On doubt and discouragement

Ready for some hyper-context?

On Facebook this morning, my friend Libby posted this

Hey Mercy Folks! It seems like pain and suffering is running amock in our community right now. I thought this blog was helpful this morning.


The blog was one which most of you will know, and to which I’m a frequent contributor, Dave Schmelzer’s “Not the Religious Type“. The post Dave put up was a response to this comment from Peter Bierma:

I’d be interested to hear from any church leaders out there (Dave? Jeff?) how you’ve handled any “crises of faith”. Or if there hasn’t been a crisis, would a more moderate term be “ebb and flow”? Times when it seems like God hasn’t been there?

So, I thought, since I’m a pastor and all, and apparently my church is going through a lot of suffering, perhaps I ought to say something as well.

First off, is it true that suffering is running amok through our community? This one  is actually a bit tricky. We certainly have a large and growing community. And in any large and growing community, if you ask the question “is there suffering going on right now?” the answer would tend to be yes. Confirmation bias is a real thing, and if you are looking for pain you’re going to tend to find it.

That said, the recession has been taking it’s toll on our church for the first time, really, since it started. It’s rough for people to find jobs, and while the church budget is mostly looking OK, I can’t say there isn’t a bit more stress along those lines than usual. And there has been a seeming streak of rough health and marriage issues among church leaders for the past year or so, at least more than in the previous years. (As an aside, if you read Dave’s post, he’s got 35 people on his intercession team. So, MVCers, who is going to start ours? :) )

So, all that said, how do I deal with times of doubt or discouragement? Are there times I wonder if God is even real? Are there times I’m discouraged enough with life to want to give up?

For the most part, no. There probably were in my early 20s a few times, but I would chalk that up mostly to immaturity and inexperience. Discouragement and doubt do make the occasional foray into my life, and while not pleasant in the least, they don’t feel particularly threatening to faith or ministry.

To some degree I would echo Dave’s thoughts about prayer, and praise, and hearing from God, and talking with others (Q the most, with Barnabas running a distant but valued second.)

I would add that doubt and discouragement can be tools for change. When there is some element of belief, or some deeply held practice that seems to not be working, or seems confusing, often that is a red flag to me that maybe there is something that needs to change. I don’t think belief needs to be static, I think it is often dynamic.

This isn’t to say that there aren’t certain bedrock truths that we stick to. I’m not into questioning the trinity, the Bible, Jesus, or the love of God anytime soon. But I’m all for questioning how I relate to those things, how I approach and think about them, and how my life can more clearly reflect the good things I believe God has for me.

Thinking historically helps me too. I’m not the first person trying to follow Jesus. I’m not the first person whose seven year old daughter’s friend has brain cancer. I’m not the first person to read the first couple chapters of Job and find myself pretty confused about what’s going on. And a lot of those people have made it. This is different than saying “it could be worse”, which is profoundly UNhelpful. Instead, I guess it’s more like saying “I’m not alone.”

Which strikes as significant when I think about Libby’s initial post. On one hand, there is certainly difficulty in life. But isn’t there also something wonderful about the fact that those things can happen IN community? And particularly, in a community that actually has the resources of a living God to help and encourage us? Because, I suppose the only thing that’s worse than community that’s having trouble is a bunch of isolated individuals, all dealing with their pain alone.

But that said, there is still a loneliness to any doubt or discouragement. And there is some loneliness that a pastor feels, just as anyone else does. There are things I have to face, that others don’t have to (just as there are things they have to face that I don’t.) I’m not sure I’d want to publicly air those, as it smacks a bit of self-pity. But I certainly bring them up with a trusted few (especially people I know will pray for me, and about that intercession team…)

How about I end with a strangely helpful exercise. If you have an email account you’ve been using for a while, go back three years. Look at some of the emails. Think about all the things you were worried, stressed, discouraged, and in crisis about then. How many of them still matter? A little perspective…

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Comments (2)

I’ve found that admitting anything resembling a genuine crisis of faith is the first and potentially the most difficult step, particularly if the crisis snowballs or proves to be more than a momentary bump in the road. I think a lot of questioning and doubting goes unspoken in the Church. The contrary could raise more anxiety than many might be able to handle in a healthy, self-differentiated manner (i.e., without becoming defensive about or dismissive of the person’s questions/doubts).

As for your question, I’m a fan of brutally honest prayer; reading a good book or two for perspective and/or solidarity (I’d highly recommend Wennberg’s Faith at the Edge); positioning myself in environments where God would probably show up if he was going to; hoping God will use my struggle to bless others amidst their own “dark night of the soul”; and some close trusted confidants–especially those who can handle the anxiety inherently raised when your questions and doubts–particularly if well articulated–essentially place your listener’s/confidant’s convictions and anything that rides on them (e.g., her identity, security, purpose, basis for community, …) in check.

I’ve found it most helpful, when struggling with doubt, to shift from dwelling on belief (and/or everything that I might think counts against it) to dwelling in hope. While hope presupposes some degree of belief, I find that hope can still motivate some personal trust (cf. faith) in God even if I find myself really struggling with some of the relevant beliefs.

Often times Christians approach the problem of pain and suffering too directly. Trying to dig up verses and philosophies to deal with it. That has a place, particularly in academia, but when it actually comes to the practical real-life way of dealing with pain and suffering it takes a little bedside manner. I like how you dealt with it, pointing out that it’s about how we relate to those philosophies and Scripture that impact our lives.

My wife and I have a pretty high stress life, mostly due to work (being a waiter isn’t as easy as it looks). So, if any stress outside the norm happens it really messes with me. I lose sleep and get anxious. If something really bad happens, I get mad at God. I know better, I really do. It’s ultimately a lack of faith on my part.

Yesterday my wife and I were on break at work and were involved in a car accident. Right now it looks like everyone is okay, but the accident wasn’t my fault and we’re out of a car for the next little bit. It was tempting to be bitter towards God. Humans are so fickle at times, and I’m no exception. Instead, my wife and I prayed and thanked God that no one was hurt and that he was providing for us. Oddly, doing so brought a lot of peace where before there was only anxiety and frustration. After your last sermon, I suppose it makes sense.

Ultimately, God knows what it’s like to have something bad happen. He lost his own Son. And ultimately, his victory in the Son is our victory as well.

C.S. Lewis once said.
“When I lay these questions before God, I get no answer. But a rather special sort of ‘no answer.’ It is not the locked door. It is more like a silent, certainly not uncompassionate gaze. As though he shook his head not in refusal but in waiving the question. Like, ‘Peace, child; you do not understand.’” (A Grief Observed)

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