Another copy and pasted article from my blog. Don't worry, I normally don't post this much. Substack link if you want pictures.
My struggles as an Orthodox Christian convert, and why I can't seem to walk away from Christ despite my doubts
Going to church today for the proto-anastasian liturgy (Easter is tomorrow for us Orthodox Christians), I have to admit I have some doubts about the Resurrection and the whole story of Christ being the Son of God.
Usually I can sort of deny these doubts within myself, but during Holy Week, the sincerity of the people around me, the Church services every night and during the day (not that I go to them all), and just the general intensity of everything really brings my cognitive dissonance to the forefront.
I’m about a year and a half post my conversion to Orthodox Christianity, and when I took the vows to follow Christ, bear His cross, and keep to the strictures of the Nicene Creed, I was sincere. At least as sincere as I could be. I had doubts of course, and my priest was well aware. After all, I took the name of the premier doubter in the Christian mythos, Saint Thomas the Apostle.
When I was converting, I had multiple experiences of Christ coming to me. I dealt with extreme chronic pain, debilitating suffering, and He saved me. I don’t talk about this often online because it feels gauche, and I won’t go into detail now. But suffice to say I had genuine experiential evidence to believe the Christian story.
Unfortunately, as Christianity has ceased to be novel and exciting and a big change in my life, that evidence feels more and more hollow, less convincing to my overly rationalized, modern mind.
More and more I find myself thinking: “Is this really true? What if His body was just snatched away and lies were spread? Wouldn’t it make more sense for all the women at the tomb and the apostles to just be delusional, even if they genuinely believed it? The Jews said that they stole the body, the early Christians obviously claimed they were lying, how can we ever know for sure?”
When I first started to doubt, even before I converted, these thoughts would plague and torment me. Sitting there in church I would fret, “How can I feel this way and sing hymns, how can I take communion while not genuinely believing that it’s the Body and Blood of Christ?”
Still today these doubts and thoughts bother me, but I’m learning to be more at home with them. I can’t ever know the truth of the Resurrection. In all likelihood, the intense experiences that convinced me to convert won’t come back. My spiritual father and my elders in the faith have all warned me that’s the case.
So, if I doubt the Christian story so much, why continue going? Aren’t I living a double life? Aren’t I lying to myself and my community?
Perhaps I am. It certainly bothers me, as I pride myself (heh) on being an honest and open person. I discuss my doubts with my priest and close confidants, but generally keep them close to the chest in my broader church community.
In a way it would be easier to just leave church. To take the path I took as a teenager, be an atheist, say it’s all fake. But I simply can’t deny the beauty of Holy Orthodoxy, the haunting power of Christ’s story, and His words.
When I first saw an Orthodox Divine Liturgy, I was blown away. I came back a second time and ended up bawling the entire service, crying more in that couple of hours than I had my entire life prior. Eventually one of the parish council members had to shoo me out of the pews, because I stayed there crying so long that everyone had packed up and they were closing the church.
Something about Orthodoxy, something about Christ, just compels me. Even if it doesn’t make sense to my rational mind, my heart can’t let go of Him. Reading the pre-communion prayers, I do honestly have difficulty firmly and strongly acclaiming that YES, I DO believe this bread is the Body of Christ, and the wine is the Blood of Christ.
But I can honestly say that I love Him, that I want Him dearly, that I long for Him to be a part of me. I can say that when I participate in the Eucharist, I feel filled with a mysterious life that I can’t explain, that perhaps isn’t divine but certainly is closer than almost anything else I’ve experienced in this world.
Who knows what actually happened two thousand years ago in the tomb of Christ, it’s probably one of, if not the most, controversial historical topics ever. We will never truly know what happened, regardless of what evidence comes out or new techniques archaeologists discover.
All I know is that for me, the beauty and power of Christ’s Church and His legacy that has been kept alive for almost two thousands years by His followers is something I can’t seem to do without. It has made my life better in every way, and made me more like Him. My role model, my Lord, my Savior. When the mood strikes me, my King and my God.
Perhaps I’m a hypocrite, one of those people Christ condemned that mouthed the prayers without really believing deep in their hearts. I certainly know I’m a sinner. But ultimately, I just can’t seem to walk away despite the dissonance and the doubts and the confusion.
I’m reminded of the story in the Gospel, when Christ was about to go to His Passion, and he gave his disciples the ritual of the Eucharist. He told them that they would be eating His body, drinking His blood. Many of His followers, even those healed by Him, were freaked out, and understandably so!
They went Ok dude, we can accept that you’re a holy prophet healing us, but you want us to be cannibals? You want us to EAT you?! That’s a little too weird for me, sorry, I’m out.
Christ turned to His disciples and said, “Will ye also go away?”
Simon Peter responded, in a quote that haunts me two thousand years later because I feel the exact same damn way. He looked at this beautiful Man, this incredible healer, teacher, prophet, king. He searched his heart, and responded:
“Lord, to whom shall we go? Thou hast the words of eternal life.”
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Notes -
I used to think that the problem of suffering was a meritorious argument against theism, but over the years it has grown to have less and less force for me. These days it has almost none. The new atheists make some very good points, and my faith has been shaped and constrained by the valid ones, but IMO the alleged problem of suffering isn't one of them. There is a hidden premise in the "problem of suffering" argument that God, if he exists, should be expected to act toward us like I, with my human understanding, would act toward my children, in this world, if I were omnipotent. It is a natural premise, at least until you say it out loud, but I don't believe it is self evident, or even particularly plausible.
My own son, at age 8, has no real idea why I compel him to do math homework for half an hour a day, and sometimes he must think I'm just being a dick. The fact is that I understand a few things he is not capable of understanding about where this whole thing is going, and on a good day he trusts me on that. On a bad day, when he is not in the mood to trust me, then he might perceive his math homework to be needless suffering inflicted on him, or at least allowed to beset him, by his father. On those days, what he needs chiefly is not for me to explain myself better; I don't need to win an argument with an 8 year old about whether I have the authority to make him do homework, or about whether or why it's in his best interest, and he doesn't particularly need me to win that argument either. What he needs at that moment, first of all, is a little straightening out about who's in charge. Once he fulley understands that, then we can talk about the pros and cons of math homework -- or of playing with matches without an adult present, or of playing with razor blades, or of watching his choice of videos on YouTube (all actual cases). Maybe he'll understand my reasoning, and maybe he won't, but his understanding is not a prerequisite for my authority [cf. Job 38].
I believe the force of the argument-from-suffering comes largely from an attitude of entitlement, on behalf of ourselves and others, which simply fades away with growing faith and fear of God. In any case, anyone who expects to have an easy life because they have faith in God simply hasn't read the book. Consider the suffering of Saint Paul:
So prosperity gospel, or whatever you want to call it, is not how it worked for Paul. It is not how it worked for James, or Peter, or any of the apostles. It is not how it worked for David, or Moses, or Daniel, or Job. It is certainly not how it worked for for Jesus in his life as a man.
In the beginning, God created the Heavens and the Earth; and the Heavens were awesome, and the Earth sucked. We're on the Earth. What do you expect? More to the point, what exactly do you think you are entitled to? When I see every breath I take as a blessing I don't deserve, the "problem" of how allegedly terrible it all is just evaporates.
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