A modern disciple's doubts

 The eleven disciples traveled to Galilee, to the mountain where Jesus had directed them.  ¹⁷ When they saw him, they worshiped, but some doubted. (Matthew 28:16-17)

I try to be faithful to the Scriptures when I write or preach. I aim to draw out the lessons I can and apply them to today’s daily walk of faith without saying more than the biblical witness. I want to get everything I can from the diligent study of the Bible and share that with others without putting words in God’s mouth. I can’t help but wonder, though; I don’t recall that I’ve heard anyone focus—I mean really focus—on that doubt. That’s what I hope to do in this essay, and I hope what follows does not stretch the biblical sense far beyond what Matthew ever intended.

“But some doubted.”

The disciples were moved to worship in the presence of the risen Christ. Yet, even in this profound moment, some still wrestled with doubt. 

We hear it said that “seeing is believing.” Yet even as the disciples saw Jesus on the mountain—and looked at Him with their own eyes—some wondered if it was too good to be true. No doubt, they wanted it to be true. Is it really Jesus? How can it be? Can anyone confront something as horrible, bloody, and crushing as the cross and then, three days later, return from the dead? It defied common sense. It flew in the face of everything the disciples knew. But there was Jesus. Alive. Speaking to the disciples. Receiving their worship. About to give them the Great Commission.

The very idea—a man dead for three days coming back to life—still flies in the face of all reason and all we know of life and death. If we were really—I mean really—honest, many of us Christians would admit that, even as we stand in church on Sunday mornings, pouring out our hearts in worship, sometimes, we have our doubts. I wouldn’t jump to say it out loud in my small group. I doubt I’d be excited to declare it from the pulpit. But, sometimes, I have my doubts.

If I were to express my doubt out loud, many of my Christian brothers and sisters would likely, with helpful intent, remind me of what James, the earthly brother of Jesus, wrote:

“Now if any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God—who gives to all generously and ungrudgingly—and it will be given to him. But let him ask in faith without doubting. For the doubter is like the surging sea, driven and tossed by the wind. That person should not expect to receive anything from the Lord, being double-minded and unstable in all his ways.” (James 1:5-7, CSB)

But even James must have dealt with doubt. had to have experienced those nagging questions himself. The Gospels tell us that Jesus’ brothers and sisters—also the children of Mary and Joseph, and James was one of them—doubted their elder brother was the promised Messiah. They had grown up with Him, known him as a child, maybe even looked up to Him, but never imagined He was anything other than they were—the family of a Jewish carpenter in Roman-occupied Palestine.

Thomas, too, doubted. The New Testament tells us he had to see the resurrected Jesus to believe. Like the other doubting disciples on that Galilean mountain, Thomas saw his skepticism turn to boldness. After he touched the scars on the living Jesus, Thomas was all in, taking the Gospel to India and perhaps as far as Persia. Of course, all of them saw the risen Christ.

But they saw the risen Christ. How could that not have been transformative for those eleven men and all the other witnesses?

And I confess that, sometimes, I’ve doubted.

Yet the funny thing is, when I have my doubts, none linger on whether the resurrection happened. I believe it. I accept it as an accomplished fact. God can do whatever He wants when He wants—including raising the dead to life. Many eyewitnesses saw him crucified and resurrected.

My doubts deal more with the condition of fallen humanity. Or, more accurately, my doubts revolve around the condition of supposedly redeemed human beings—that is to say, professing Christians. In other words, I struggle with doubt when I look at my brothers and sisters in Christ—and even at myself—and I wonder:

“Why aren’t we Christians a lot better?”

I get it. Christians aren’t perfect, just forgiven. It’s cliché, so I dislike the saying. But on the face of it, it's true. It’s about direction, not perfection. The Bible speaks of sanctification; the Holy Spirit’s work of conforming us to the image of Christ is a process.

So, I’m not looking to be a legalist or perfectionist—I believe in grace. But I find myself wondering: If the Gospel of Jesus Christ can transform lives, as we say it does, as the Bible says it does, then why, so frequently, does it look like the Gospel has done nothing to change people who say they believe it?

Why aren’t Christians much different from most of their neighbors? Why is the divorce rate for Christians no better than the general population? Why do politics bring out the worst in Christians? What is wrong with all these many Christian leaders caught in moral failure? Why is the church a place where so many people wind up experiencing hurt and exclusion rather than finding a sense of belonging? What the heck is the matter with these preachers who dwell in opulence, working in church buildings that project the same affluence, all while ignoring the needs of those around them? Why is a worship service such a production? Does anyone here believe what we say we believe?

So, that’s a look at my inner monologue. And sometimes, right there during worship—just like the Eleven on that great hill in Galilee…

At times, I’ve doubted.

I know I’m not alone. I’m sure that, even in the pews, I have company. They worship, but sometimes, some still doubt.