The topic our teaching minister addressed at our church gathering on Sunday was confession. During our time together, we huddled several times in small groups to discuss topics presented. The final time - just after he delivered his message - was a time of confession and prayer.

I did not grow up in a church where a great deal of confession was done. Sure, there were confessions - someone would respond at the end of a service and ask for prayers. But generally, the confession was some variation of “I want to do better” or “I’ve done things that I need forgiveness for.” Usually vague or generic, nothing specific. (And that’s understandable, to some degree, in a large gathering.)

Confessing that we have sin in our lives is easy because, well, we all have it and we all know it, so we might as well confess it. Confessing with very much specificity is another matter altogether. I’m sure there are a multitude of reasons we usually avoid it. A few that come to mind are shame, the feeling of “being the only one” who struggles with a particular sin, lack of community and really knowing (and being known by) those in our church families, concerned about our reputation, what others will think of us. We likely try too hard to appear that we have it all together, when very few of us, if any, really do.

As I spoke to the few in my group Sunday morning, I mentioned the thing that has most troubled me over the last nine years or so. In 1998, at a most unfortunate time, it seemed to me later, I began to question seriously - for this first time ever, I believe - if God was indeed real after all. I say unfortunate because it would be just over a year later that our first child was born, and the last thing I wanted was to be a dad that struggled with his faith while trying to teach his kids to live out that very faith. It was indeed a troubling time for me, because it was the first time I’d ever considered an answer that was different from what I’d always been taught and believed. Faith began to become increasingly difficult. Nine years later, it doesn’t often seem any easier.

My three older siblings all have - at least in my eyes - a much greater faith than I. But my sister closest to me in age (three years older than I) has an amazing, seemingly unshakable faith. It doesn’t seem that anything that happens in this life diminishes her faith, and that it grows stronger with each passing year. I marvel at her great example of faith.

I always assumed while I was growing up that faith would continue to get easier as I grew older. I’ve found that, on many days, the opposite is in fact the reality for me. Put simply: some days, it’s just hard to believe. Difficultly dealing with sin, injustice seemingly everywhere I look, the suffering of the innocent (especially children), ever-increasing scientific knowledge which explains things previously thought miraculous, wars and violence, the huge chasm between the life Jesus led and the life many Christians live (with myself at the top of the list), and many other things all raise the questions again and again. What is real? What is truth? How do I reconcile what I believe with what I see?

I wrote about this some last year in the context of discussing prayer, as I began reading Philip Yancey’s book on prayer. I’ve always loved Yancey’s writing because, despite being a long-time Christian, he still writes from somewhat of a skeptical angle. He expresses doubt and questions things unlike other Christian writers or speakers. I like that, because I often have similar thoughts and questions, all of which seem absent among most Christians I know, or at least (like myself, I suppose) they don’t make them public. He made a statement in one of his other books that “doubt and faith must coexist.” I liked that, because that pretty much described my life.

I sat in a small group Sunday listening to others, debating whether or not my confession would be something along the lines of this post, or something a little more “acceptable” (at least in the eyes of some.) The thought of being the only one to doubt whether or not there was anything to all of this or not was, to say the least, an unwelcome feeling. However, to my surprise, another person in the group voiced the same thoughts I was mulling over at the time. I was, in fact, not alone. And, that made it easier for me, once they finished, to take up where they’d left off and voice my own struggles with faith and doubt.

Confession has largely been missing in my 40 years of church experience. I was glad for the opportunity that was given our church this past week to experience a time of confession to and prayer for one another. Opportunities such as this one have been few and far between. It can be a little unsettling and even frightening to open up in such a way, but it can also be very helpful, especially when you find out that you’re not alone.

I don’t want this to sound like I’m on the verge of giving it all up. Far, far from it. But it is a daily struggle, and whatever I may write here about faith and spiritual matters, know that it doesn’t come easy. I do believe, but must daily fight off unbelief in order to do so.

If you are interested in my previous thoughts while reading Yancey’s book last fall, they are here:

• Is anybody out there?
• Leveling with God
• Unanswered prayer