustine’s words capture this beautifully, framing faith as a deliberate choice to embrace the unseen, with the promise of revelation as its reward. In the Bible, Hebrews 11:1 echoes this sentiment: “Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” This verse underscores faith as a bridge between the present and the possible, a conviction that what we cannot yet grasp is nonetheless real. Consider the story of Abraham, who left his homeland on God’s promise of a future he couldn’t see. His faith didn’t just sustain him—it opened his eyes to a destiny that became visible only through obedience.
When I met Mary at Oral Roberts University and we married 35 years ago, I didn’t have evidence that we’d have a long, happy, fruitful marriage—just a belief rooted in faith. I couldn’t see the decades ahead, the laughter, the challenges, or the milestones. But I trusted in something greater, a conviction that our union was part of a larger purpose. That faith, like Hodgson’s poetic insight, was the first step. It wasn’t based on guarantees but on a willingness to believe before seeing. And over time, the reward emerged: a life together that has proven the truth of what I first trusted…and hoped for.
At SMU, I see this same principle unfold daily. Complex dance performances, intricate symphonies, and elaborate plays begin as ideas and hopes in the minds of choreographers, composers, and directors. Long before the performers step onto the stage, before the instruments are tuned or the lighting is set, someone believes in the vision. That faith—trust in an unseen outcome—drives the planning, rehearsals, rewrites, and refinements until the curtain rises, and what was once intangible becomes a breathtaking reality.
Hope: The Vision of What Could Be
If faith is the foundation, hope is the forward gaze. It’s the expectation that what we believe in will come to light, without it, we don’t start anything in life. Hodgson’s notion that “some things have to be believed to be seen” aligns with hope’s role in sustaining us through uncertainty, abstract thought of any kind is impossible without hope and belief. Hope doesn’t demand immediate proof; it thrives in the tension between now and not-yet. The Bible captures this in Romans 8:24-25: “For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.” Here, hope is an active waiting, a refusal to let the absence of evidence dim our vision.
This hope carried Mary and me through the early years of marriage and into parenthood. When our three children were still in the womb—unseen, their faces and futures unknown—I believed before they were born that I would love them deeply. That hope wasn’t just wishful thinking; it was a confident expectation that they’d bring joy and purpose to our lives. Today, two of them are college graduates with careers, living out their own paths, while our youngest, a surprise baby girl, is finishing high school. What began as an unseen possibility has become a visible reality, a testament to hope’s quiet power. As Emily Dickinson described it, hope is “the thing with feathers—That perches in the soul—And sings the tune without the words—And never stops—at all.”
In my work at SMU, hope is the thread that ties together months of preparation for a single performance. A symphony’s score, a dancer’s choreography, or a play’s script starts as a fragile dream. Musicians miss notes, actors flub lines, and dancers stumble—yet hope persists. It’s the belief that countless unseen hours will culminate in a moment of harmony or grace, a performance that moves an audience. And when it does, that hope is rewarded with something tangible: applause, tears, or a shared gasp of awe.
Love: The Revelation of Connection
Love, perhaps the most transformative of the trio, brings faith and hope into relationship. Augustine’s reward of faith—seeing what we believe—finds its fullest expression in love, which reveals the worth of others and the divine. The Bible’s famous declaration in 1 Corinthians 13:13 ties these virtues together: “And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” Why the greatest? Because love makes visible what faith trusts and hope anticipates. It’s the lens that turns strangers into neighbors, enemies into friends, and the abstract into the intimate. Love also the “greatest” because if you are a Christian, it is the only one that endures in the next life of eternity because there and then, hope is not needed, and faith is obsolete because all will be made known and all will be seen.
My love for Mary and our children is the heartbeat of this journey. When I stood at the altar with Mary, I believed in a love I couldn’t yet fully see—a lifelong partnership that would grow through trials and triumphs. That belief blossomed into a reality I now witness daily: a marriage that’s weathered five decades of life, including my career in city government and at SMU. With our children, love took root before I even held them. I couldn’t see their personalities or accomplishments while they were still forming, but I loved them in faith. Now, watching our eldest build a career, our middle child launch into the world post-graduation, and our youngest prepare for her next chapter, I see the reward of that love—a family bound by something deeper than sight alone could reveal. As Victor Hugo put it, “To love another person is to see the face of God.”
At SMU, love is the unseen force behind every production. It’s the director’s care for their actors, the conductor’s devotion to their musicians, the crew’s commitment to every detail—lines, lighting, and all. What starts as an idea in one mind becomes a collective act of love, a shared belief that transforms into a performance. When the stage lights dim and the audience rises, it’s love that has made the invisible visible, connecting creators and spectators in a fleeting, beautiful moment.
The Harmony of the Three
Faith, hope, and love don’t operate in isolation—they amplify one another. Faith plants the seed, hope nurtures it, and love brings it to bloom. Augustine’s theology and Hodgson’s poetry both suggest that this synergy reshapes our perception. The unseen—whether God’s presence, a better future, or the goodness in others—becomes visible through their combined power. As 1 John 4:12 states, “No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us.” Love completes the cycle, making the invisible God tangible through human connection.
For me, this harmony has been a lived experience. Believing in a future with Mary before I had proof, hoping for children I couldn’t yet see, and loving them into the people they’ve become—these are the threads of a life shaped by faith, hope, and love. At SMU, I witness this same dance daily: an idea believed in the mind—be it a symphony, a play, or a ballet—moves through hope-filled effort and love-driven collaboration to become a reality on stage. Instruments are tuned, lines are memorized, and movements are perfected, all because someone first believed it could be so.
In a world that often demands proof before belief, these virtues challenge us to reverse the order. Hodgson and Augustine remind us that some truths—perhaps the deepest ones—require us to believe first, to trust in faith, to hold onto hope, and to act in love. The reward? A vision of life richer than what the eye alone can behold. As the poet Rumi once said, “Beyond our ideas of right-doing and wrong-doing, there is a field. I’ll meet you there.” It’s in that field—where faith, hope, and love converge—that we finally see what we’ve believed all along, whether in a marriage, a family, or a stage lit by the dreams of many.