Faithful Paradox

I had a friend who was struggling with faith. Her experience with God had left her feeling disappointed and discouraged. He had not been who she wanted him to be; had not shown up in the ways she had hoped. She was struggling with spiritual disciplines and practices, lacking the desire to even try. She desired to be faithful, but it felt like she was putting on airs; as if she knew the right things to say, but her heart felt indifferent and cold. She asked, “What am I supposed to do? Just fake it until I make it?” It was a question born of pain, discouragement, and confusion.

How should we respond when faith feels difficult? What is to be the response of a believer when, like my friend, the heart feels cool and indifferent? Is it best to “fake it until we make it?” Or is there some other way forward that both embraces the difficulty of the journey while also recognizing that at times, to be a disciple means to act in accordance of what a disciple says they believe, even when it feels untrue? There is a tension at play. At times, faith acted out can feel incongruous and insincere when our hearts are struggling to believe what our minds have declared as true.

After I lost my son, Ezra, to cancer, I had months where I could not pray. It felt like words simply got caught in my throat. I felt hurt and confused by God; how was this a picture of a loving father? We didn’t attend church for several months after we lost Ezra. In part, because my husband is a pastor and stepping back into this place, where we knew every eye would be watching to see how we engaged worship, felt like far too great a burden to bear. Even as we stepped back in, I found worship incredibly difficult. I would stand during the music, trying to sing, only to be overcome with tears that refused to stay behind the dam of my eyes. In hindsight, I realize that worship is often simply prayer set to song, so it makes sense that if I was unable to pray, I would also be unable to sing. There was a profound depth of sorrow, pain, and even a sense of betrayal from God. How could I worship when my heart was broken? How could I endure the hundreds of eyes watching? Did I just “fake it until I made it?” Or was there something more?

If I am honest, I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want to lift my voice in song. I didn’t want to lift my hands in praise. My heart felt anything but praise towards God. I was deeply hurt and confused. Yet I knew that I must some how press forward. I knew that I needed to act like a disciple, even if my heart was not in it. Like my friend, I too felt this tension. Praise and worship felt disingenuous. My heart felt so differently from what my mind knew was true.

In his book Mere Christianity, C.S. gives insight into this conundrum. He says, “Do not sit trying to manufacture feelings. Ask yourself, ‘If I were sure that I loved God what would I do?’ When you have found the answer, go and do it.”

As I struggled to worship, my broken heart was at play, but deep down, as I really consider my heart, what was truly going on was the very real question of can God be trusted? Is he worthy of worship, even when his plans left me feeling disappointed? Is he worthy of praise even when the sorrows and bitter pains of life had overcome me? Is he who he says he is? The difficulty of worship was actually a battleground for faith.

What is our duty, then, in this in-between space? In this space where we are called to discipleship yet the sorrows and trials of this life leave us feeling broken and confused? What do we do when our hearts are simply not inclined to worship? What do we do when faith feels difficult and if our hearts were truly exposed, the expression of faith we do have feels deeply insincere and maybe even fabricated?

In these times of pain, confusion and sorrow, we must to look to Jesus. God’s Word tells us that “although he was a son, he learned obedience from what he suffered” (Hebrews 5:8). Jesus, even though he was God’s very own son, still learned what it was to submit to the Father’s will through his suffering. He walked through temptation, agony, torture, and death and he entrusted “himself to him who judges justly” (1 Peter 2:23). He learned obedience when he submitted himself to God’s plan, even when it cost him everything and I think it’s the same for us.

When sorrows rise and confusion abounds, when loss is overwhelming and worship feels nearly impossible, when our hearts are not inclined towards praise, look to Jesus, who “for the joy that was set before him endured the cross” (Hebrews 12:2).

To answer my friend’s question, should she simply fake it until she makes it? On the one hand, no, absolutely not. Worship and the spiritual disciplines are not a matter of putting on airs or or performing some religious ritual until the feelings return.

On the other hand, however, yes. There are times that faith requires that we act like disciples even when the feelings are not there. We must always look to Jesus, “the founder and perfecter of our faith” (Hebrews 12:2). We must understand that walking in faith requires we believe all that God has promised is true, even when it doesn’t feel true. It’s asking the heart, “What do you know is true that doesn’t feel true right now?” If you know it’s true, then go and live as if it is true and trust that the Spirit will be at work, even in this act of painful submission.

This is, after all, the very essence of faith, isn’t it? “The assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1). It’s practicing what is true, even when it doesn’t feel true. It’s fighting to believe that God has promised he will never leave nor forsake (Hebrews 13:5). It’s standing in confidence that “there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (Romans 8:1). It’s remembering there is nothing, “neither life nor death, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth nor anything else in all creation” that can separate us from God’s love through Christ (Romans 8:38-39). It’s calling to mind the fact that we did nothing to receive the gift of salvation and there is nothing we can do to lose it either (Eph. 2:8-9). There is great assurance knowing that our standing before Christ does not change, even when our feelings are in conflict with our faith. Our position before Christ is secure and nothing can steal us from his hand (John 10:29). The feelings that betray us do not change the heart of Christ toward us.

Maybe these seasons that feel impossibly hard, incredibly long, and horribly painful need to simply begin, not with faking it until it changes, but reminding our hearts that our place is secure. We can thank God that the work is finished and that his grace is enough to cover even this time of confusion and discouragement. And then, “be still before the Lord and and wait patiently for him” (Psalm 37:7). The season may last far longer than one might hope, but we can be confident that “his going out is as sure as the dawn, he will come to us as the showers, as the spring rains water” (Hosea 6:3).