Living with Hope in the Shadow of Easter: Faith, Fears, and a Way Forward

In the last post, I very briefly discussed some of the historical and scientific reasons I have for believing in God. My primary intention in doing so wasn't to put forth a full rational defense of Christianity. Of course, I would be thrilled if one or two people read that post and are inspired to do some deep thinking about the existence of the Christian God. Mainly, though, I wanted to use my writing to reflect on the role that those arguments played in my recent crisis of faith. At the height of that struggle a few months ago, I reached a point where I nearly convinced myself that I would never have enough certainty to legitimately believe in God without sacrificing my intellect and engaging in a large, psychologically-driven leap of faith. I felt that if I didn't have scientific or historical proof, then I would never be able to believe in God as I once had. 

Within the framework of those hyper-critical criteria that I was imposing upon myself, faith was something that took over when real evidence was insufficient. This definition of faith as “blind,” as shirking evidence or even being antithetical to it, continues to be the prevailing one in the minds of many close-minded Christians. I think it is also the definition that is most frequently assumed by opponents of religion. But the more I thought about it and exposed myself to various contemporary conceptions of faith, the more I came to find the following succinct definition to be what it can and perhaps should mean for believers: “Faith is trusting, holding to, and acting on what one has good reason to believe is true in the face of difficulties.” (Philosopher Tim McGrew, during a debate on my favorite podcast, Unbelievable) 

Implicit in McGrew's definition is the fact that there will always be a gap between strong probability and absolute intellectual certainty when it comes to belief in God. But we can have good reasons to trust that a loving god exists, and those reasons can hold their own against the difficulties posed by the impossibility of “proving” God. Faith does not need to be blind, and leaps of faith can be narrowed by exploring the claims of Christianity via scientific, historical, and philosophical inquiry. While I think caution must be exercised in evaluating experiential evidence, believers should also be open to the inner dimensions of spirituality, of the ways in which God may be working for good in their lives and those of others. 

Although faith is based on evidence, this does not mean that conversations can't be had over the nature and validity of the evidence that theists offer as justification for their faith. For some people, only things that can be hypothesized, tested, and proved have any business being a part of how we structure our lives. But life is about more than cold, hard science. It is about emotion as much as “objective” observation; about art and language and creative expression as much as scientific discoveries. Some of the most important aspects of life simply cannot be known with absolute certainty; nor do they need to be. (Note:  From my extremely limited knowledge of it, it seems to me that the pursuit of science itself belies its popular perception as "cold" and objective, and that it often shares elements of uncertainty and speculation, particularly in matters of quantum theory.) We don't need absolute proof to know that our families and close friends love us and want the best for us. We may choose to trust one person rather than another due to evidence, but what it really comes down to is having faith in those people in spite of the risks and possibilities of disappointment that relationships often entail. At its best, my faith in God is not a set of heady doctrines or rules or worship practices. It is a relationship with someone who, despite His non-corporeality, I think I have good reason to have belief and confidence in.

In spite of my new conception of faith, part of me continues to fear that a healthy skepticism and desire for evidence will grow to the point where I will need absolute proof to believe in anything. I'm afraid that I will continue to agonize over the existence of the Christian God. And perhaps most of all, I'm afraid that a life of faith and hope will be a baseless one. I'm afraid that I'm wrong, that I'm fooling myself, that there actually is no transcendent purpose or meaning, that we're here for this brief roller coaster of life and then simply gone. There is no loving god, no risen Christ, no rescue mission, no future redemption of our bodies and of the world.

These fears helped to make clear for me that doubt, like faith, can have a very strong emotional component. In my case, intense negative emotions were creeping below the surface of what I thought was an intellectual struggle, and were at times succeeding in convincing me that lack of evidence for the claims of Jesus' resurrection was the main reason for my doubts about God. I of course recognized the fact that my only crisis of doubt as an adult Christian took place in the months proceeding my mom's death. But as recently as my composition of the second post in this series, I didn't see how intertwined my search for certainty and evidence were with the devastation I felt from my personal loss.

Reading a book by Gary Habermas (strangely enough, the scholar on the resurrection mentioned in the previous post) about spiritual doubt was eye-opening for me because he and CS Lewis were able to express the connection so simply and practically. Habermas, quoting CS Lewis:  "Our faith in Christ wavers not so much when real arguments come against it as when it looks improbable--when the whole world takes on that desolate look which really tells us much more about the state of our passions...than about reality." As I believe was true in my case, Lewis further points out the masking of emotional doubt under the guise of a rational exercise:  "But everyone must have experienced days in which we are caught up in a great wave of confidence or down into a trough of anxiety though there are no new grounds either for the one or the other. Of course, once the mood is on us, we find reasons soon enough. We say that we've been 'thinking it over': but it is pretty plain that the mood has created the reasons and not vice versa."

This is not to say that doubt can't be based primarily on a perceived lack of evidence, that there are no sound arguments against the existence of the Christian God, or that Christians should conceive of rational inquiry as inherently harmful to faith. But as the weeks passed and I continued to agonize and seek higher and higher degrees of certainty, I realized that this crisis of faith was fundamentally different than my usual excited resolve to study and think about reality and spiritual truth. This was panicked and hurried, a desperate search for unequivocal assurance that seemed to demand greater proof the more evidence for God that I encountered. And I knew I couldn't go on that way, that I had to choose between a life of hope and one of futility.

Over the last several weeks, I have come to propose a plan for myself that actively considers in equal measure proof and trust, “hard” evidence and experiential, rationality and emotion. It is a middle way between the extremes of evidentialism and fideism, between only allowing evidence as justification for belief on the one hand, and on the other maintaining that spiritual faith and revelation are independent of and superior to reason when it comes to discerning the truth. It is a way forward to someone for whom a strict dichotomy between head and heart has never been an option when making decisions about life. It is a way that rejects claims that the only valid epistemology (the study of how we know things) is one that complements a reductionist view of spirituality, morality, the search for meaning and purpose, and emotions like compassion and love, as products of indifferent processes of physics, biology, and chemistry. It is love for God and for others that I hope will drive me throughout my life, a love that will form the new center of my personal epistemology, a love supported by reason but that also allows me to believe without having seen God with my own two eyes.

In the coming months, I will attempt to embrace this love and this plan with all I have, abiding by this mantra that I formulated for myself:  "If you believe, then believe. Let it transform the way you think and feel. Live in God's hope, and allow His love to be your armor, your shield, and your sword." At the same time, I will continue to be receptive to arguments against God's existence, and to seek out the truth the best I can. But there will be no more wavering, no more agonizing and intense conflict. If after those months, I have no choice but to conclude that I had been engaging in cognitive dissonance, and that reality decisively points toward the lack of a supreme being, then I like to think I will have the courage to abandon my spiritual beliefs. 

But I pray this won't happen, nor do I think it will. For me, a life without God is one devoid of hope and meaning. It is one in which I can't imagine waking up in the morning with any sense of purpose, since anything I do will ultimately be for nothing. And a world without God means that there is no chance that I will ever see my mom again, that all I will ever have of her are fleeting memories, and that the same will eventually apply to more of my friends and family. (I'm aware of how grim a vision this is, but I think it's an accurate forecast of what a godless future would be like for me.) If I live as if God exists, then life will be frustrating and even tragic at times. Bad things will occasionally happen to me and to the people I care about. But meaning and love and hope that all good things can be restored will underlie it all. And I can believe that my mom is out there somewhere, resting with God, truly happy besides her concern for those of us whom she left behind. For myself, for my own happiness, I have no other option than to give a continued relationship with God a chance, to immerse myself in that hopeful perspective of life and share it with others. Is it possible that one day I will determine that hope and love are just a lie? Sure, it's possible. But I doubt it.

I wrote this series of posts on my faith crisis, as opposed to keeping my fears in and resigning myself to unbelief, because I feel deep down that God isn't going to let me out of His grasp. I wrote this to reassure myself that I can rationally believe in Him and the miracle of His Son's life, resurrection, and second coming. I wrote it to remind myself and others of the kind of life that I can have with Him, and of the experiences we've already shared together. Finally, I wrote it to let my readers know that they are not alone when the events in their lives seem to contradict the existence of a loving god. In spite of the difficulties and emotional turmoil, we can hold onto hope. We can hold onto the faith that changed our lives for the better, though we shouldn't be afraid of that faith maturing and developing by challenging it. While I may have periods of struggling with issues of science and philosophy and history, part of me knows that Christ will never leave me. I'm invested in him. I'm all in. And I think I have good reason to be.

Just as I was writing the last paragraph of this post,

a beautiful sun shower began. Of course, I had to take a shot of it.

Living with Hope in the Shadow of Easter: A Rational Case for Continued Faith

“I'm pretty surprised, to be honest. I always remembered you being smart back in school.” It wasn't quite the reaction I was expecting from a high school friend at our 10-year reunion, upon hearing about my decision to go to seminary and become a pastor. But I wasn't shocked by it, either. In a lot of people's minds, and especially among my fellow generation of New Jerseyians, faith in religion (especially of the organized varieties) is something that you grow out of when you start thinking for yourself in college. Christianity seems ridiculous, irrational, and immoral to many people nowadays. It's considered a remnant of pre-modern myths and the gullible ancients who believed in them. Many are convinced that belief in a creator god will fade away as we learn more and more about science and the way the world really works, apart from any involvement of the supernatural. Being “smart” means realizing that we don't need god anymore and letting go of all those old, constrictive superstitions.

I tend not to get rattled or offended by comments like this, nor do I think my friend intended it to be combative or condescending. I remember civilly continuing the discussion for a few minutes, trying to explain why I believe in God while struggling to be heard over the loud music and voices around us. As you could imagine, he remained skeptical, not only about the existence of the Christian God, but also about my reasons for choosing to set off on a career/life path in the Church. 

I occasionally wonder what conversations at my next reunion will be like. In addition to reminisces about high school, news about spouses and kids, comments on the food, or complaints about the poor beer selection at the open bar, what will I have to say about my spirituality? If friends ask about how my career plans turned out, will I tell them that I eventually lost faith and changed my mind about God? Will I tell them that the main reason for doing so were the outrageous claims of the New Testament about resurrection, claims that went against science and common sense? Will I confide with my closer friends that I look back at my years of faith in a supreme being with something verging on regret and pity for the delusional person I was? Or will I tell them that I fought through this period of doubt and came out on the other side with an even stronger faith and sense of purpose than before? Will I tell them that I don't feel like I need to make a choice between belief in the Christian God and my intellectual integrity? Even on the days when my doubts are most overwhelming, I continue to feel deep down that there are very good reasons for me to have faith, and to live in hope in the shadow of Easter.

After reading and thinking about dozens of arguments for and against the existence of a creator god and the Resurrection of Jesus, the intellectual plausibility of the Christian God continues to be one of those reasons. For years, the main weight of my evidential belief in God has rested on the historical arguments for the extraordinary life and Resurrection of Jesus. When it comes to ancient history, we can never have absolute certainty that an event took place. What we can do, however, is look at the facts and try to identify the most probable explanation for them. Across the board and irrespective of their religious beliefs, scholars have acknowledged three facts relevant to this topic as more or less indisputable:  that Jesus was crucified and died; that his disciples believed that he rose and appeared to them; and that Saul of Tarsus underwent a drastic transformation, from Church persecutor to fervent propagator of the faith. One could also add two facts possessing slightly less scholarly consensus (but which, in my mind, are equally well-established):  that James, the half-brother of Jesus, had a similar transformation to Paul's; and that Jesus' tomb was found empty by some of his female followers on that first Easter morning. 

Gary Habermas, whose academic career has focussed on the historicity of the Resurrection, asserts that a careful consideration of these rarely-disputed facts alone can establish the Resurrection as a historically probable event. His “minimal facts approach,” as he calls it, has played an integral role in my search to determine whether it is at all reasonable to believe that Jesus was raised and physically appeared to his disciples. (Although I've highlighted Habermas, the writings of my favorite scholar, NT Wright, on the subject have been crucial for me as well.) In spite of the strong case for it, of course, alternative explanations continue to abound:  claims of hallucinations and visions (perceived by both individuals and groups), lying disciples, the lies or delusions of Paul (despite the fact that he had everything to lose by becoming a leader of the Christian movement), the idea that a severely-beaten Jesus narrowly escaped death and somehow convinced his disciples that he had risen in glory, etc. Hours of ruminating on these and other explanations have led me to conclude that they lack logical and historical credibility. Only by importing assumptions about the non-existence of God or the impossibility of miracles can one refute that the Resurrection is the best explanation. 

Thus, non-Christian historians and philosophers must simply shrug their shoulders and say, “I have no idea what happened, but anything is more plausible than believing that God exists and raised someone from the dead. Besides, I don't think historical method can even inquire into a so-called miracle.” It strikes me, though, that the Christian faith has the potential to be supported or verified by historical method more than any other religious system. After all, Jesus' ministry, death, and resurrection appearances were publicly observable events. Regardless of one's opinions on miracles, the risen Christ was either physically seen by his disciples, his enemy Paul, and his skeptic brother, or he wasn't. I believe that the New Testament writings possess enough value as historical documents to establish that he probably was. That is, as long as you don't a priori assert the impossibility of a loving god who wished to usher in His renewed creation through the vindication of His Son.

Several weeks ago, I began to research the scientific and philosophical arguments for the existence of such a creator god as a supplement to my historical inquiries. I did so out of a desperate hope that it would bolster my wavering faith. I thought that if I only had enough rational reasons for belief, and if I only could be absolutely certain about it being the truth, perhaps my doubts could be permanently dispelled. Looking into subjects that I never would have researched otherwise, such as cosmogony, intelligent design, quantum theory, the human mind, and teleology, my faith has been enriched by the knowledge that trends in contemporary science can be decently argued to complement the concept of a creator god and an ultimate consciousness. At the very least, science does not preclude the possibility of a supreme being. 

But in all the hours of reading about these topics and solidifying the historical case for the Resurrection, and amidst the emotional turmoil that accompanied much of that time, I never reached my initial goal of attaining to an absolute intellectual certainty in the truth of Christianity. At a certain point, I had to admit that there will always be a chance that I am fooling myself by believing in God. My fervent attempts to place myself in a world that holds purpose and transcendent beauty could be a sort of grasping at existential straws, seeking out patterns and meaning where there are none to be found. Luckily, my grapplings with spirituality didn't end at those conclusions. Instead, along with the realization that rational certainty will probably always allude me came fresh perspectives on faith, doubt, and epistemology (the study of how we know things). Perhaps more importantly, I began to develop strategies and chart a path forward that I believe will allow me to live a life of hope rather than despair. 

(Note:  The issues associated with the Resurrection deserve a lot more attention, but this blog article would have gone on much longer if I had allowed myself to flesh out all the facts. For more arguments for the Resurrection and refutations of counter-explanations, I would highly recommend The Case for the Resurrection of Jesus by Gary Habermas and Mike Licona, The Resurrection of the Son of God by NT Wright, and a compact book by William Lane Craig called Did Jesus Rise from the Dead? For some of the scientific and philosophical topics, check out Reasonable Faith by William Lane Craig, The Big Questions in Science and Religion by Keith Ward, and Science and Religion: An Introduction by Alister McGrath. All of these books are written by Christians. It is, of course, a good idea to read arguments from both sides, but these books are a good start for those who are curious. There are also dozens of public debates by these and other thinkers that can be accessed on YouTube.)

Holidays and Freedom

This 4th of July, millions of Americans will celebrate our independence from Britain by relaxing and having barbecues and fireworks. For me and my coworkers at Ringwood State Park, though, it's the busiest day of the year. Hundreds of people come to the park to swim, grill, and attend our annual re-enacted reading of the Declaration of Independence. We try to make it as interactive as we can, encouraging the crowds to boo when the King of England, colonial taxes, or other abuses are mentioned, and to cheer during the proclamations that the colonists were no longer willing to put up with English rule. After the reading, there are games and activities for kids and adults, along with the obligatory free watermelon. The whole event tends to rouse a lot of patriotic feelings in our visitors. 

National holidays, whether in the US or around the world, are more important than we often consider them to be. As much as I love a good cheeseburger and hotdog on the grill, holidays aren't just ideal opportunities to gorge on food. They're actually vital expressions of a country's identity. Holidays act as a main way for us to tell stories about ourselves as a people, about our history and values and the things that matter to us. The story of the 4th of July is probably more powerful than any other American holiday. It's a story of freedom, of deliverance from tyranny, of successfully standing up to fight for our rights. Celebrating these holidays, and especially re-enacting Revolutionary War battles and reading the Declaration of Independence aloud to a crowd, doesn't only tell us about our country's past. Holidays make a statement about who we are today, and who we would like to be in the future. 

I believe this principle holds true even for some ancient peoples, and particularly for 1st century Jews living in Palestine. They longed for freedom. For centuries, they had been ruled by various pagan powers, culminating in the despotic Romans and a “king,” Herod, who only served his own interests and those of his Roman overlords. They weren't even in control over their Temple, the center of their faith, which had recently been adorned with statues of eagles in spite of the strict biblical commandments against graven images. At face value, there seemed to be little chance for positive change. 

And yet, each year they continued to gather in Jerusalem for the major holidays. By celebrating holidays like Passover, Sukkot (the Feast of Tabernacles), and Shavuot (Pentecost), they recounted how God had saved them from slavery in Egypt, steadfastly guided their rebellious ancestors in the Wilderness, and given Moses the Law on Mount Sinai. They made those events alive again through the retelling of them, making certain that their children knew about the redeeming ways that God had acted within the history of the Jewish people. This was done not only for the sake of remembering these events and being grateful to God, but in order to renew their hope that God, perhaps through His chosen messiah, would rescue them once more. In addition to these holidays, Jews continued to keep the weekly sabbath and attempted to observe Jubilee years. Jubilees were designated once every fifty years, during which slaves and prisoners should be freed and debts be forgiven. It was, according to the book of Leviticus, a time when liberty should be proclaimed throughout all the land and to all its inhabitants. (25:10) By celebrating and observing these holy days, 1st century Jews were marking time as a people and praying for the time that God would decisively step into history, free them from the pagan Roman army, restore Jewish sovereignty over the promised land, and give them and the land the rest from warfare and oppression that they yearned for. 

When God finally did step into history, He did so not at the head of a powerful army ready to drive out the Romans, but as a Jewish man humbly riding into Jerusalem on a donkey. During the last week of his earthly life, Jesus showed another way to remember and re-enact the Passover. He revealed that the Jews indeed needed to be saved, but not from whatever pagan empire was ruling Palestine at the time. Rather, he taught that the true enemies of God's people were the forces of evil and death that lurked behind the cruelty of the Romans, and that also ruled within the hearts of men. 

In his life, death, and resurrection, Jesus embodied the true fulfillment of all those Jewish holidays. He provided a New Exodus from those in slavery to the “Egypt” of sin and death. He declared a grand Jubilee through his ministry, proclaiming good news to the poor, freedom for the prisoners, and recovery of sight for the blind. (Luke 4:18, based on Isaiah 61:1-2) He ensured that God's people would be given the Holy Spirit as a guide for the Wilderness of our lives, and in order to enable us to obey his Law of love. The story that the Bible tells about Jesus is every bit about freedom and independence as the 4th of July is. So, as you're barbecuing and enjoying the fireworks, try to think about what God may be calling you to ask for freedom from. Whether it's anger or jealousy, a bad temper or arrogance, worry or fear, have faith that God has provided us with a way to be independent from all of these things and more by sending His Son to Earth for our sake.