I have known many times of doubt. In India I was challenged by the attractions of other religions devoutly practiced by millions of people. In medical school I faced constant exposure to assumptions that the universe is based on randomness, without room for an intelligent Designer. As I have grappled with these and other issues—questions about the person of Christ, trust in the Bible, etc.—I have learned it is sometimes helpful to continue accepting as a rule of life something about which I have basic intellectual uncertainties. In other words, I have learned to trust the basic skeleton and use it even when I cannot figure out how various bones fit together and why some are shaped the way they are.
---A certain bridge in South America consists of interlocking vines supporting a precariously swinging platform hundreds of feet above a river. I know the bridge has supported hundreds of people over many years, and as I stand at the edge of the chasm I can see people confidently crossing the bridge. The engineer in me wants to weigh all the factors—measure the stress tolerances of the vines, test the wood for termites, survey all the bridges in the area for one that might be stronger. I could spend a lifetime determining whether the bridge is fully trustworthy. But eventually, if I really want to cross, I must take a step. When I put my weight on that bridge and walk across, even though my heart is pounding and my knees are shaking, I am declaring my position.
In the Christian world I sometimes must live like this, making choices which contain inherent uncertainty. If I wait for all the evidence to be in, for everything to be settled, I'll never move. Often I have had to act on the basis of the bones of the Christian faith before those bones were fully formed in me and before I understood the reason for their existence. Bone is hard, but it is alive. If the bones of faith do not continue to grow, they will soon become dead skeletons.
---How do I know that the idea of God isn't merely a series of electrical impulses in my brain? Answer: How do I know that electrical impluses [sic] are not God's chosen device for communicating to me a spiritual reality that could not otherwise be known?
---But when I ask patients and their families, "Who helped you in your suffering?" I hear a strange, imprecise answer. The person described rarely has smooth answers and a winsome, effervescent personality. It is someone quiet, understanding, who listens more than talks, who does not judge or even offer much advice. "A sense of presence." "Someone there when I needed him." A hand to hold, an understanding, bewildered hug. A shared lump in the throat.
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