I’ve often promised that I will try to reflect more and preach less in these blogs. I’m not reneging on that, but once in a while I hope you’ll let me briefly cross that line. This is one of those times. Earlier today I was listening to a podcast featuring Fr. Thomas Keating. In it he discussed how if God is the God of all things, then logic would decree that God is in all things, as well – in all people, in all of nature, in all relationships, in all solitude, and even in all hardship or doubt.
What an interesting thought. Is God real to us when we doubt that God is real at all? The answer to that question may have to do with the passion (or lack thereof) with which we ask it.
TV host Bill Maher used to call himself an “apatheist” (though I am uncertain if such is still the case). An apatheist is not a “theist” (one who believes in the existence of a Deity) nor an atheist (one who does not) nor even an agnostic (one who doesn’t know but wants to know). “Apatheism” is a blend of “apathy” and “theism” and simply means “a person who doesn’t care one way or the other.” Apatheism is not doubt. It’s disinterest. Maybe that is where God is not. But doubt? Is God actively present in our fears that God does not exist at all?
The late Leslie Weatherhead, that great voice of faith in WWII London, wrote a book entitled The Christian Agnostic. In it he stated that a person who lies awake at night, tossing and turning almost in agony because of a longing to know God and a fear that there is no God to know, may reveal a deeper faithfulness than another individual who glibly replies, “Of course I believe in God. Now, where would you like to go for lunch?” In a person’s troubling doubt or questions vis-a-vis a deep hope that there is, in fact, a God to know, both Weatherhead and Keating would say God is both present and honored.
There are all sorts of reasons that doubt creeps in. You know the old saying, “Where our bodies go, our spirits go with them.” I recall when my mother was in ICU for three days in a coma from which she never emerged. Our family physician, a dear and caring man named Charles Stout, made it clear to us that there was no chance of her recovering. My dad stayed in the ICU waiting room 24/7. Four months prior, he had suffered a stroke. His body was recovering from a serious illness and was, also, deprived of rest. My father was a man of deep and lifelong faith. But, I recall how he said to me in that waiting room: “I haven’t lost my faith in God, but at the moment I can’t seem to find Him.” And yet, I would occasionally awaken in the middle of the night in that hospital lounge and hear Dad’s voice calling out to One he doubted was even there. I remember so much about his faith, but few things more moving than that.
A friend of many years got in touch with me recently, saying he was going through a crisis of faith. The man has spent his entire life active in church affairs. He’s taught classes, volunteered managing the congregation’s finances, served on committees, gone on missions trips, and even filled in on Sunday mornings when his pastor was sick or out of town. Recently my friend lost a parent, battled a significant illness, and was relocated from a town that was “home” to another where he knows no one. He may not be physically fatigued, but how could he be otherwise emotionally? I think in those cases the adage still holds true if we simply edit one word: “Where our emotions go, our spirits go with them.” So, the man made contact with me and posed a question: “What if we’re wrong? Wrong about all the things we have believed and professed to others. Wrong about the fact that there is such a thing as God. What if we’re just momentary specks of carbon dust, flickering briefly and then disappearing from view?” There is no quick or easy response to his questions. That’s why we call it “faith” rather than “data.” And, even if there were a simple answer, it would be theological. Thus, it would fail to take into account the fact that his question (given his circumstances) may have been primarily psychological. I clumsily posited this and suggested that. At last he provided the answer to his own question by saying, “Maybe I’m just tired.” The very next month he texted me to say that he had found a church in his new community and was excited to begin getting involved. In wrestling with his doubt and recognizing at least part of its source, it could be argued that the God he doubted was present preparing him for (and accompanying him on) the next leg of his journey.
A man named Mark who lived back in the middle part of the first century recorded an account from the life of Jesus when he came upon a father with an epileptic son. The son suffered unpredictable seizures. At times, according to his father, those events had caused the child to fall into water or fire, threatening his very life. The man said that he had been to doctors who (in that superstitious age where illnesses such as his son’s were diagnosed as demon-possession) were unable to be of any assistance. He had even been to Jesus’ disciples whose prayers seemed to be all for naught. Jesus asked if the father believed that he (Christ) had the power to help his son. The distraught father replied with a kind of faith-and-doubt all in one package: “Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.” That was enough, whereupon the miracle of healing ensued. The parent’s fears and love for his son (plus undeniable fatigue from running down so many dead-end roads) had created doubt that God was moving in any discernible way. Perhaps he doubted that God either (a) was real or (b) if real, cared one way or the other. But, he persisted in the midst of his doubts, worries, sorrow, and exhaustion, and the One he sought found him.
Sometimes you’re tired. Or sick. Or disappointed. Or overwhelmed. Or saddened. Or frightened. Or lonely. It’s a long list. In those moments, whatever God you have long believed in may seem far away. In all likelihood, there will be moments when you doubt that such a God exists at all.
Do not add injury to illness by judging or beating yourself up in those moments. Be as gentle with you as you would be with anyone else. The God you doubt is, in all likelihood, closer than you think – quietly present, cradling you until you’re strong enough to stand again. “Lord, I believe. Help (understand, be patient with, be present in) my unbelief.” I reiterate, in those experiences the One we doubt but keep seeking will find us.