A confession. Of sorts... I have never seriously doubted my God.
Why is that a confession? Because I know people who say, "If you've never seriously doubted, you've never truly believed." I know people who say, "In order to really understand your faith, you need to take it apart and see if you can put it back together again."
Which is a whole other conversation for another day. Not going there today.
I don't know why I've never really doubted or deconstructed, but honey, I. Do. Believe.
I believe that God exists. (Bear with me, this is going somewhere.) That God came to earth in the person of Jesus who we title Christ. That he died to give us life. That that life continues on into eternity. That I am a soul in a body, and a body with a soul. That I am part of a family beyond the one that gave me physical existence. That I choose to, as I am able, receive or refuse the gifts that God offers. I believe that, when I talk to God, God listens.
And if I ever do seriously doubt, it's that last one that will get me.
With a few agnostic and atheist exceptions, people I've got to know who live on the ragged edge are people of faith. They believe that God exists. They believe that, in some way, God will make things right in the end.
It's just the part right now where He seems to be dropping the ball.
I personally know people who have prayed for this or that, and their prayer has been answered clearly, materially, quickly. Healing, housing, employment, transportation. Specific answers to specific requests. I know it happens, so when I offer to pray with someone at the Encampment or on the street for something specific, I do that with faith. Faith that I am heard, faith that the answer can come.
But...
I've also offered to pray with people for housing, for recovery, for deliverance from addiction, for family reconciliation, and been told, "No thanks. I tried that. It didn't work."
To which I can only reply, "I'm sorry."
I get it. I've prayed for healing for people I love, and they died. I've prayed for open doors for people I love, and the doors stay closed. As a pastor, I pray each week for God to move our governments to acts of compassion, justice, and peace. Still waiting. I pray for the softening of hearts, the restoration of bodies, the health of minds. Still waiting.
People I care about are still addicted. People I care about still die of drug poisoning or beatings. People I care about are still longing for the chance to tell their kids that they're still alive and that momma loves them even if she can't be there because she's not permitted contact.
Still waiting. Because God doesn't hear my prayer? No. He hears. Then why doesn't He answer?
Why?!
I kind of know a few answers to that question.
The first is that He does answer. But the answer isn't always what I want to hear. Sometimes He says, "No." Sometimes He says, "Wait." I don't understand why. I can only choose to trust Him regardless. I can only choose to remember that, as I read in 1 John 4:8,
"...God is love"
...and He's playing a long game.
The second is that our world is broken at its core. That humanity is broken at ours. That the epigenetics and family dynamics of poverty and of addiction are very much on the table. That we are being manipulated by powers greater than ourselves that want to destroy us because we are loved by God. That everytime I pray, I'm fighting a battle against--not just an invader--but an occupying force with a strong foothold in the human reality.
The third answer to my dilemma is that maybe I'm asking the wrong question. As a believer in Christ, as a follower of Jesus, I am (every believer in Christ, every follower of Jesus is) God's first answer to prayer. Maybe the question is not "why doesn't He..." but "why don't we..."
Yes, God sees and loves every individual human being. (Reminder to self: even drug dealers.) But as I said, He's also playing a long game. In the vocabulary of the Bible, He's building a Kingdom.
He's carving out a fifth column within the occupied territory. And we're it. We're the resistance--the revolutionaries--working from within the darkness to reflect His light.
- When I pray, "God, deliver my friend from her addiction," I am part of His answer when I make sure my friend eats enough and has enough water and gets to her meetings. When we go for lunch or a drive, and have a laugh. When she knows she is valued and precious.
- When I pray, "God, let my friend talk to his kids," I am part of His answer when I listen to his lament, weep with him, drive him to his parole appointment, write a character reference.
- When I pray, "God, help my friend find housing," I am part of His answer when I keep showing up to wherever my friend is sheltering at the moment, when I am faithful, when I keep my promises, when I help them move their tent one more time.
- When I pray, "God help my friend find a way back onto her feet," I am part of His answer when I do the little I can to support her, when I applaud her triumphs, grieve her losses.
Because there's more to 1 John 4:8 than just a bumper-sticker slogan. A lot more. The whole thing says,
"Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love."
Someone in a Facebook group recently posted, "I wonder how many Christians are anti-encampment."
My reply was, "Some, unfortunately. But we're working on it."
I've never seriously doubted my God.
I have some questions about some of my fellow believers. I definitely have some about myself.
I can't imagine taking the risk of deconstructing my faith. I'd probably end up losing pieces or scooping up extra bits that don't belong. I'd probably wreck it.
And the faith that I have now makes so much sense of so much that doesn't make sense.
My faith holds me accountable.
My heart breaks for my friends. But I know I have been loved. So I must love.
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