A Doubter’s Prayer
O God,
Who I hope is there,
Who I hope is listening,
Who I hope is able,
Who I hope cares,
But I am not sure—
Here I am.
The food of my youth has lost its taste,
Like chewing vapor.
I hear notes and words, but no melody forms.
The songs that lifted me have dissipated.
I cry to you until my voice grows hoarse,
Or, I sit resigned to your silence.
I pray I am not speaking to the empty air,
And listening to hollow winds.
The certainties I knew fall through my fingers like dust,
Unable to withstand reasonable questions and new knowledge.
Are the ancient sacred texts the product of archaic human thinking—
The best guesses of those who thought the sky was a canopy of water?
We, the last surviving species of genus Homo—
Are we the image of the living God, or merely the fittest foragers and fighters?
Are all our dreams and hopes and loves
Random atoms vibrating randomly in our brains?
This is the world you made and declared good?
Chaos monsters wreaking havoc.
Earthquakes and hurricanes and wildfires
And cancers and pandemics and congenital heart failure.
Are you blind to oppression and deceit?
The homes of the poor razed to make way for monuments to greed.
Children’s bodies washed upon the shore, their blood crying from the ground,
And their murderers feast in grand halls of government.
Do you really condemn those who call on other gods—
Your children whom you love and who love in return?
While your earthly representatives keep the doors locked tight
So they can grift and abuse your followers.
Those who taught me to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with you
Pursue power and call it your will.
They told me to love my neighbor
And despise me when I do.
You promised you would return. What are you waiting for?
Has there not been tragedy enough?
Did you see our wickedness was so great that
You abandoned your plan?
Are you big enough for my questions?
Will you condemn me for doubting?
Or will you cock your head, unsure if you heard something,
Then shrug and return to doing whatever it is you do?
O, disenchanted world, the only world I now see,
Is there any wonder left?
Take these, my feeble croaks in the dark—
Father, let me taste and see again.
Holy Spirit, may I find you in my breath.
Jesus, I believe, help my unbelief.
No, I don’t know if I believe anymore.
Maybe the best I can offer is I want to believe.
May that be enough for us, for now.
Amen.
Tyler Watson writes fiction and theology. He has served as a pastor in the Evangelical Covenant Church and earned his MDiv from Fuller Theological Seminary. He has written one novel, The Gospel According to Doubters and Traitors, and several devotionals. You can find more about those works on this site.
