Much of faith is basically doubt
Neutralizing doubt. Easily the most energy-consuming task of any Christian believer.
What do I do if I find myself doubting? Doubting my salvation? Doubting God’s goodness? Doubting God’s existence? Doubting Jesus? Doubting the entire thing?
Is this the unforgivable sin? Is there no turning back? Will God still love me? Will God still forgive me?
I cannot get rid of these thoughts. Is there still hope for me?
Anxiety. Hyperventilation. Mood swings. The sinking feeling that you won’t be able to sustain this momentary calm you have fought so hard to think yourself into.
“How do I keep this faith-high I’m on right now?” was the common question I heard at Christian youth conferences.
This is not mockery. An astounding amount of neuroses are religion-driven, yet religion is not held accountable.
I’ve met believers who have glued together the pages of the Book of Job, one of the most question-riddled books in the Bible. Just in case.
It’s hard to escape the conclusion that a lot of the Christian aggression against the so-called non-believers is compensatory.
After all, church trains you to stifle doubt.
If the elders are feeling generous, you’ll get a closely monitored paddock where you can let your wild out to your rotten heart’s content. (“If I raise my hands and my T-shirt rides up to show my belly button, should I worry, or is it not such a big deal?” “Is AIDS a punishment ordained by God, or is it just an illness like any other?”)
With that kind of training, it is little wonder the doubts from the outside will be seen as a direct threat to the skin-deep Christian “beliefs.”
It was actually one of the first cues I had picked up on years ago, at the very beginning of my doubting journey.
If Christianity is really such a logical, obvious option as it is made out to be by the hordes of self-satisfied apologists, why does it need all the propping up?
Popular Christianity seems to be having its neo-Baroque moment now. Its dialectics is packed with looming catastrophes, rainbow infidels, child-killing monsters, and that plague worst of all, people who can read poetry.
The life of faith is painted as a constant struggle—against your body, against your mind, against evil, against satan.
(I completely disagree with the statement that the greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist. His most stunning success has been keeping up the charade of being some kind of an omnipotent anti-god while all he is is a wannabe—the Creator’s most passionate groupie).
Well, considering the terrible publicity Christians have been giving God, the devil didn’t have to overexert himself in that regard.
The ban on doubt has the side effect of negating the whole benefit of choosing Christianity in the first place.
Not only is the return of this particular long-term investment extremely far-off and uncertain, it also seems to significantly worsen the quality of life in the here and now.
You live and learn. You learn by asking questions. Disrupting this process will backfire.
Yet so often, Christianity is marketed as the end-all to most of life’s questions. “I believed, and everything became clear to me” is a common theme in new converts’ testimonies.
The truth is, much of belief hinges on doubt.
Doubt in my infallibility.
Doubt in my objectivity.
Doubt in the completeness of my knowledge.
The niggling suspicion that this is not all there is. This sunset is painted on.
A sliver of an opening in the closed system of my carefully crafted conviction.
This correlation is so strong that many doctrines billed as Christian could be framed as doubts.
God cannot be one because how would we explain our drive to form relationships?
If the Sacred has acted even once in time, what is stopping it from acting again?
How come there is evil?
How come there is good?
(The first of the last two questions is universal. The second is rare. We feel we’re entitled to the good. We don’t analyze it. We throw a tantrum when we think we might be shorted).
Isn’t it interesting that the questions that drive people to and away from God are mostly the same questions?
We doubt, hence we believe.
We believe, hence we doubt.
If God is the sum and substance of every unanswered question—of everything that’s inscrutable—doubting could be seen as an act of worship.
And questioning could be the most meaningful prayer.
(“You have not spoken of me what is right, as my servant Job has,” says God to Job’s friends, who have just spent much of the 42-chapter book acting as His pious defenders while Job kept asking Him one irreverent question after another.
Even if the ending is a later addition, the fact remains we have a whole big book in the Bible that features a heated God-themed debate, and worst of all, you can’t even tell who’s right).
The so-called believers and the so-called non-believers—we all move within the orbit of something (Someone?) we cannot quite see through. The unnerving, blindsiding Presence that irresistibly attracts us.
So easy to know yet so hard to grasp, as Jesus put it while talking to the Father.
In a way, the in/famous Beatitudes could be seen as a blessing upon those who doubt.
Those who know, through their situation or disposition, that this is not how it should be. That something is off. That this doesn’t quite hold water.
Those hungry for righteousness they will likely never see here.
Those aware of their helplessness.
Those attuned to suffering.
Those eager to bring relief, however clumsy their efforts may be.
The poor—in spirit, in luck, or in material possessions.
The “oversensitive.” The “unfit.” Those “with a defect.”
Those who frequently hear, “Why do you care so much?” “It’s almost like you want to make it complicated.”
Christ has taken a lot of grief for allegedly romanticizing poverty and misery in the Sermon on the Mount.
(And that relaxed air He has about how His words might be mis/understood was my other cue years ago. He isn’t worried about leaving things open to interpretation. He invites people to step out with Him into the broad space).
But no, I don’t see Him spinning martyrology there, although I reverberate with the anger of those who do.
For me, He’s merely pointing out there’s strength in questioning.
There is joy in the smallest acts of resistance.
There is serenity in owning your limitations.
The portion that will never be taken away from you.
The freedom to doubt.
This post contains quotes from Job, Matthew, Luke, and the Psalms. Collect all four.
A word of caution: I am not a religious trauma counselor. If you have been hurt by institutionalized religion to the point that it is seriously affecting your daily life (panic attacks, uncontrollable anger, loss of focus, constant triggering, numbness, and out-of-body experiences), I strongly urge you to stop reading and contact a health professional near you. Your pain is real and should be attended to.
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