Twenty-one years ago I fell about 10 feet from a roof while installing Christmas decorations. I might have broken a bone or walked away with a few bruises. Instead, because I landed in the wrong position, this senseless accident shattered three vertebrae in my neck and damaged my spinal cord. I was permanently paralyzed below my chest.

In the two decades since my accident I’ve struggled with anger, despair, and depression. I’ve given up on life, and on God, dozens of times. I’ve wondered why such a minor accident caused such a major injury. In the depths of hopelessness I’ve encountered every imaginable doubt. I’ve doubted God’s will and purpose, his goodness, and his promises.

Others have rationalized my injury as part of God’s plan or dismissed it as a random, meaningless accident. I’ve been assured that God intended this event to refocus my life and correct some unfortunate decisions. I’ve been reminded to be grateful for paralysis because much good has resulted, and I’ve encountered bitter resentment toward a God who would allow, or even cause, such unfair and undeserved calamities.

My accident has been interpreted as proof of God’s providence and mercy and as confirmation that he’s a mindless myth—evidence of his love and redemption or his anger and retribution. My injury firmly validates Jesus’ presence or it conclusively proves God doesn’t exist at all.

I’ve experienced a broad spectrum of responses: devotion and denial, certainty and skepticism, anger and acceptance. I’ve encountered every conceivable level of disbelief. Most of all, I’ve encountered doubt.

At a recent social gathering I listened as a friend recited a familiar case for the eventual triumph of rationality over faith. His narrative traced the “logical evolution” of human history from reliance on primitive superstition to the inevitable adoption of reason as the guiding principle for intelligent discourse.

My friend read a book and saw the light, and he was determined to share his newly discovered revelation of universal truth. I was struck by the group’s rapt attention and the lack of any indication of skepticism. It appeared that irrefutable certainty was being consumed along with the potato salad.

Eventually our newfound prophet of rationality asked whether I agreed with his analysis. After all, didn’t my senseless injury establish the logical inadequacy of religion?

I observed that we interpreted events differently because we reasoned from different assumptions. He replied somewhat condescendingly that I’d missed his point, because he didn’t assume anything. He accepted only what could be established rationally and scientifically. I inquired how he managed to construct a coherent system of logic without premises.

When my friend persisted with his denial, I asked if he was convinced that his argument presented a succession of deductively established conclusions. He was, so I then asked what formed the foundation for the initial inference in the sequence. To avoid circular reasoning, any series of deductions must begin with an initial conclusion. And since there are no statements prior to the first, it must be based on a premise.

We live by faith, not by sight (2 Corinthians 5:7). This elemental biblical truth speaks to the assumptions from which we begin, and it applies equally to all. As I told my friend, everyone believes in something.

Christians frequently accept the false dichotomy of faith or rationality. We surrender any claim to reason under the mistaken impression that rational argument supplants “blind faith.” But God created our brains as well as our hearts, and Christians don’t denounce rational thought when we accept Jesus. God doesn’t ask us to check our minds at the church door.

While our disagreements and differences are the subject of intense public scrutiny, core Christian doctrine is remarkably internally consistent. Our faith rests on centuries of reasoned thought, rigorous scholarship, and passionate debate. The Bible is easily the most intensely researched and analyzed book in history, and there’s ample evidence for its authenticity. Christians need not relinquish rationality as though faith in God is somehow intrinsically illogical. Faith and reason are not mutually exclusive. Too many believers passively accept the false label of “superstition,” tacitly accepting the presumption that reason and science lie outside the bounds of faith.

We too frequently equate doubt with weakness, but I suspect that every significant journey involves some level of hesitation. I once heard an audible gasp as a dynamic preacher confessed personal periods of questioning and indecision, but he made a powerful argument for doubt as an integral part of a living, dynamic faith. It’s unrealistic to imagine that we’ll never experience uncertainty. A demand for impossibly unwavering confidence in every circumstance only creates the sort of false public piety that makes faith a hollow shell devoid of honest substance.

Martin Luther King, Jr. once said, “Faith is taking the first step even when you can’t see the whole staircase.” Faith and uncertainty travel hand in hand, and we can choose to respond faithfully despite misgivings. One might even argue that the greater the doubt, the greater the faith.

Doubt acknowledges mystery and wonder. Mystery doesn’t imply we know nothing; it simply acknowledges we don’t know everything. Wonder spurs a desire to know more and grow in our relationship with God. I’m convinced that I’m closest to God at times of mystery and wonder, because it’s precisely at those moments I recognize that he’s God and I’m not.

God welcomes our honest questions. As with human interactions, transparent communication strengthens our relationship with God. As I’ve screamed my own desperate appeals through tears of grief and despair, I’ve learned with even more confidence that God won’t give up on me when I ask candid questions. My faith has been most strengthened in moments of disbelief.

A man whose son was possessed by an evil spirit asked Jesus for help.

“If you can do anything, take pity on us and help us.”

“‘If you can?’” said Jesus. “Everything is possible for him who believes.”

“Immediately the boy’s father exclaimed, ‘I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!’” (Mark 9: 22-24).

Jesus didn’t reject the man or his question; instead, he demonstrated the power of faith even in the company of unbelief.

So how can we approach issues of doubt and uncertainty in ways that enhance our personal relationship with Christ and draw others into faith?

Acknowledge our own questions, uncertainties, and blind spots. Be firm in what we believe, but don’t pretend we never experience moments of doubt.

Clarify our own assumptions and accept that faith inherently involves mystery. While we ought to explore those mysteries and expand our understanding as much as possible, remember that we can’t know everything that God knows.

Don’t surrender logic, but don’t feel compelled to prove God’s existence as a scientific fact. The Bible clearly states that we’re saved by grace through faith. There’s ample evidence to inform our beliefs, but we’re not saved through scientific proof. There’s a reason why it’s called “faith.”

Don’t attempt merely to argue disbelievers into faith in Christ. It’s more complex than that. We help people find Jesus through loving relationships that open hearts to the Spirit’s patient voice.

Many arguments, whether political, economic, or religious, are pointless and irresolvable because they’re based on differing assumptions. One side’s dispassionate, reasoned analysis is the other’s wild-eyed, illogical ranting, and no amount of screaming or name calling can bridge the gap. Only when we acknowledge and understand each side’s basic premises can we have any hope of meaningful dialogue.

I try, not always successfully, to remember that Jesus confronted and condemned those who claimed to know all the answers. To the doubters and sinners (that’s me!) he offered compassion, companionship, and love. I enjoy a spirited discussion as much as anyone, but divisiveness and separation result when the only goal is to win an argument and validate a predetermined conclusion.

Jesus understood that real faith is child-like.

“Jesus called the children to him and said, ‘Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it’” (Luke 18: 16, 17).

My friend blustered for several moments about the childish nature of blind religious beliefs, then proclaimed that he put his faith in science. The conversation ended when I pointed out that he was free to put his “childish faith” wherever he pleased. |L