Faith and Doubt

It didn’t seem like the place to have a crisis of faith.

I guess one place is as good as any for it, but if I was to have one, I always thought it would happen at church or at home or maybe alone on a mountaintop in the pouring rain. Instead I found myself in the dimly-lit office of my college professor. You may read that and think it’s exactly the place you might imagine someone having such a crisis. Maybe I’ll even exacerbate your emotions by saying it was the office of my college philosophy professor. But, for me, the moment was completely unexpected. It almost didn’t feel real, like I was in some kind of dream. What had brought this onslaught of existential reckoning in my life?

Questions.

Questions about the Creation story in the Bible. Questions about the Bible itself. Questions about God. Questions that all those questions made me ask about myself.

You see, I came from a fairly conservative religious background. I attended a private, Baptist school from 1st grade until I graduated high school. That was *extremely* conservative — like principal-checking-your-hair-length-before-chapel-every-week level conservative. At the same time, my family life was a touch removed from that world, though we surely would still have been labeled conservative by anyone looking in from the outside. We went to church every week. We watched the news. I had read all the Left Behind books and most of Frank Perreti’s Cooper Kids series too. I did Bible quizzing and went to church camp. I knew the Bible inside and out — including one particular verse that routinely found its way to my young ears.

“But sanctify the Lord God in your hearts: and be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you with meekness and fear:” — 1 Peter 3:15

Answers.

I was trained to believe that every question could be answered. And all those answers could be housed within my consciousness. If I studied the Bible enough, I’d have them all — all those necessary answers. That works when you’re 13 and you’re not faced with so many questions. But here I was only a few months ahead of my 20th birthday, and the answers were starting to feel insufficient.

Could God have used evolution in Creation?

If so, does that mean Creation didn’t happen in a literal, six-day period?

If so, since I’ve always believed in a literal, six-day Creation, what does that do for the rest of my belief system?

And that’s how I reached crisis mode in that dimly-lit office lined with books that had impressive-sounding titles. My professor could not have been more helpful. We sat and talked for almost an hour. He had not pushed me to this crisis point; I had arrived there on my own.

What it came down to was that I had been taught that certainty was something that was to be attained and flaunted. I was beginning to find out that there are some things about which you simply cannot be certain. There are some things you have to take on faith. And here is where I could insert countless cliched phrases about “blind faith” and all that. I won’t. Because I don’t believe faith is blind. In fact, I believe true faith is informed. I believe it is informed by questions just as much as it is by answers. I believe it is a constant wrestling match between our own lack of understanding and God’s beautiful revealed truth. I still believe there’s a place for certainty in faith, but not the kind of in-your-face, I-have-the-answer certainty I was taught in my youth. It’s a new kind of certainty that I’ve developed a deep love for in my adult years.

The certainty that — no matter what questions or crises may come up — my God is faithful and He knows the answers even if I don’t.

Intellectual Humility

Our culture is one of hot takes and Twitter dunks. Even if you have no idea what either of those terms mean, you’ve surely seen them in action. Someone makes a claim online and another person quickly rushes to give the counterpoint to the argument, often in an overly-antagonistic manner. Our attention spans are short, and we want concise answers.

The problem is that so much of life cannot be whittled down into concise answers.

Certainly when we’re dealing with faith and religion — often including some of the most difficult questions we face — you can’t expect everything to be tweet-sized. As much as we might want to stake our claim and declare that we have the answers, that way leads down a painful path of hubris and injured pride. Take another look at the Bible verse I quoted before. This time I’m going to make a slight personal adjustment for emphasis so you can clearly see my point.

“But sanctify the Lord God in your hearts: and be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you with meekness and fear:” — 1 Peter 3:15

While so much of my upbringing was spent being taught to have all the answers, I’ve realized that much of it seemed to leave out that seemingly-innocuous word near the end.

Meekness.

The textbook definition of meekness is “the fact or condition of being meek; submissiveness.” That idea seems to have no place in our social media, hot take culture, does it? You can’t have an opinion online and also be submissive, right? You have to defend your position with vigor and unwavering certitude. You cannot show any signs of doubt.

There’s that word. I remember being taught that doubt is a sin when I was younger. This brought about my college-aged crisis as much as anything else. If I was having questions, did that mean I was doubting? And if doubting was a sin, did that mean God was upset with me?

Around this same time, I started revisiting the Psalms. They are some of my favorite passages in Scripture. But something I realized as I read them anew was that the Psalmist asks incredibly tough questions of God. In most cases, the writer is King David, someone described as “a man after God’s own heart.” God didn’t seem to despise David’s questions, so I began to wonder if He had room for mine.

He most certainly did.

At this point I want to make clear that — to anyone who is questioning or who has doubts — God loves you dearly and He is the first one waiting to sit with you in your questions and doubts. That’s something else about which I’m certain.

All of this can be described in that word — meekness. But we don’t often hear that word today, which is a sad fact. A similar phrase we do hear, though, is intellectual humility. It’s the idea that you can hold your beliefs and stand up for them but always acknowledge the notion that you might be wrong. I recently read a fantastic article by Brian Resnick of Vox that — although not specifically about faith and religion — has fantastic insights that carry over.

There are certainly levels to this, and think this is where the faith/doubt discussion often gets tripped up. For instance, there are some beliefs I hold that are the foundation for my life. Beliefs like — God is real; God is the creator of the universe; God has offered hope to the world through His Son, Jesus Christ; God is love, and God loves me. There are certainly others, but those at least give a basis for discussion. Of those beliefs, I am fully convinced. I certainly acknowledge that there are those who do not share those beliefs. But I am fully convinced, and I build my life around those beliefs. For me to change those beliefs would take a literal act of God. I can’t even picture what would have to happen. God has so revealed these truths to me through the Bible, experience, and teachers that I hold them more dearly than any other beliefs.

Conviction and One of the Greatest Religious Movies Ever Made

At this point it may sound like I’m talking out of both sides of my mouth. But that’s because I believe the Bible talks about different kinds of doubt.

Often when the discussion turns to faith and doubt, someone will bring up the verse James 1:6. Here’s what it says:

“But when you ask, you must believe and not doubt, because the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind.”

A simple reading of that verse may make it seem like James is saying that any doubt is wrong. But I think that is in error. As with any Bible verse, you have to consider it in context. This section of the first chapter of James is talking about rejoicing in trials and tribulations. It is about the endurance of faith. And then comes this passage that talks about asking God for the wisdom we need. Then comes the verse in question. Consider Matthew Henry’s commentary on the passage.

“A mind that has single and prevailing regard to its spiritual and eternal interest, and that keeps steady in its purposes for God, will grow wise by afflictions, will continue fervent in devotion, and rise above trials and oppositions. When our faith and spirits rise and fall with second causes, there will be unsteadiness in our words and actions. This may not always expose men to contempt in the world, but such ways cannot please God. No condition of life is such as to hinder rejoicing in God.”

I believe that, at some point, you must choose what belief system your life will be based on. You have to have that foundation, and that belief system will be your main cause. It is your anchor amid those wind-tossed waves of life.

But — and this is key — putting your faith and trust in that belief system doesn’t mean you’ll stop having questions.

I think the anchor is such a great metaphor, because the waves still move a boat that is anchored. The boat is still affected by the world around it, yet it is not pulled out to open sea. It has an anchor that pulls it back to safety.

The hardships of life and the difficulties that bring about excruciating questions are sometimes too much for our human minds to comprehend. But in those moments when I am faced with something I can’t comprehend, I am so thankful that I can reaffirm my trust in a God who does understand even if I don’t.

I believe God fully understands the limits of our humanity because He came to Earth in the person of Jesus Christ as God incarnate. He understands that human understanding is limited. I believe He welcomes our questions with open arms. In return, I believe He asks for our faith and trust in Him for those things that we do not understand.

I wasn’t there when Jesus Christ died on the cross. I wasn’t present at Creation. I can’t prove the elements of my faith to you. But I’m convinced of them nonetheless. I’ve experienced God’s faithfulness in my life, and my life is founded upon my faith in Him.

As is often the case, I turn to art to help me process these difficult questions. I consider Scripture to be the Word of God, but it is at the same time also a beautiful work of art. That is the basis for my investigation of these questions. But it is also helpful to see how other people wrestle with the great questions of life, and there are many great examples of art that helps us consider the nature of faith and doubt. One of my personal favorites is the 1997 movie Contact.

It tells the story of Dr. Ellie Arroway (played by Jodie Foster) who goes into outer space to research a strange transmission that is believed to signal the presence of extraterrestrial life. On the journey, she has an incredible experience, but she returns with no discernable evidence that supports any of her claims. One of the great movie scenes comes when she is brought before a committee to give testimony of her experience. She is pressed on the fact that she cannot provide any evidence. Her response is one of the greatest distillations of faith I’ve ever seen or read in any work of art.

Dr. Arroway admits that her experience cannot be proven, but that does not change the fact that she is fully convinced in her own mind of what occurred. We want certainty to mean that something can be proven beyond a reasonable doubt. But there are some things that simply cannot be fully comprehended. Our human understanding only goes so far. I don’t want to place my faith in a belief system that can be fully housed in my own consciousness. I look at the stars and realize that there are things beyond my understanding. To make the case that God can be fully proven beyond a reasonable doubt limits God, in my opinion. That is saying that God can be housed in the little boxes we create for ourselves as humans. He can be placed within the confines of our systems of experimentation and evidence. I think the signals of God’s existence are there for those who will look and see. I know I have experienced God’s presence and work in my life.

But I do not believe He can be confined by our human concepts, and I’m grateful for that. I trust God for the questions to which I have no answer, and I trust Him for the answers I think I know but simply haven’t worked out yet. I trust Him for it all, and I know he is far greater than my understanding can comprehend.

Infinitely Knowable

So, as I move out from those foundational beliefs, there are other beliefs about which I may not be so dogmatic. Do we have to know exactly what happened at Creation, for instance? Is it possible that the Genesis account is literal? Yes. Is it also possible that it is a poetic narrative meant to instill certain truths? Yes. Do I have the full answer for you? No. But I do believe that God is the Creator, and I believe He is fully aware of what happened at Creation. I trust Him for that.

Where I’m at now is a place where I put my trust and my certainty in God’s hands. He is where I put the seat of all that, not in my own understanding. That sounds pretty similar to another famous verse, in fact.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.” — Proverbs 3:5–6

When I look back on the way I was brought up in the faith, I see how the drive for answers subtly shifted things. If you forget about the place that meekness holds in 1 Peter 3:15, you can quickly find yourself leaning on your own understanding.

I recently read Jonathan Merritt’s fantastic book Learning to Speak God from Scratch. Among many profound insights in its pages, I found the perfect description of this journey I’ve been on. It came near the end of chapter 12 when Merritt is unpacking the word “mystery” and how it connects with faith. He gives an anecdote of a time when he talked with Richard Rohr about the mystery of faith.

“A switch flipped when I spent time with Richard Rohr, a Franciscan friar, in the desert of New Mexico. ‘What about mystery? Why waste time trying to know something that is unknowable?’ I asked him.

The jovial seventy-four-year-old bald man smiled with a glimmer in his eye.

‘That’s a great question, Jonathan, but I think maybe you misunderstand what mystery is. A mystery is not something that is unknowable; it is something that is infinitely knowable.’”

We will never stop finding new insights into the mystery of faith. But that is not a reason to keep from believing.

It’s Okay

The thing is, those questions that brought about my faith crisis were intellectual ones. There are other questions that are more visceral and experiential.

Why does God allow suffering?

Why did my parents get divorced?

Why is there so much injustice in our world?

I’m now at the place where I feel so free to come to God with my questions — be they big or small. I feel no anger or animosity directed towards me when I come to Him with questions. Rather, I feel a comforting presence like a dear friend. I often come to Him earnestly in prayer with questions about the difficulties of life. Sometimes, there is a hint of anger present — like when I’m faced with those visceral questions about injustice and suffering. I bring those questions to Him. And when I do, I don’t feel like my faith is shattering. I feel it being strengthened by the voice I hear saying…

It’s okay, Aaron. I hear you. I hear your questions, and you are loved.

No, I don’t hear an audible voice, but I don’t need to. Even if it isn’t an answer that wraps up all of life’s difficult questions in a neat bow, it’s the answer I need.

I still believe in the Bible. I still find truth in its pages. I still believe that God created the universe, even if I don’t believe I know exactly how that happened. I still believe that Jesus was a real human who lived, died, and rose again. I believe His sacrifice allows me to receive forgiveness of my sins and live an abundant life in relationship with God.

I still have faith.

The only difference is that my certainty is no longer rooted in my own knowledge of that faith. It’s rooted in the faithfulness of God to listen to my many questions and sometimes provide me with answers. For the times when I don’t find answers right away, I no longer see that as something with the power to cripple my faith. I simply see it as an opportunity for God to increase my faith. To say, “I don’t know” and continue living anyway. To take it out of my own hands and put it in the far more capable hands of God.

Can faith and doubt coexist? You bet they can. I find so much hope there, because I wrestle with faith and doubt every day. I don’t have all the answers. And even this post is not meant to be me telling anyone else how to handle this. It’s simply the journey I’ve been on, and I’m still on it just like everyone else. But I know that, through it all, God will be right alongside me, giving me the presence that is really what I need even more than answers.