Rachel Held Evans

Family, Friends, and Doubt: Part 1

Every week I hear from readers who have been touched in some way by Evolving in Monkey Town. One of the most common dilemmas these readers say they face is trying to navigate their doubts, questions, and new ideas in the context of their current faith communities.  Several of you suggested last week we address this on the blog, so I thought I’d introduce the topic by including an excerpt from an email I recently received from Dave. 

Writes Dave: 

…For the last three years my soul has felt like a sick and dying animal. God seemed gone, and suddenly all the perfectly logical systematic theology I had assembled my entire life to answer all the questions just felt apart. I prayed, I talked to all my pastors, I talk to my cell group at church, I talked to my wife, and I talked to God a lot. I didn’t know how God could demand that I be intellectually dishonest in order to follow him. He gave me my intellect. How could I tell myself a young earth made sense, or eternal hell for people who never heard of Christ made sense, or any of the other big issues made sense when I knew I was lying to myself? How could I feel gratitude and affection to a God who randomly chose me to spend eternity with Him and took delight in the rest burning for all time?

When I posed some of these questions to others they would try to answer them (with genuine grace and love), and ultimately tell me I wasn’t trusting God enough. When I read your book, I wanted to cry. I felt like I had written it, because every question and suspicion I have held was echoed in it. And from your book and blog and other resources…I’m finding that I’m not alone. I know that God is good again. Jesus loves me, and even more amazing, He loves everyone, and plans to reconcile ALL things to Himself. I read my Bible eagerly last night, which I’ve felt ill doing for a very long time. 

There is one big problem though, and I know you’ve had to face it. My pastors, and the people I go to church with love Jesus very much and love other people very much as well, but they don’t subscribe to this line of thinking. In fact, when they hear me talk about it, they will be deeply concerned…It is possible some will assume I have never understood the gospel at all, and that I “went out from them because I was never of them.” I love these people, and I want to continue to fellowship and discuss and pray with them, but I know many may feel they can’t do this any longer. How have you dealt with this in your own journey? 

I’ll respond tomorrow, but today I would like to open this question up for discussion.  Dave is certainly not alone, and I know we could all benefit from one another’s stories. How do you respond when friends, family, and people from your faith community are uncomfortable with the questions you pose or the ideas you share?  

Confessions of a Reluctant Stumbling Block

“…but we preach Christ crucified: a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles.”
– 1 Corinthians 1:23

Therefore let us stop passing judgment on one another.
Instead, make up your mind not to put any stumbling block or obstacle in your brother's way.
– Romans 14:13

I never set out to be a stumbling block, and I don’t really want to be one…but I guess when enough people tell you that you are something, you sort of grow into the role.

I knew that writing openly about my doubts about Christianity would invite questions about whether I had any business doing so in light of believers whose faith might be upset by them. I’ve been asked about the potential of becoming a stumbling block several times, and at first found myself responding rather apologetically—warning those who are comfortable in their beliefs and wary of new ones to keep their distance.

But the more I thought about my own experience with doubt, the more I realized how grateful I am for certain “stumbling blocks” that dramatically changed the trajectory of my faith, in a good way. 

The truth is, there are some beliefs that I think Christians should doubt.

I think they should doubt young earth creationism. I think they should doubt limited atonement. I think they should doubt traditional exclusivism. I think they should doubt the notion that God belongs to a certain political party. I think they should doubt Tim Lahaye and Jerry Jenkins. I think they should doubt restricting the roles of women in church leadership. I think they should doubt the wealth, health, and prosperity “gospel.” I think they should doubt religious nationalism. I think they should doubt the idea that Jesus is simply a personal savior and that being a Christian is about being right.

If challenging my fellow Christ-followers to think more critically about these issues makes me a stumbling block in the path of bad ideas, then I accept that role. 

Unfortunately, some of these positions have become so inextricably linked to orthodox Christianity that it’s hard to make a distinction between questioning them and questioning God himself. (I know, because I’ve struggled a lot with that myself.)

What I don’t want to be is the kind of stumbling block that so severely cripples a brother or sister in their journey with God that they can’t continue to move forward. Doubt can be immeasurably beneficial when it inspires us to embrace a more examined faith, but it can be incredibly destructive when it tempts us to quit or disobey.

In my desire to challenge what I believe are false fundamentals, I must be careful of creating false fundamentals of my own.  I’ve got to be wary of growing so big and obtrusive and unyielding that those who fall over me have no safe place to land.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that if I must be a stumbling block, let me be the kind that moves—out of the way when I might hurt, in the way when I might help, and down new and uncharted paths when it’s time to learn something new.

In what ways do you hope to be a stumbling block in the path of bad ideas? How can you avoid crippling others in their faith while doing so? I really look forward to your response on this one!

(Photo by Horizon2023)

Being Skeptical Without Being Cynical

“…Be shrewd as serpents and innocent as doves.” (Matthew 10:16)

I am a skeptic. 

I ask a lot of questions. I think critically. I challenge assumptions. I don’t just believe what I am told.

And for the most part, I like this about myself. My skepticism has saved me from poor decisions, from bad relationships, from an unexamined faith, and from an unexamined life.  It has inspired me to explore new ideas and learn new things.  It has challenged me to grow and evolve and adapt to change. It has made me a wiser, more thoughtful person. It's kept me from joining cults and buying time shares.

Unfortunately, I’m a skeptic with a bad habit of indulging in cynicism.

Like a drug, cynicism numbs the pain brought on by my skepticism.  It prevents me from getting hurt by not letting anyone in. It prevents me from being disappointed by leaving no room for hope. It prevents me from humiliation by making me tough and cold and preemptively critical.

Cynicism is the drug of choice for most skeptics because being cynical is so much easier than being vulnerable.

It’s easy to be naïve.

It’s easy to be cynical.

It’s hard to embrace the vulnerability of living in the tension between skepticism and hope.

It’s hard because it means being wrong sometimes, being hurt sometimes, and being a target for criticism all the time.

An example:  

Growing up I learned that the biblical creation narrative is meant to be a scientific explanation for how the world came to be, that the earth is 6,000 years old, and that evolutionary theory is a bogus idea invented by godless scientists. I have since become skeptical of that position in light of the overwhelming scientific evidence in support of evolutionary theory.

A naïve response would be to ignore the scientific data and just pretend it is not in conflict with the faith of my youth. A cynical response would be to categorize all conservative evangelicals as ignorant fundamentalist and completely close myself off to their input and ideas.  A wise response would be to study the issue with integrity, diligence, and the hope that if all truth is God’s truth, I have nothing to fear.

This puts me in a more vulnerable position because 1) it exposes me to the criticisms of people on both sides of the debate, 2) it could lead to serious disappointment, should I find that my intellectual integrity and my faith are indeed incompatible, and 3) it leaves me in the awkward position of being uncertain, undecided, and maybe even a little confused for a while.

But I’m convinced that if I can learn to be skeptical without being cynical, I will reap all the surprising benefits of true vulnerability—authentic friendships, authentic faith, and authentic hope.

It just might sting a little along the way.

Are you a skeptic? How do resist the intoxicating lure of cynicism? Is skepticism compatible with faith?

Embracing Doubt

So Jason Boyett and I have been talking about the fact that we’re not the only ones writing about doubt these days. In addition to Jason’s memoir, O Me of Little Faith (due out in May), and my memoir, Evolving in Monkey Town (due out in July), Zondervan has re-released John Ortberg’s book on the subject, now entitled Know Doubt.

Either the folks at Zondervan are having a collective faith crisis, or the evangelical community is finally opening up about doubt.

On the blogosphere this week, Scot McKnight posted a letter from a young adult wrestling with doubts about his faith. Scot’s response was absolutely fantastic, and something I desperately wish I had encountered five years ago, when I first started asking serious questions about Christianity.  He recommended a few books that I plan to order on my oh-so-old-school Kindle: The Myth of Certainty by Daniel Taylor and Faith at the Edge by Robert Wennberg.

Also online, check out John Frye’s piece entitled “Doubters Arise!” and the very cool illustrations of David Hayward at NakedPastor.com, from where I got the illustration above, (after buying David a beer, of course). 

And finally, I thought the conversation that followed Monday's post, "Does God Speak to You?" was one of the best we have ever had here, and I was so moved by your stories, many of which included your struggles with doubt.

All of this points to what I hope is a trend toward talking more openly about doubt and acknowledging the vital role it can play in shaping our faith. As I’ve mentioned before, doubt can take two forms—questioning God and questioning what we believe about God. Having experienced both, I know that the first can be destructive, while the second can be enriching and beneficial, though admittedly the line between them can sometimes get blurred.  But I remain convinced that serious doubt, the kind that leads to despair, does not begin when we start asking God questions, but when out of fear, we stop.

What do you think? Are Christians developing a more nuanced attitude toward doubt? Do you feel it is becoming less  taboo to talk openly about your questions about Christianity? Is this a good thing?

Dear John, Why do you find it so easy to believe?

Since cutting our cable, Dan and I have been feeding our Lost addiction via Netflix— re-watching every episode of the series in preparation for the big finale this spring.

[Note: If you have theories regarding polar bears, the Dharma Initiative, or time-travel, please bring them to another forum so that I won’t be tempted to spend the rest of the day debating predestination and free will, island-style.]

Anyway, one of my favorite scenes in Lost history occurs down in the hatch, between John and Jack. 

Arguing about whether or not to press the infamous button on faith alone, John demands, “Why do you find it so hard to believe?” to which Jack furiously responds “Why do you find it so easy?”

It’s a classic moment in Lost history because it perfectly encapsulates John and Jack’s characters, and because it points to a predicament to which we can all relate: Some of us really struggle to accept things on faith, while others seem to find it easy.  And occasionally we get on one another’s nerves.

For example, I relate more to Jack in the sense that I’m a skeptic. I think critically, challenge authority, and ask tough questions about my faith. Many of my friends,on the other hand, rarely wrestle with doubts about Christianity, and can’t seem to understand why I would.

“Why do you find it so hard to believe?” they ask.

“Why do you find it so easy?” I want to shout.

There are several reasons why their confidence bothers me. 

First of all, deep down I’m jealous of the fact that they don’t lie awake at night worrying if everything they’ve been taught is a lie, if God is good, or if He exists. I hate to admit it, but I envy their certainty and serenity.

Second, I’m perplexed because the things that move me to ask questions—disasters like the one in Haiti, religious pluralism, heaven and hell, science, poverty, injustice—don’t seem to bother them like they bother me, and I wonder if it’s because they are less compassionate or less intelligent than me.  I wonder sometimes if they are in denial, if they’ve checked their brains and their hearts at the door in the name of blind obedience and easy peace.

And third, there’s that nagging fear that the John Lockes of this world relish in the opportunity to judge me for my lack of faith.  We all have the tendency to return judgment with judgment, so the moment I feel vulnerable to attack, I put on the armor of resentment and pride and inform my perceived enemies that they’ve got it all wrong, that my faith is actually stronger than theirs because it can stand the test of scrutiny while theirs remains weak and unchallenged.

Clearly, my frustration with those who find it easy to believe has more to do with my own insecurities and fears than it does with them.

Perhaps this goes both ways. Perhaps the John Lockes of this world don’t find it as easy to believe as I think, and they get frustrated with me because my questions don’t make it any easier.

After all, John ends the conversation with, “It’s never been easy.”

So, to whom do you relate the most—Jack or John? Do you find yourself frustrated with the people who find it hard to believe or frustrated with the people who find it easy?

Interview with Jason Boyett about doubt...and pantaloons

Jason Boyett is one of my favorite bloggers. Author of the Pocket Guide series, he has a disarming sense of humor and fluid, easy style.  So you can imagine my delight when I learned that Jason has written a book about his experience with religious doubt, which will be published by Zondervan in the summer of 2010. (Sound familiar?)

Entitled O Me of Little Faith, the book opens with this:

I am a Christian. I have been a Christian for most of my life. But there are times--a growing number of times, to be honest--when I’m not entirely sure I believe in God.

There. I said it.

So now you know, and we can both relax and talk about it.

I love it! Seeing as we have so much in common, I thought I’d interview Jason as a way of introducing him to you.  Enjoy!

R: So the shirtless kid on the cover of O Me of Little Faith is by far the cutest character to grace the cover of any of your books. (I’d put the haloed fellow from Pocket Guide to Sainthood at a very distant second.) In what ways do you identify with this little boy? How is he a good representation of your own faith journey? Or is this just your way of telling the world that you too wear bandages over your nipples?

J: What about the scampering skeleton from Pocket Guide to the Apocalypse? He's not traditionally "cute," but he really grows on you. Regarding the little boy on the cover, I can't speak on behalf of the nipple bandages. That's one of those deep metaphors we'll all still be trying to unpack years from now. But here's how I identify with him right now: the kid is skinny. He has no muscular tone. He is as unripped as they come. But look at him pose! Look at the confidence! This kid is scrawny but shirtless and flexing. He's not worried about what anyone thinks of his lack of muscle.

In O Me of Little Faith, I tell a story from my junior high days that highlights my own physical scrawniness. I was a skinny, wimpy kid. The rest of the book fills in how that physical weakness also had a spiritual counterpart -- I was spiritually weak, too. Unmuscular when it comes to faith (I'm still that way). But the book is about how I'm learning to be OK with my lack of faith, and how I've begun to embrace doubt as an intrinsic part of my spirituality. Like the scrawny kid on the cover, this book is me taking off my shirt and showing my scrawniness to the world. Without fear or worry or pretension. Without hiding my doubt. The apostle Paul wrote about the value of boasting about his weaknesses in order to magnify God's grace. This book is my way of doing that.

How is O Me of Little Faith different from any other book you have written?

It's way, way, way more personal than anything I've written. Up to this point, the books I've written have been advicey books (Guy's Guide to Life) or snarky history/theology books (the Pocket Guides). In them, I could adopt a voice or persona and write from behind that mask. The Pocket Guide persona, especially, is an artificial one. He's sarcastic, supremely confident, and unafraid of stepping on toes. That's not really me. (Not that I'm not claiming responsibility for those books. Of course they're mine. They have my name on them! It's just that I sort of adopt a different writing voice for them in order to keep them entertaining and funny. It's...complicated.)

Anyway, my previous books have been about various subjects. The afterlife. The apocalypse. But the subject of OMOLF is...me. There's no hiding behind any persona. So in many ways it was refreshing to write because I could just spill myself out onto the page. But in other ways it was a little painful. I wanted to be transparent and honest as I wrote about my spiritual doubt, which meant taking risks and removing filters. That's kinda scary.

Why do you think it is important for Christians to talk openly about their doubts?

The first reason is because doubt is a necessary part of faith. We tend to think that faith and doubt are opposites, but they're not. The opposite of faith isn't doubt. The opposite of faith is certainty. If we are certain of something, we don't need faith. Faith and doubt, then, exist side by side -- and that plays itself out all over the Bible ("Lord I believe! Help me overcome my unbelief.").

But -- reason #2 -- doubt is about as taboo a subject as you can bring up in church. When was the last time anyone in a small group or church service admitted to not knowing if he or she believed in God? Or wondering if God was really present at all, or good? I've honestly had readers tell me that they'd love to read my book, but worry about what their friends or family might think when they see them reading a book about doubt. It sounds flippant, but maybe they should hide my book behind a Playboy. It's more acceptable to be a Christian with a porn problem than a Christian with a doubt problem. That's horrible. I want doubters to know that they're not alone in the journey, and that it's OK. That they don't have to pretend to have it all together. That they don't have to fake it. I hope this book gives them the freedom to be honest, and the encouragement to continue pursuing God, however that might look.

As you’ve opened up about your own doubts, have you found yourself meeting other folks who are eager to talk about theirs? What have you learned from them? Have you picked up on any common themes?

I've learned that being open about your doubts makes you a magnet for other doubters, which is wonderful. I've had a lot of people, whether in person or via email, tell me that they, too, are doubters -- because suddenly you're a safe person to confide in. And yes, people are eager to talk about it. Doubt is one of those things we bottle up. When you do that for years and years, the pressure gets too intense. It's good to let that pressure out, and talking to someone who 1) can identify with you and 2) won't judge you for it provides an excellent release valve. We need that. I need that.

One theme I've discovered is that, despite the wealth of Christian apologetics resources and Lee Strobel books and how-to-convince-atheists-to-love-Jesus videos, the usual answers don't always cut it. "You should read your Bible more. You need to pray more. You need to look at this cross-shaped diagram of a laminin protein and then you'll no longer doubt God." Seriously, we've heard the answers and not only are they often intellectually insufficient, but they're patronizing. Those who don't struggle with doubt tend to blame our uncertainty on pride or arrogance before God or some kind of sinfulness. As if we are looking for reasons to doubt because we want license to sin or escape the restrictions of Christianity. That's rarely the case. I don't WANT to be a doubter, but I am. Just like you can't unring a bell, you can't will yourself to believe something. Faith is a process, it's not a switch. The super-certain super-faithful seem not to understand that.

Are there certain situations/questions/theological positions/ people on TBN that trigger your doubts? Do you find that it is best to avoid such situations/questions/theological positions/people on TBN or to confront and explore the doubts that they trigger?

Yes. My triggers are science and history. Definitely not people on TBN.

Let me chase a rabbit when it comes to basing your belief or unbelief on people: Not believing in God because of hypocrites or weird Christians is, to be blunt, a stupid reason to become an atheist. You might as well dismiss the idea of democracy because you know some ugly Americans. But choosing atheism because science or biology or rational thought leads you in that direction? That makes perfect sense to me. I'm not there, of course, but I can understand it. The more we're able to explain human behavior in terms of molecular genetics or brain activity or biological function -- absent a Creator -- then the more questions I have about what I believe, and why. The same goes for biblical criticism. A historical-critical reading of the Bible shows the fingerprints of man on it, and that makes it difficult to trust what I'm reading. That's how my brain works. I can't just automatically ignore science or scholarship because it doesn't line up with my Christian worldview. That's intellectually dishonest.

Along the same lines, I don't think it's healthy for me to avoid outside criticism because it seems to conflict with my faith. Christianity is supposed to be a religion committed to truth -- Jesus described himself as Truth -- so it needs to be able to stand up to honest questioning. I can't stick my head in the sand and pretend those questions don't exist. Besides, I love science. I love history. I love learning about the Bible. To steer away from those because they might conflict with what I'm struggling to believe isn't just a bad way to practice Christianity. It's a bad way to be a human.

One reason I find myself returning to your blog so often is I like how you don’t take yourself too seriously. How can a healthy sense of humor help in times of doubt?

Good question. I've never thought about that. I guess if I can keep laughing, then it distracts me from the weeping? (Kidding.) Humor is definitely a coping mechanism, but I'm also a big believer that it's a way to get at truth. Anything worth taking seriously is worth laughing about, and faith is the same way. But as a sometime humorist, I've learned that the least confrontational and most humble way to ask hard questions -- especially about religion -- is to ask them of yourself. I have a lot of trouble requiring others to keep to do certain things or hold to certain standards that I'm not willing to hold myself, so in the places where I don't measure up, I don't have any trouble admitting it. And there's the whole honesty and transparency aspect of it, too, which I'm big on.

How does humor help? It would be so easy, as a Christian, to fall into despair when the doubts take hold. But it's not like becoming depressed about it helps that much. Moping just compounds the problem. And since it's impossible to hide it from God and unhealthy to hide it from others, why not talk about it? Why not laugh about it? If you can't be certain, at least you can try to be joyful. It's better to go through life with more joy than sorrow. I'm sure about that.

And now, (because I feel a bit like James Lipton), a few short questions from the Pivot Questionnaire:

What is your favorite word?

"Slake." It is an awesome word, and I've loved it my whole life, but I can't put my finger on exactly why. In 2nd place is the word "pantaloon," for obvious reasons.
 
What is your least favorite word?

Phlegm.
 
What turns you on creatively, spiritually, or emotionally?

The future. Thinking where I want to be, who I want to be, who I want my kids to be. Those things drive me forward in my career, in my creative life, in my imagination, and in my faith.
 
What turns you off?

Arrogance and ignorance. Combine those two and I become inwardly violent. (Outwardly, though, I will become exceedingly polite to you in an attempt to hide my desire to punch you in the mouth.)
 
What is your favorite curse word?

Honestly, I rarely curse. As a very clean-cut kid, I just never got into the habit growing up. Occasionally, for unknown reasons, I have found myself saying "Yamaguchi!" when I hit my thumb with a hammer or burn a finger. Yes, Yamaguchi. As in the last name of the Japanese-American figure skater, Kristi Yamaguchi. It's a good stress-relieving word that can be said through clenched teeth. My apologies to Ms. Yamaguchi for using her last name in vain. I have just outed myself as a total weirdo, haven't I?

I also think "dagnabbit" is a hilarious pseudo-curse word, especially coming from someone not wearing an oversized cowboy hat.

What sound or noise do you love?

The quiet crunch of walking on snow in the woods. There is no better sound than the muffled silence of footsteps right after a snowfall.

What sound or noise do you hate?

The sound of clicking jaw when a person chews. Gives me the heebie-jeebies.
 
What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?

I have always said that if I won the lottery and had millions of dollars I would still want a job doing something every day, even if it involved being a custodian. I could sweep floors and empty the trash and stack chairs all day. I seriously could. That said, I'd love to try my hand at being a flyfishing guide, a professional adventure racer, a backpacking gear tester, or a television/film actor. (I think acting would be fun, but who wants to live in Los Angeles? Not me.)
 
What profession would you not like to do?

There is no way on earth I could be a surgeon. Not because of the ickiness, but because of the pressure. Having someone's life (or liver) in your hands? Not for me, thanks.

If heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?

I think it's wonderful, first of all, that you start the question "If heaven exists," because lots of people will think you can hardly be a Christian at all just for including that clause. I love it. To answer the question: I'm of the opinion that, if heaven exists, there probably aren't literal gates. And there's no "arriving" there as if you have to be let in. And if St. Peter really is the bouncer, then I will eat his halo.

But, if that's what happens, then I'd love to arrive and hear God say, "Jason, you sure did have a lot of questions...and a lot of dissatisfaction with the answers. But that's how I made you, so no worries. You have been faithful with a few things, and I took care of the rest. It's on me. Now, please enjoy these chocolate-chip cookies. They're just as heavenly as your wife's, but so much healthier here!"

Jason blogs at http://blog.jasonboyett.com. You can read more about O Me of Little Faith at the Zondervan website, or you can pre-order it right this very moment at Amazon.

***

What do you think? Will doubt become a less taboo subject among Christians as more and more writers confront it?