For the past 3+ months, I have had a hard time believing in God.
On October 28th,
2012, the church I had served for 7 years closed its doors. Surprisingly,
this, in and of itself, did not challenge my faith at all. However, the
ensuing transition in my life caused major havoc on my faith. I began
teaching math and science in a private school to pay the bills while trying to
start a new worshiping community out of my living room.
Something about the new career, new role, new life, one could even say
new identity - it really got me all confused.
Now don’t get me wrong. I’m
not saying in any way that I am unfortunate or unlucky or suffering or
anything. I have a steady job that pays
the bills (that I happen to enjoy very much), a wonderful family, a church that
immediately took me in as family, and an exciting opportunity to serve God in a
new and creative way. But something just didn't feel quite right. Not being in
the pulpit on Sunday, having to make time for devotion, having to spend a large
portion of my day in an intentionally secular environment, losing (as much as
they sometime drove me crazy) my primary faith community - all of these added
up. I suppose you could say that change
always comes with grief and grief always comes with doubt.
I began (and in ways, continue) to really struggle with the idea
of God’s existence. It just seemed so…convenient. It seemed like the kind of thing a parent
would tell a child because they were afraid of telling the child the truth. The more I thought about it, the more I
really began to wonder if it was just something we tell ourselves so we don’t
have to face the cold, hard, emptiness of the universe. Even recalling all the miracles I had
witnessed, all the miracles that I had been a part of, all the theological and
philosophical arguments, and the fact that many great minds had no trouble
believing in God, I found it harder and harder to accept the idea of an all
powerful, all knowing, eternal God. The
line between coincidence and providence is very thin.
My first response was to try harder: more prayer, more bible
study, more fellowship, more service, more giving. I told myself if I just remained obedient, God
would appear in a way I could not deny.
I thought that if I worked harder to connect with God, I would find the
connection I was looking for but missing.
I kept thinking of all the heroes and heroines of the bible who faced “dry
spells” and remained obedient: Moses, Elijah, Job, Isaiah, even Jesus himself
on the cross cried out, “Father, father, why have you forsaken me?” It seemed that obedience was the key to
connection.
Sadly (though probably not surprisingly), this did not work. The harder I tried to connect with God, the
more futile my efforts seemed and, consequently, the more I resented God. If God existed and I was putting in
all this effort, why wasn't he doing his part?
Where was my burning bush or booming voice? I could not help but think the only
reasonable conclusion was that God didn't exist at all.
Last night, my wife and I started talking. She could tell that something wasn't quite
right (I had been behaving erratically with regard to the family’s finances)
and we finally got around to talking about my faith and my struggle to believe
in God’s existence. I told her about my
resentments, my efforts to connect with God, and ultimately that I was doubting
that God existed at all. She asked me a
question that, somehow, in the midst of all this soul searching, I had failed
to ask myself: “Do you believe God loves you?”
It seems like one would have to believe that God exists before one could
believe that God loves, but somehow, after a few moments of ruminating, I could
honestly say, without doubt, “Yes, God loves me. He might not exist, but he definitely loves
me.”
Lindsay proposed that all the beauty that I see in the world wasn't supposed to be evidence of God’s existence (an argument I have trouble with),
but evidence of God’s love (an argument I have no problem with). When I teach math and science (both of which
I love) the beauty and order in them is not God’s way of saying “I exist.” It’s God’s way of saying “I love you and I made
this for you to marvel at and enjoy.”
We do not obey God out of obligation or to earn God’s favor (a sermon I
have preached many times, but failed to apply myself) or even in order to see
God. We obey God out of joy and
overflowing love and a sense of awe and wonder at what God has done.
Somehow, reframing the question from “Does God exist?” to “Does
God love me?” answered both questions. I
still doubt. I still struggle. This dry spell is not over, but I am
struggling with very different and much less troubling
questions. Most importantly, I am once
again beginning to experience joy, awe, wonder, and most importantly love.
Does God exist? I’m still
not sure. Does God love me? Without a doubt, yes.
