{"id":60,"date":"2010-09-03T15:48:08","date_gmt":"2010-09-03T21:48:08","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.patheos.com\/community\/dry_bones\/?p=60"},"modified":"2010-09-03T15:48:08","modified_gmt":"2010-09-03T21:48:08","slug":"doubt-%e2%80%9ccould-be-wrong-%e2%80%a6-but-i-don%e2%80%99t-think-so-%e2%80%9d-third-time%e2%80%99s-the-charm","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/drybones\/2010\/09\/doubt-%e2%80%9ccould-be-wrong-%e2%80%a6-but-i-don%e2%80%99t-think-so-%e2%80%9d-third-time%e2%80%99s-the-charm\/","title":{"rendered":"Doubt ~ \u201cCould Be Wrong \u2026 but I Don\u2019t Think So.\u201d (Third time\u2019s the charm.)"},"content":{"rendered":"<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC \"-\/\/W3C\/\/DTD HTML 4.0 Transitional\/\/EN\" \"http:\/\/www.w3.org\/TR\/REC-html40\/loose.dtd\">\n<html><head><meta http-equiv=\"content-type\" content=\"text\/html; charset=utf-8\"><meta http-equiv=\"content-type\" content=\"text\/html; charset=utf-8\"><\/head><body><p style=\"text-align: center\"><a href=\"https:\/\/wp.patheos.com\/community\/dry_bones\/files\/2010\/09\/pheasant-hunting.jpg\" class=\" decorated-link\" target=\"_blank\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-61 aligncenter\" src=\"https:\/\/wp.patheos.com\/community\/dry_bones\/files\/2010\/09\/pheasant-hunting.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"500\" height=\"143\"><\/a><\/p>\n<p>I don\u2019t know anything at all about hunting pheasant. But I can imagine myself in the quiet mists of morning out in the wide open fields of Nebraska, standing beside the pick-up, tightening the boots, downing the last sip of coffee, loading up the guns and strapping on the orange vest, watching the dogs pace with excitement. I\u2019m seeing through my husband\u2019s eyes. He has hunted pheasant.<\/p>\n<p>I smell the drying corn stalks and perhaps a whiff of burning leaves. The air is cold on my face, and my breath even casts a shadow. Far away there\u2019s the low thrum of a tractor even though it\u2019s the break of day. We\u2019re on farmland, acres spread out in front of us as far as the eye can see, the farmer standing beside us. He casts an eye over the fields. Hidden in there are the birds, unseen, silent, hunkered in their secret lives. The trick is to find them. They don\u2019t present themselves for target practice. They must be flushed out, and knowing where they hide, where to send the dogs to rout them out, is an art and a skill.<\/p>\n<p>Farmer ponders the situation, weighing prior successes and failures, considering the temperature, the wind, the moisture in the air.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThis way.\u201d He gestures to the western expanse, away from the rising sun.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThey\u2019re over there?\u201d we ask.<\/p>\n<p>This short dialogue has really taken place, many times in fact, over years of hunting. This particular farmer considers, and knowing the fields, the birds, the dogs, the weather, and the season as he does, he chooses. He moves off down the rows into the fields. And in response to our last question \u2013 \u201cThey\u2019re over there?\u201d \u2013 he always has the one answer, the same answer.<\/p>\n<p><em>\u201cCould be wrong \u2026 [long pause] \u2026 but I don\u2019t think so.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n<p>A humble answer and yet a confident answer. Pheasant are wily creatures, unpredictable; they do, however, have habits and preferences that give clues to their behavior and choices. If you want certainty in the hunt, you go to a stocked hunting club where the pheasant have been placed for your guaranteed pleasure. But the real hunt demands the willingness to learn by trial and error, the readiness to succeed and the acceptance of failure. It demands choices. It requires the authentic unknown.<\/p>\n<p>Can we do better than this in the hunt for God? He seems so elusive sometimes, so hidden, so disguised amidst the colors and scents and textures of our lives. He seems to want us to tramp the fields, weary ourselves with the pursuit, miss the sightings, come home empty-handed sometimes, and ultimately familiarize ourselves with his inexplicable ways.<\/p>\n<p>Scott, our farmer friend, in some weird way reminds me a lot of a man Jesus encountered once. Jesus and three of his friends were away. The man brought his possessed son to the other nine disciples and begged them to heal the boy. They couldn\u2019t. Wrapped in failure (though they had been given the authority to cast out demons by Jesus himself), they bickered and argued and blamed, while the man wrung his hands in despair.<\/p>\n<p>Jesus came and immediately grasped the situation. Shoulda, woulda, coulda \u2013 but the futility and anxiety on everyone\u2019s face was apparent. (Inner thoughts of the disciples\u2026 perhaps: \u201cAm I the problem? What\u2019s the glitch here? What am I doing wrong? Why isn\u2019t this working?\u201d)<\/p>\n<p>Jesus: \u201cBring the boy to me.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The father\u2019s heart-rending plea: \u201cIf you can do anything, take pity on us and help us.\u201d (Inner thoughts of the dad \u2026 perhaps: \u201cIs he all they say he is? Is he my only hope? What am I going to do if this doesn\u2019t work? Is this problem too big for him?\u201d)<\/p>\n<p>Jesus: \u201cIf you can? Everything is possible for him who believes.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The father: \u201cI do believe! Help my unbelief!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Even in his statement of faith, the man humbly recognizes his vulnerability, his weakness, and hides nothing. He brings his belief <em>and<\/em> his unbelief to Jesus. Then, and only then, is Jesus ready to act.<\/p>\n<p>The father\u2019s desperation and doubt becomes the vehicle of his most potent act of faith \u2013 thrusting all onto the one, singular hope in the power and mercy of Jesus.<\/p>\n<p>This, then, is the question: Are faith and doubt mutually exclusive? Does one always give way to the other? Or do they live side-by-side in a creative tension, a fertile field of humility and risk and defenselessness? Could it even be that our doubts \u2013 our times of spiritual darkness, our theological questioning, our confusion \u2013 are actually goads of faith, inciting us to greater risks, deeper plummeting into the depths of the Jesus Christ? Are our doubts, perhaps, merely the hunting dogs of our quest, flushing out the brilliant plumage and revealing what is hidden?<\/p>\n<p>This is it, then. If you\u2019re reading this, and you\u2019ve ever tramped the fields of the spiritual quest alongside me, this is it. I\u2019ve been down these cornrows hundreds of times. Come home empty-handed often enough. But all my belief \u2013 embedded in scripture, accounts of the church, lives of the saints, testimonies of the martyrs, consistent message of the gospel, and personal encounters \u2013 <em>and <\/em>all my unbelief \u2013 provoked by other faiths, unanswerable questions, contradictory stories, contrary experiences, opposing convictions \u2013 finally lead me to the same end: Jesus, the cosmic Christ, the Alpha and Omega, the Bright Morning Star, the One Who Holds All Things Together.<\/p>\n<p>Could be wrong \u2026 but I don\u2019t think so.<\/p>\n<\/body><\/html>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>I don\u2019t know anything at all about hunting pheasant. But I can imagine myself in the quiet mists of morning out in the wide open fields of Nebraska, standing beside the pick-up, tightening the boots, downing the last sip of coffee, loading up the guns and strapping on the orange vest, watching the dogs pace [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":206,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[16,27],"class_list":["post-60","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-doubt","tag-faith"],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v21.1 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/wordpress\/plugins\/seo\/ -->\n<title>Doubt ~ \u201cCould Be Wrong \u2026 but I Don\u2019t Think So.\u201d (Third time\u2019s the charm.)<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"I don\u2019t know anything at all about hunting pheasant. 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