Stubborn Doubt, Stubborn Faith

In Philip Yancy's book Soul Survivor: How Thirteen Unlikely Mentors Helped My Faith Survive the Church he says this of Annie Dillard:

"Part of Dillard's appeal lies in her ability to enrich the faith of serious Christians while still seeming credible to the cultured despisers of religion. In the United States, Christians tend to create subcultures, reading their own books, listening to their own music, educating their children in their own schools. Little cross-fertilization takes place between that subculture and the wider, secular culture. By combining stubborn doubt with an equally stubborn insistence on faith, Dillard serves as a bridge between two worlds, the literary establishment and conservative Christians".

Like Yancy I'm drawn to people who hold doubt and faith together. Is there any other way to be an authentic and honest person of faith? I suppose I don't really believe people who present their faith as one moment of certainty after another. They seem either arrogant or sheltered. When life looks like one epic devotional time after another, and difficult realties of life are met with a never-ending litany of Christian platitudes, I wonder what people are running from. Their own doubts? The anxiousness that can arise when life isn't as black and white as it once seemed? The relentless onslaught of pain and suffering in this world? It begins to feel like religion really is the "opiate of the people".

The words Yancy used in describing Dillard, "stubborn doubt" AND "stubborn faith", struck a deep chord with me. I can't think of a better short-hand phrase to describe my following of Jesus.

Stubborn things consistently reappear with a nagging consistency regardless of our wishes. It's like a black fly buzzing around my ankles on a canoe trip. It would sure be a lot more pleasant if the fly would go away, or better yet, be squashed by my own quick and nimble reflexes. But it's a lot harder than it looks. Last summer in the boundary waters I remember instances where the same fly would track me for hours. I just couldn't seem to keep the little pest at bay.

Like a black fly with an ankle fetish, skepticism seems like a constant companion on my faith journey. Do I actually believe a 1st century Jewish rabbi rose from the dead? Stuff written thousands of years ago in the ancient near east is actually inspired by God and worth orienting my life around? God is directly at work in the world making all things new? The universe is actually heading somewhere good?

Christian clichés and platitudes don't magically erase the skepticism. They attempt to swat the pesky fly but it doesn't work. Going to church or entering Christian community would be a lot more pleasant if my skepticism could be eliminated by the next megachurch pastor tweet or William Layne Craig debate. But it's never that way for me.

I used to think doubt and skepticism were incompatible with a robust and genuine faith in Jesus. If there was any space for doubt the focus was on its elimination as quickly and efficiently as possible. The more intellectually certain I felt the stronger my faith...right? The churches I've been a part of have given this type of faith the stage and the microphone. Within this paradigm skepticism is the enemy that consistently gets in the way. Doubt is an annoyance on a comfortable faith journey. If we engage our skepticism with honesty, some people say, we are on a slippery slope to disbelief. No wonder church doesn't feel safe or real to so many.

Yet, I've become convinced that when skepticism and doubt are engaged in healthy ways within community they are necessary for, not in competition with, committed faith.

In fact, faith requires doubt. That's what is so ironic about the certainty seeking paradigm promoted in many churches. If the goal were to be actually attained (certainty), the ultimate thing being sought (faith) wouldn't be relevant anymore. If I could know for certain that Jesus rose from the dead 2,000 years ago I wouldn't need faith. I like how Brian Zhand puts it: "Christianity is more about a confession than it is an explanation. We always profess more than we can explain".

Skepticism and doubt, when courageously recognized, move us towards a more thorough investigation of our worldview. This is scary. So scary that many people of faith close their eyes and plug their ears when doubt comes knocking at the door. I'm convinced many people in pews on Sundays have taken the avoidance technique because what their community is looking for is certainty. An environment like this breeds complacency because we have an inherited faith and nothing more.

I desire a chosen faith, not merely an inherited one. Doubt and skepticism have forced me to interrogate the foundation of my worldview. It's like pulling up an entire plant by the root, investigating every aspect of it's structure, and placing it back in the soil. If it's actually real, true, good and beautiful it will survive. If not, it wasn't true and worth my allegiance anyway.

Ironically, something else has happened simultaneously alongside stubborn doubt: stubborn faith.

When I say stubborn faith I don't mean a "burry my head in the sand" kind of way. Instead, no matter how hard I interrogate I just can't escape a conviction that Jesus makes the most sense out of the world. Without Him I don't know how I would make sense of life's most important questions: Who is God? Who am I? What is the good life? A loving God revealed in Jesus grounds these questions more comprehensively and compellingly than any other worldview I've considered (For more on this check out my why I follow Jesus post). Other worldview frameworks leave me feeling unsatisfied and even more skeptical. Consequently, Jesus has begun to feel more true to me. This kind of faith doesn't feel like certainty but rather a trust that's strong enough to follow. This is biblical faith after all.

When the pesky fly of skepticism bites I'm driven further on the journey towards Jesus. I could describe the process as something like this:

• 1) the further I consider my doubts, 2) the further I explore alternatives, 3) the more the alternatives generate even more skepticism and uncertainty and therefore shatter any rose-colored glasses as it relates to other worldviews, 4) the more Jesus makes the most sense of the world, 5) the more committed I am to living like Jesus and 6) the more I trust that Jesus actually offers a true and beautiful way to live.

Notice how the pattern above (which is never clean and linear!) has an experiential component as well. This journey of holding faith and doubt together is never merely an intellectual process with a nose in a book. It's a fully embodied endeavor. After all, the best way to determine the truthfulness of Christianity is not by observing and critiquing from the sidelines. The more we engage the story of Christianity with our full selves the more we can offer a legitimate assessment.

The steps outlined above illustrate that for me faith circles back in a stubborn way. Skepticism might feel strong at times (as Daniel Taylor articulates so well in The Skeptical Believer, this inner skeptic is often sitting on my shoulder and whispering in my ear) but faith is stronger. I just can't seem to get rid of it. It's almost like I was created and hard-wired for faith in God. And I'm thankful for it.

As I've wrestled honestly with my inner skeptic there are times my walk with Christ does feel more like a commitment and less like a warm and fuzzy feeling. I've learned this is okay. In fact, following God is best understood as an ongoing covenant in which we remain committed despite unpredictable emotions. At times God feels very close and personal. At times He feels distant and I wonder if I'm trying to convince myself of something that is too good to be true. Yet, at the end of the day, my faith is stubborn. I want to be with Jesus and I chose to follow Him. As Daniel Taylor asserts in The Skeptical Believer, walking with God without fuzzy feelings is "no more hypocritical than dancing with your wife or husband when you are too tired to dance". The covenantal relationship is not less real or true. In fact, the relationship is matured as it's held together by something far more sturdy than butterflies and goosebumps.

A journey of faith where doubt seems like a constant (most often unwelcomed) companion is not to be avoided or viewed as inauthentic. Doubt isn't to be celebrated either. There is nothing particularly noble or aspirational about doubt. In my humanity it is just there. Yet, in the midst of it all, my faith has never felt more real.