I remember when I was about eight or nine years old, laying in my bed, wondering what I would become when I grew up. For whatever reason, that question was paramount that night, and after going back and forth between a few different options, I decided I would become a teacher. A teacher, I decided, was someone who knew everything, and everything was what I decided I wanted to know.
We are born curious, with a desire to know as much as we possibly can. Besides that, we want to know for sure and without a doubt. Arriving at places of uncertainty and ambiguity are not for the faint of heart; they make us to feel uneasy and uncomfortable, and yet, these places are completely necessary and natural.
Recently, I have been thinking about the struggles of being a first generation Copt in the 21st century. We are immersed in the beauty of America’s melting pot, exposed to all different ethnic groups, cultures, and religions. And with technology as progressive as it is, we have even more access to knowledge than ever before. This means that in the span of an hour, I can learn more about Socialism and Hinduism, for example, than my ancestors might know in an entire lifetime.
I think it’s safe to say that with the more knowledge we are exposed to, the more questions we begin to ask, and naturally, doubt begins to arise. .
How are we to know for sure that our faith is the right faith to follow? How are we to know which cultural traditions should be passed onto the following generations, and which ones should be thrown out? They are not easy questions, especially in 2019 America.
Growing up with many friends of different religious backgrounds, I often wondered if I would be as devout if I was born into their faith rather than Christianity. I remember asking my parents this same question on the way home from church one day. My mom, in all her wisdom, responded saying “I’m Christian now because I feel God’s presence, and I’m Christian now, because it makes sense to me.”
But it didn’t make sense to me. Not at that time, and not for a while after. But that was okay. It was okay for me to have my doubts, to feel unsure. It was okay for me to go on my journey of self discovery, which included not only seasons of doubting Christianity, but even doubting God entirely. It was, and still is, part of the process.
In Philip Yancey’s book, Reaching For The Invisible God, he devotes an entire chapter on allowing room for doubt. He writes:
“…the people who should have known better lagged in faith. Jesus’ own neighbors doubted
him. John the Baptist, his cousin and forerunner, later question him. Among the twelve
disciples, Thomas doubted, Peter cursed, and Judas betrayed, all after spending three years
with Jesus.”
People who were as up-close and personal with Jesus as one could have possibly been had their doubts. In the Coptic Church, we devote the Sunday following Easter to doubting Thomas. Doubt is not the enemy to faith, contrary to what we may believe, but is actually necessary to faith.
Yancey later writes, “Those who honestly confront their doubts often find themselves growing into a faith that transcends the doubts.”
It’s doubt that precedes faith. It’s doubt that asks the big questions. It’s doubt that plants the seeds of faith.
I believe it’s important that we start approaching doubt with compassion and curiosity, especially with the new generation. This generation is exposed to so many belief and value systems, offering them millions of paths to take in life. Rather than suppressing their doubts, demanding them to not think that way, or labeling them as “going down the wrong path,” we must embrace their questions, their seasons of doubt, and disbelief in God.
Fear is what stops us from doing that. Fear says, “oh no, if we allow room for the doubt, they’ll forsake Christianity.” But more likely, the opposite happens, in which our fear prevents their questions from being answered; It keeps people small and tightly wound and it limits their opportunity to grow.
When we succumb to this fear, we no longer become Ambassadors of Christ, reflecting His unconditional love. Instead we demonstrate judgment and closed mindedness, roles we are not meant to play.
God commands us to love, and to love unconditionally. What makes Christianity so beautiful is God’s ability to love us through every season. Despite angry spirits, clenched fists, and sinful paths, He still loves us the same.
If God loves us through our bumpy roads, how much more do you think He expects us to love others through theirs? A whole lot, I believe.
Jennifer Ghobreyal works as a licensed mental health therapist at the California State University, San Bernardino, where she also received her Master’s. She has passion for mental health and removing the stigma of psychological disorders. In her free time, she loves to read, cook, and spend time with her husband, family and friends.
