Faith Is Not Certainty

I’ve often heard well-meaning Christians say something like this to someone facing a decision: “God will make it clear.”

The problem is that sometimes we make this a kind of superstition. We start to essentially think, “If I pray, God will answer with peace, or give me certainty, or show me exactly what to do.”

We say things like, “God will make it clear,” when, in fact, the situation is anything but clear. I’m not talking about matters of sin that Scripture speaks directly to. I’m talking about matters of wisdom, matters where it is harder to discern the wisest step. And these aren’t just the big decisions, but the daily choice points, too.

We say we must have faith and then expect God to give us the lowdown of each step to take. But the thing is, following a step-by-step guide isn’t faith. Taking the next step, doing the next thing, even when there is neither clarity nor peace nor certainty—that is faith.

For sure, God does make it clear at times. I’ve heard people testify to feeling complete peace and certainty as they’ve made decisions. I don’t want to discount these experiences! But other times, and especially for those of us whose consciences are tainted by scrupulosity, God doesn’t make it clear, and we have to move forward in faith that he’ll take care of us. Sometimes we can see the shape of his guidance and the fruits of our circumstances down the road, and it suddenly makes sense to us. Other times we never understand. But we can’t expect the clarity to come in the moment.

Recently a couple of my loved ones had to make a decision. It was a hard decision. Both options promised immense difficulty and demanded immense strength. To all in their life, there was no right or wrong answer, but it was rather a matter of wisdom. Which was wisest? How would they know? They gathered dozens of people around them to pray with them for clarity, they sought the counsel of their community and various professionals, and when it came down to it, there was not certainty. They chose the option not that they were certain about but that they felt made the most sense after much discussion, consideration, and prayer. It was painful, and there remained the thought, What if we made the wrong choice? There was, perhaps, a sense of relief and resolve in having finally made a decision, but there was no peace or certainty in the moment of decision itself, and if they had decided for the other option, this same uncertainty would have remained.

They had to make a choice and move forward in faith—that is, believing God would take care of them in the midst of whatever lay ahead.

Faith is not certainty. Neither is it paralysis. Faith is taking the next step in the midst of uncertainty. To use the language of scrupulosity, it is “doing the opposite.” Doing it with uncertainty. Doing it unsure. Doing it even in the absence of peace.

Here’s another example specific to scrupulosity. Participating in the Lord’s Supper is a common difficulty for scrupulosity strugglers. We may fear we’re doing it in an unworthy manner or think that we shouldn’t partake because we might not be Christians. This fear has often led me to abstain from it altogether. But I am growing in the realization that I can take communion. I don’t feel certain, but it’s a step I take in prayer. It’s not a blind faith; I am listening to the wisdom, affirmation, and testimony of my friends, family, and counselor who have encouraged me to take it regardless of how I feel. And I am taking Christ at his word to come to him as I am (Matt. 11:28).

When I take communion each Sunday, I never feel certain about my salvation. There is always a continual nagging: Am I truly worthy? Can I take this? But I aim to move forward anyway, not expecting to “feel” faith in the form of peace or certainty, but rather putting faith into practice. I say I believe that I need Jesus, so that means I can take the next step, regardless of the peace I feel or don’t.

I believe it was Elisabeth Elliot who said that “Sometimes fear does not subside, and you must do it afraid.” We can say it this way too: “Sometimes certainty does not abide, and you must do it uncertain.”

But there is an element of certainty in faith, and it’s not in our circumstances. It’s in the unshakable truth of who God is. He is gentle and lowly. He is powerful and steadfast. He is gracious and merciful. He promises to care for us, to lead us as a Shepherd, to care for us no matter the outcome of our decisions. Whichever way the path leads, as our Savior and our Keeper, Christ promises to hold us firmly within his grasp and within his care.

I wish God would write our steps for us in the stars. I wish he would audibly speak into the specifics of our lives. I wish he would calm the nagging doubts and give me total peace. But he hasn’t, and he may not. What he has given is himself. The object of our faith is far sturdier than even the strongest faith.

A few years ago, I wrote this poem entitled, “Faith Is Not Certainty.”

Faith is not certainty.

Sometimes,
Faith is stumbling through the night,
eyes trying, straining, failing to make out your shape ahead.

Faith is stepping forward, weak and weary,
because all other directions are blocked.

Faith is following the worn trail through the shadowed woods
though I cannot see the sky or sun.

Faith is hot coals on my feet,
bloodied and bruised.

Faith is a smoldering hope when certainty’s flames have died
because the only other option is total despair.

Faith is leaping off the ladder,
sink or swim.

Faith is grabbing the withering branch
when the alternative is plummeting off the cliff.

Faith is a faint thought that you go before me,
though none of my senses bear you witness.

Faith is crying out to the thick, dark clouds
that might mask our Maker’s smiling heart.

Faith is a weak call,
a doubt-crippled prayer,
a darkness-drenched plea for rescue:

I believe; help my unbelief!