My brother, Grant, is a very bright guy. He’s also very thoughtful. We share many common characteristics. We are both inquisitive and passionate. We both know that life is best led with purpose. Both of us would be considered by others as articulate, as in able to express ideas with something resembling clarity. We strive to be consistent rather than arbitrary. We both recognize that the world is an incredibly complex place.

We had a very long discussion a couple of days ago on a wide range of topics, although they had a central theme. We each had the chance to ask some questions and were gracious in giving space for response. It is to one line of his questions that gives rise to this piece.

He asked me if my faith made me feel good. Now, given the nature of our dialogue, neither of us expected answers to be simplistic. We were unpacking some pretty deep stuff. Honestly, no one had ever asked me this question … at least put quite that way. I had to think for a second before answering, because I felt that both the question and answer would be loaded. I was actually very glad he asked it.

I wanted to say yes but hesitated because I figured that a quick yes would not be wholly accurate, at least in the way I felt he was asking.

“Does your faith make you feel good?”

There is a common and powerful criticism of the thing most people call religion and that is that people seek a kind of protective cocoon in order to insulate themselves from a harsh reality or to provide some sense of things because life is so chaotic. In other words, we welcome a package of explanations that makes sense of the unknown. This is equally the case from primitive religions to the most rigorous systems of our world’s major faiths. Most of us have heard of Karl Marx’s declaration, when paraphrased, says that religion is the opiate of the masses. In other words, religion is this pacifying and anesthetizing drug used by powerful oppressors to ensure continuation of a false and evil reality. And, to a degree, he certainly had a point.

The “you must embrace that faith in order to feel good” argument against the authenticity of that faith continues to be a powerful one. And, I’m sure that, where there’s smoke there’s usually fire, at least in some cases.

However, let me present a response, some of which I shared in the conversation with my brother and more of which I am able to frame now that I have more time on my own.

But, let’s first turn to two connected statements on the topic by famed Christian thinker, C.S. Lewis. (Shout out to my friend, Geoff, who found these shortly after we briefly talked about the subject early yesterday morning.)

C.S. Lewis: “I didn’t go to religion to make me ‘happy.’ I always knew that a bottle of Port would do that.” And, “If you want a religion to make you really comfortable, I certainly don’t recommend Christianity.”

So, what’s really going on here?

My immediate answer to my brother’s question was a very reserved, “yes.” But, I quickly claimed the right to explain and the subsequent explanation went on something like this:

I had previously said, in our discussion, that there is a fine line (and very close relationship) between the concepts of faith and belief, about which some might be surprised. Some understand belief as more real than faith. As if faith is something hoped for but not verifiable in any rational way. Some would go so far as to say that, by definition, faith is irrational, perhaps illogical. I disagree.

So, when I sought to explain my answer, I said that everyone believes in something. Actually many things. And we tend to feel good about those beliefs. For instance, I believe the sun will rise tomorrow morning and I will be alive to see it. I feel good about that belief. But, here it gets tricky and it was here I tried to unpack it a bit more.

And, that is we need to define what we mean by “good.” No really. This is a pretty big deal so please don’t yell at me for getting down into the weeds too far.

By “good,” do we mean “warm and fuzzy?” Content? Relaxed? Excited? Happy?

Or, do we mean something like, “I’m on solid ground.” “I feel the belief is trustworthy and accurate.”

Now the first set of adjectives leads us in one direction, mostly what we might loosely call emotional. The second group leads us in another direction, what we might loosely call thoughtful.

With that distinction claimed, I quickly admitted that yes, my faith/belief made me feel good. But, I just as quickly followed that up by saying this is true of everyone! If we believe something, we usually have at least a pretty good, if not excellent, set of reasons for our belief. In other words, we “feel” those beliefs are solid “even if they make us uncomfortable.”

On the other hand, I could not immediately admit to warm fuzzies regarding my foundational beliefs (what some would term my faith). I explained that I certainly didn’t arrive at my current perspective on all of reality because I wanted to feel good in the first sense. No, I wanted the whole thing to make sense because try as I might by exploring all possibilities, I was left hollow. My awareness arrived out of a plea from the center of my being. I hadn’t looked around at Christians and said to myself, “Goodness, they all look happy and content, I want to be like them.” (Although that happens to actually be something to think about.)

When the Pharisee and religious leader, Saul, was on his way from Jerusalem to Damascus to slaughter more early followers of Jesus he was not seeking an alternative belief system in order to feel good, nor to be happy. In his case, he was struck down and “reborn” as the Apostle Paul who endured the most terrible pain and hardship for the rest of his life.

Full disclosure: How do I feel about my belief that God is very real, he is very personal, he knows my every thought and action yet still loves me fully and unconditionally, he wants me to know that I belong to him, that there’s nothing I can do to earn his favor, that I am offered the promise to be with him for eternity in a most fascinating and wonderful place, that Jesus is “the” God incarnated as a man, lived without sin, was murdered because he threatened to turn religion on its ear, took upon the sins of all mankind in our (my) place, was fully and bodily resurrected, will both love and judge all of us and only asks one thing of me which is to fully surrender and follow him? Well now. I feel really good about that. As in, I believe it to be more true than anything else I know. And, I know a lot. And, I believe the alternative is not true, although for the most part I respect everyone’s right to believe what they will. This line of thinking will rankle many but what are you going to do?

You bet I’m good with it. Now, I don’t fully understand all of it, of course. Who does? But I’ve seen nothing, absolutely nothing in the last dozen years that indicates that any of this is really false.

Now, and this is a fine point, that doesn’t mean I don’t struggle with my belief. In fact, sometimes the whole Christian story just doesn’t make sense because, of course, in the world’s terms, it absolutely does not make sense. You can’t make this stuff up. One of the most poignant verses in scripture is captured in the Gospel of Mark when the father of a very sick boy says to Jesus, “take pity on us and help us.” Jesus responded with this: “If you can? Everything is possible for one who believes.” To which the distraught father pled, “I do believe! Help me with my unbelief.”

Doubt is a way of life. Certitude is a tough thing to nail down permanently. Unless we relish our pride and stature, are arrogantly self-righteous, when we are alone without the trappings of life that give us affirmation, we can find ourselves doubting. The one who does not admit this is probably fundamentally narcissistic (a form of delusion), has not known defeat or suffering and is probably insufferable to live with. But, this does not mean we won’t shake it off, check ourselves to see if our doubts have cracked the foundation, and get right back to solid ground. I’ve used an easy method to test my beliefs, whether or not doubt decides to come knocking. And, that is, “is there anything about any of the alternatives that make more sense?” This is a very useful thing to hone one’s thinking.

Before concluding, I want to come back to the point C.S. Lewis so adroitly makes. And, it’s specifically about the Christian belief system (or faith or story or however you want to characterize it).

It is certainly not a happy place. It is certainly not a protected place. In fact, it decidedly has nothing directly to do with either happiness or safety. Responding to Jesus’ brief and blunt statement to “Follow me,” as he did to those blue collar fisherman on a simple beach on the shores of the Galilee, requires a blatant act of surrender that only results in turmoil. Following Jesus is nothing short of the wildest ride imaginable. He demands a lot but comparably far less than the world demands and that is a very difficult thing for anyone to understand who has not surrendered. (Which is one reason so many people resist doing so.)

It is a path of both profound joy and profound suffering. Following Jesus is a full time gig. I’m not talking about people who profess to be Christians who show up on Sunday because it’s the thing to do. I’m talking about people who actually take following Jesus into their bones, granting him the authority to do with us as he will. I’ve been at this for a dozen years full time and I’m here to testify that it is hard. Very hard. It is demanding. Very demanding. But, it’s the most wonderful, fulfilling, beautiful and glorious thing imaginable. The cost doesn’t make a dent when compared to the outcome. In that light, it’s then actually quite easy!

Does my faith make me feel good? No. But God does. He has called me to himself and I am wrapped in the most divine and loving arms. When I have felt that more than once in an almost indescribable way, my heart has almost burst from the pain and joy of it.

As I’ve related before, C.S. Lewis’ famous child character asks of Aslan, the Lion/Jesus, “is he safe?” “No,” her companion replies. “He is not safe. But he is good.”

I have purposefully stayed away from getting into the disciplines of epistemology and psychology (both of which I’ve had the opportunity to study) when it comes to knowing and feeling, trying to keep this topic as simple as I can while engaging it deeply and transparently. I hope I’ve made some strides in answering my brother’s excellent question and I hope one or two of you out there might have something to think about.

Blessings,

Brad