In the blur
On making room for doubt
“Christians always say people need to have ‘more faith.’ But the reality is, faith isn’t going to fix all these problems.” This comment— made ever so respectfully and with great curiosity by a friend who does not share my faith — struck me with its incisive honesty. The reality is that my friend is right: so many horrible, painful, and wicked things happen every day, regardless of the presence or size of a persons faith. Some of these evils make headlines; many of them are never heard outside of closed doors. People choose (and keep choosing) to hurt and exploit themselves and others. There are no exemptions— we’re all doing it.
Following Jesus has not make my experience of the world happy-clappy; if anything it has made it heavier because I can’t help but see the darkness out there in the world and the darkness within myself. Some days I’m overwhelmed just in realizing that the burdens I’m aware of are only a tiny percent of the great flood of depravity that is out there. There is so much that I don’t know, that I don’t want to know, that I am afraid to know. And I have to ask: can faith fix any of these problems? The poet Denise Levertov asked:
(But what of the deft infliction
upon the earth, upon the innocent,
of hell by human hands?
Is the word
audible under or over the gross
cacophony of malevolence?
It was in March of 2022, right around the time Russia invaded Ukraine that I found myself repeatedly reading from this particular set of Levertov’s poems called the “Mass for the Day of St. Thomas Didymus.” The six part poem is aptly named for the disciple most known for his doubt. A friend had given me the collection back in 2020, but it had sat neglected for over a year. When I finally opened it I was captivated by the beautiful and painfully honest language. It was a time when I needed painfully honest language. I marinated in it for months.
The Benedictus (quoted above) drew me in especially because it grappled with real questions and real doubts about the presence of God in a corrupt world. Through her months of writing this poem, Levertov found herself moving from total skepticism to real faith in Christ. Through my months of reading this poem, I found that my honest doubts before God were mercifully welcome.
I’ve come back to this question often, especially loving that Levertov puts it in parentheses as if to whisper, “I shouldn’t be saying this out loud…: ‘But what of the deft infliction// upon the earth, upon the innocent,// of hell by human hands?’” And she’s right. What of it?! No need to whisper. Do we just sit back and tell people, tell ourselves to have more ‘faith’ like my friend pointed out? Or do we keep working towards justice and mercy and keep crying out the honest question behind the question: God, where are you?
Where are you when money and power speak louder than wisdom?
Where are you when corrupt leaders chew people up and spit out their bones without blinking an eye?
Where are you when despair and loneliness drive so many to such destruction?
The reality is, Levertov’s questions of dissonance and doubt are themselves an act of faith. Faith does not guarantee an immediate cure, but faith’s object is a steady anchor. Levertov mimics the Psalmist (whether she knew it or not) by leveling her frustrations in a Godward direction.1 Just a few stanzas later she posed another question: “Can [the Word] enter the void?”
In the face of Thomas’s doubt after the resurrection, Christ moved compassionately towards him, almost saying, “See me; touch me; I’m right here! Don’t be afraid.”2 Jesus knew how to show up, how to “have mercy on those who doubt,”3 how to make a hospitable space for the visceral experiences of confusion, rage, grief, pain. Faith in itself doesn’t offer quick fixes, but faith in the resurrected Christ guarantees his Presence in the darkness. It took Levertov’s honesty to help me see that my own questions were opportunities. As I gave voice to them I found Christ speaking to me like Thomas: “I’m right here! Don’t be afraid.”
After all her questions Levertov’s poem culminates in awe: “The word// chose to become flesh.// In the blur of flesh// we bow, baffled.” And I am baffled. In the day-to-day I keep asking questions in my moments of disillusionment. And I keep finding him solidly in the thick of it, in the blur.
Psalm 88
John 20:27
Jude 22 ESV