When We Don’t (Know If We) Believe
I’m driving over the speed limit with the windows down and my hair is blowing wild like some kind of untamed animal. I’m not driving too, too fast, just fast enough to be the in the left lane but slow enough to not get pulled over. It’s something you’ve got to master, takes a few speeding tickets to work itself out. Mostly my head is in the clouds where it often resides. The day should feel perfect because the moment certainly feels perfect. Somehow I find myself in an awkward tension that I’m quite frankly sick of wrestling with.
I’m thinking and silently admitting that I’m not sure if I believe in God in this very moment. I should be thinking about how it’s Saturday and the world feels good or where I’m going to eat for lunch and what current movie seems worth nine dollars. But I’m stuck in a harder place than I’d like to be. And when I ask myself whether or not I believe in God, I want to get at the truth, I want to know if I really, deep in the core of my fibers, believe. I don’t just sort of want to agree with how awesome Jesus lived and think His thoughts were the best humanity has ever seen; I need to be more than okay with the entire story of God. It’s easy to shake my head “yes” and mouth the words to the songs I already know, but it’s a whole different game to acknowledge my doubts, my uncomfortable feelings about the God I’m following with my life. Somehow, I know that I can come to God with my difficult questions because I believe that He is big enough and thick-skinned enough to walk through them with me. And I also know that someone has to be honest about this stuff, honest about having been a Christian for more than half of their life and sometimes still in the trenches of unsettling questions.
The hard pill for me to swallow is this: when I’m real with myself I see that I ignore the parts of Christianity that I don’t like while clinging to the elements that bring me to life. I’d like to take scissors to the New Testament text where Ananias and Sapphira are killed instantly for lying about how much money they received in some archaic real estate deal. And I’d like to take the ugly clothes of genocide off of the story of God, the part where God commands to completely destroy the Amalekites for their disobedience. In the specific passage I’m referring to God says, “kill both man and woman, child and infant…” (1 Samuel 15:3). But on the other side, I’d like to stencil the teachings of Jesus on the highest skyscrapers of every city. I can only beg for a tattoo of the words “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you…” to engrain my heart so I never forget about how much better Jesus lived than Mother Theresa and Gandhi combined.
The problem is, is that Jesus says the only way to the Father is through Him. Get to the Father via the Son. I can’t take the parts I like and discredit the ones I don’t. In doing that, I discredit the entire story of grace, the story of humanity, really.
In the midst of every difficult question, this I believe: Jesus is the new expression of God on Earth. He is the manifestation of absolute love and the best chance we’ve got at living lives that count for something. And so, I must learn not to ignore the parts of the Bible that I don’t like, but rather see it as a story of progress. The pieces line up and happen as they do in order for things to be made right. I recently visited a church in New York City where they have a saying, “joining God in the renewal of all things.” This helps me understand why God did things the way He did and remember that His desire has always been to restore and renew all things. Every story in the Old Testament points back to a movement toward the renewal for the characters at play. Even in the midst of the Amalekites, God’s desire was to renew all things; to make them right and better, to restore what had been lost. And that’s the same today, through Jesus, God is at work renewing the world around us; but it’s a process and processes can be messy and fragmented.
When I have fresh perspective it doesn’t eliminate some of the questions, it doesn’t make them magically disappear. I will never be completely satisfied with some of the strings attached to the story of God, but this I know: His love is deep and it’s real and everything within me needs to be saved from myself. There is something about existing within the breathing room; with being honest that we don’t know everything and that sometimes our questions feel overwhelming. It’s important to let ourselves have minds that wrestle with the things that we’ve been told are true for our whole lives. And we’re only kidding ourselves if we don’t admit that our faith and our doubt both find homes in the mixed bag we carry throughout our lives.
On most days there’s a dueling dragon in my heart. Meaning, I’m unsatisfied without knowing (or liking) why God wiped out entire people groups or why there isn’t a cure for cancer, while being satisfied in the context of the longings of my soul. Sometimes it’s more important to know that I’m being held and cared for by a God that loves me than having the answer to all the questions.
And so, sometimes I have to step away from the drawing board and reframe the picture. Sometimes I have to believe that God is who he says He is, “The LORD, the LORD! The God of compassion and mercy! I am slow to anger and filled with unfailing love and faithfulness. I lavish unfailing love to a thousand generations. I forgive iniquity, rebellion, and sin.” I have to walk away from some of my elementary doubt as I realize that even with my questions I’ve yet to find a better way to live. I’ve yet to find something that carries the weight of this life or someone who heals the wounds of the day like the Father. I’ve yet to find any hope in life aside from the solid rock of Jesus. And that I can’t deny, that, at the end of the day will keep me coming back to God the Father and Jesus the Son.
Questions still present, and not completely aside, I have to commit to the One who has already committed to love me more than I’ll ever believe.
Artwork: Aaron Mclaughlin
