House of Cards

 When C.S. Lewis' wife, Helen, died, he penned these words in his journals, which would later be published as A Grief Observed.

"The case is too plain. If my house has collapsed at one blow, that is because it was a house of cards. The faith which "took these things into account" was not faith but imagination. The taking them into account was not real sympathy. If I had really cared as I thought I did, about the sorrows of the world, I should not have been so overwhelmed when my own sorrow came. It has been an imaginary faith playing with innocuous counters labelled "Illness," "Pain," "Death," and "Loneliness." I thought I trusted the rope until it mattered to me whether it would bear me. Now it matters, and I find it didn't...(Helen) would have forced me to admit in a few passes that if my house was a house of cards, the sooner it was knocked down the better. And only suffering could do it."

Doubt has been a companion of mine in the past months. One can scroll back a few years on this very blog to see that this is not the first time. However, as I get deeper and deeper into my theological studies at LU, I've found it harder to be honest with myself (and by extension, others) about these doubts. Vulnerability has been a lesson learned through a few hard knocks. 

I know God is good. I know he is who he says he is. And yet my feelings often don't catch up with that knowledge. My heart stumbles behind even as my head barks on ahead like a golden retriever.

I feel very small these days. Something about airplanes makes you realize that you and the sidewalk cracks aren't dissimilar from 30,000 feet.

These segmented thoughts all seem unrelated, yet they are emblematic of where my head has been over the past few months. My faith is not perfect and my heart screams every day "I believe, Lord help my unbelief!" And there are days when my house of cards gets knocked down. Later in A Grief Observed, Lewis notes the seeming futility of having the house knocked down, just to patiently begin the rebuilding process before the inevitable claims it yet again. In a way, I've felt that way. I am futilely building a faith in a world where I cannot make it stand. Any shake and my power immediately reveals itself to be insufficient.

Perhaps that's why Christ does not ask for a house of faith. He knows that faith in him is not just a choice off the menu of the pantheon. Faith is required in the Christian walk, and even faith the size of a mustard seed would accomplish wonders beyond our understanding. Jesus knows that faith and doubt will always be hand in hand. Doubt is not the enemy of faith, but in my eyes it is the fruit of faith's integration with the soul.

“Doubt is a pain too lonely to know that faith is his twin brother.”

-Khalil Gibran

Jesus does not fear my doubt. Nor do my brothers, my family, or Scripture. When my house begins crumbling, I am learning to welcome the open air as a sign that Christ is a better foundation than my understanding of him. God is a better God than my conception of him. I trust his Goodness above my own understanding of "good." And once again, these are truths that I know and I must fight to feel. Perhaps that  sentiment resonates with you, perhaps it doesn't. Either way, we will both stand before the God of the Universe one day and have our understanding of him completely uprooted in the presence of the Real Thing.

As I confront doubt, I trust Jesus before I trust myself. I trust the cross before I trust my own sense of justice. And I trust God's comfort before I trust my faulty coping techniques.

“One never meets Cancer, or War, or Unhappiness (or Happiness). One only meets each hour or moment that comes."
-C.S. Lewis