Doubt

"Then the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain where Jesus had told them to go. When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted." Matthew 28:16-17

I'm a trusting person, but I have doubts. Everyone does. Even in the bright light of the miracle of Easter, Jesus' most cherished friends and companions doubted.

Doubt makes us vulnerable. Doubt exposes us to things we don't want to feel: anger, betrayal, hurt, confusion, misunderstanding. It forces us to consider the idea that maybe were were wrong about something, or perhaps something we believed isn't true.

In a world that demands assurance and certainty, living with doubt is tough. So we cram doubt into a sort of built-in bullshit detector that questions everything. Show me. Prove it. I don't care who publishes it - if it gets close to validating what I'm thinking, no matter how ridiculous, sure - I'll share it. I'll trust it. I'll defend it. And I'll tell anyone who doesn't believe it that they're an idiot.

We get defensive when people call us on it and lash out in the most unproductive and hurtful of ways: name-calling, dismissal, divisiveness, blame, threats, hatred.

Emboldened by those who validate us when we do that, we double down and keep going until our social media feeds are a weird dichotomy of "look who owned who today" memes and cat videos.

This behavior is prevalent across all of our spectrums - social, political, religious, ideological.

Fear has become our common denominator, and fear is the shakiest of foundations. But fear is also something every one of us understands all too well, so maybe that's a start.

Today, my faith tradition celebrates Christ's victory over death. The events leading up to Easter are dark. They're days full of betrayal and darkness and fear and violence and grief and doubt. From Thursday to Sunday, Christians are asked to sit with that stew and all the uncertainty that comes with it.

Then - like a breath of fresh air - morning comes, the sun rises, the rock rolls away, and we're left with hope that comforts us when we fear things like death and uncertainty. It's not unlike the relief you feel when you learn your test was negative. Or that your mom is going to be ok. Or when your kid finally arrives home safely after curfew. Or when your friend texts you the kiss emoticon in the middle of a really rough day.

Because doubt will continue to plague us. We're smack in the center of a season filled with doubt right now. We're sitting at home (hopefully) with nothing but our thoughts and our anxieties and our bargaining and our reasoning and we're bumping around like pinballs in a machine trying to find something - anything - that can make sense of something we can't see or anticipate, but we know has the ability to wreck so much havoc.

Unless you're doubting this is all a thing at all. I'm sure there are a few of you. Stay with me.

As vulnerability goes, I can't remember ever feeling it as acutely as I have over the past few weeks. All of my numbing agents are out of reach, and I have no opportunity to even attempt to control what is happening. I'm afraid - for myself, my family, my kids, my colleagues, my community.

As trusting as I am, I have doubts. And I have no choice but to sit with that.

Until.

Until my friends insist on staying connected in ways that are sometimes ridiculous, but comforting in ways only they can be.

Until the first thing our community does is develop a volunteer care network to assess needs and find ways to meet them so no one feels alone.

Until health care workers, grocers, garbage collectors, public service personnel and so many others just keep showing up to do the work that makes our lives better - day after day.

Until teachers line up a parade to let students know they're missed and they're loved.

Until local businesses discover ways not only to keep income flowing, but to show us they miss us and that they care.

Until those same businesses that are struggling continue to find ways to serve others.

Until friends and neighbors organize a birthday parade for our young neighbor and three police officers show up to participate.

Until the school district turns on the field lights on Friday to show support for our students and the seniors.

Until the local fire department offers birthday lights and sirens because having a birthday while in quarantine sucks, and our fire department seems to always know the right thing to do.

Until the local hardware store staff show up at my friend's house to help her install a basketball hoop for her nine-year-old.

Until people, time and again, show up for the lonely, the hungry, the abused and neglected and the struggling.

With that, light shines through. With that comes hope that sends fear and despair packing. With that comes assurance that while our doubts will always be a given, what we are promised will still be here.

No matter what your faith tradition, I pray today your heart is full of these virtues.

We'll be ok.

Alleluia.