Sermon from this week

Sermon 14th June 2026 Rev Chris

Title: The Holy Hesitation: Why Doubt is the Deepest Act of Faith 

We live in a world that is terrified of the question mark. We are often told that faith is a fortress, a wall built of absolute convictions that nothing can breach. We are taught that if we have a shadow of a question, we have a crack in our foundation. We are told that to be a person of faith is to never wonder, never hesitate, and never ask, "Why?" 

But I want to challenge that assumption. I want to suggest that the very thing we fear most—the raw honesty of our doubt—is not the opposite of faith. It is, in fact, the most courageous act of faith a human being can perform. 

 Let’s look at our reading today:  Psalm 13. This is not a polished hymn of triumph. It is not a theological treatise written from a place of comfort. It is the cry of a soul in the dark. And it begins with a question that echoes through the centuries, a question that has likely passed through the lips of every person in this room at some point. 

"How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?" (Psalm 13:1). 

The Psalmist, is not whispering this in quiet prayer. They are screaming it into the void. They are accusing God and saying, "You have abandoned me. You have forgotten me. You are hiding. But notice what happens next. It does not stop there.  The psalmist pours out complaint. "How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and day after day have sorrow in my heart?" (v. 2). 

This is the first thing to notice about Psalm 13: Doubt is not a failure of faith; it is the language of a relationship. Think about it. Who do you argue with? Who do you complain to? Who do you demand answers from? Not argue with strangers. You only wrestle with those you love, those you trust, those you believe are capable of hearing you. If the psalmist truly believed God was dead, or that God did not care, they would have remained silent.  They would have found a new God. There were plenty of other God’s worshipped in Israel at the time by the Canaanites and foreign people who resided there. But they didn't. They stayed right in their pain and shouted questions at the One they believed was listening. 

In this sense, doubt is an act of faith because it assumes that God is real enough to answer, powerful enough to change things, and loving enough to care about our struggles. To ask "How long?" is to believe that "Long enough" is not the final answer. It is to believe that there is a timeline, a purpose, and a resolution waiting somewhere beyond the darkness. 

Now, let us move to the second observation about this Psalm,  

"Consider and answer me, Lord my God; give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death, and my enemy will say, 'I have overcome him,' and my foes will rejoice when I fall." (v. 3-4). 

The psalmist is betting their life on the character of God and saying, "I am going to keep hoping, even though my eyes are dimming. I am going to keep believing, even though my enemies are circling." This is not blind faith. Blind faith ignores reality. Blind faith pretends the storm isn't raging. This is active faith. This is faith that looks the storm in the eye, acknowledges their terror, and says, "I am still going to trust You. anyway" 

The Bible is filled with people who were terrified and confused. Elijah, under the broom tree, wanted to die. Job, covered in sores, cursed the day he was born. Jeremiah, the weeping prophet, questioned why he was ever born. Jesus himself, in the Garden of Gethsemane, asked, "My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me." 

If these giants of the faith could doubt, if they could question, if they could feel abandoned, then we are not alone in our struggles. Our doubts do not make us bad people or bad believers. They connect us to every single thinking human being who ponders their faith. 

There is a remarkable shift in the final verses. "But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation. I will sing the Lord's praise, for he has been good to me." (v. 5-6). 

There is no logical bridge that explains how the psalmist got from "You have forgotten me" to "I will sing." There is no sudden miracle where the sky opens up and a voice says, "Here is the answer to your problem." There is no miracle that instantly cures depression or defeats enemies. Instead, there is a choice. A deliberate, counter-intuitive choice. 

"But I trust..." 

The word "but" is the moment where faith decides to act despite evidence. It is the moment where the heart chooses to remember the past goodness of God, even when the present reality is full of pain. This is why doubt is an act of faith. Because if you had no doubt, if you had no pain, if you had no questions, you wouldn't need to choose trust. You would just be observing facts. Faith is only faith when it is tested. Faith is only faith when it is a choice made in the dark. 

When you are sitting in a hospital room, wondering if your loved one will survive, and you pray, "God, please, I don't understand why this is happening” that is the faith. It is not the faith of someone who has it all figured out. It is the faith of someone who has nothing left but the willingness to hold on. 

We live in a culture that wants quick fixes. We want the "how-to" guide for spiritual certainty. We want a formula that guarantees we will never feel doubt again. But that is not the path of the believer. The path of the believer is the path of the Psalmist. It is the path of bringing our whole selves—our anger, our confusion, our fear, and our hope—to God. 

To doubt is to say, "I am not satisfied with easy answers." To doubt is to say, "I believe God is too big to be contained by my current understanding." To doubt is to say, "I am willing to wait for the truth, even if it takes a lifetime." 

So, if you are here today and you are carrying a heavy burden of doubt, I want you to hear this: You are not a failure. You are not a hypocrite. You are not "less than." You are a person of deep faith. Your questions are not a sign that you are leaving God; they are a sign that you are taking God seriously. You are treating God as a living, breathing, responsive reality, not a statue to be worshipped from a distance. 

So let us stop trying to silence our doubts. Let us stop trying to hide our questions. Let us bring them into the light, just as the psalmist did. Let us wrestle with them. Let us argue with them. Let us pour them out before the One who made us. 

Because in the end, the God we serve is not afraid of our questions. The God we serve is not threatened by our scepticism. The God we serve is the God who meets us in the "How long?" and transforms it into the "I will sing." 

 

That is the paradox. That is the mystery. That is the faith.