“I sympathize with doubters who may feel drawn to Christianity but find plenty of objections to keep them at arm’s distance. If you’re drawn to the message of Jesus but can’t seem to get past your doubts, perhaps it would be helpful if I share how I worked through some of my doubts.” 

I was raised in an environment of skepticism, during a time of questioning, amid a culture that preferred sarcastic mocking over serious thinking. We liked simplistic slogans more than complex considerations. We loved to point out religious hypocrisy but rarely turned the light of inquiry on our own assumptions.
On top of all this, I was raised in a Jewish family who firmly believed that “Jews don’t believe in Jesus.” So, to say the least, I had many doubts about the Christian faith my friends encouraged me to consider. After all, it was hard to give much credence to a religion that supposedly dominated Germany as it incinerated six million of my fellow Jews. A “Christian nation” thought they had found “the final solution” to the world’s problems: get rid of people like me.
So, I sympathize with doubters who may feel drawn to Christianity but find plenty of objections to keep them at arm’s distance. If you’re drawn to the message of Jesus but can’t seem to get past your doubts, perhaps it would be helpful if I share how I worked through some of my doubts.
Out of Absurdism
As I’ve said, many factors pointed me away from accepting the Christian faith. In addition to those already mentioned, I immersed myself in absurd literature and comedy for several years as I began my university studies. I mixed together an intellectual cocktail of Samuel Beckett, Kurt Vonnegut, and Woody Allen — with large quantities of alcohol added in. It made for a lot of laughs, even more smirks, and a great deal of what felt like fun. But there were hangovers as well — and not just from the alcohol. After the intoxication of laughter wears off, absurdism leaves the mind and heart with existential emptiness.
Immersed in meaninglessness, I continued to seek something transcendent in the world of music. I attended concerts, practiced, performed, and listened desperately, hoping to find a portal to the supernatural or divine. But every piece, every concert, every experience left me disappointed.
I was experiencing the kind of chronic disappointment C.S. Lewis describes in his book Mere Christianity, in the chapter titled “Hope.” Although I had not read anything by Lewis at that point, my life bore out the truth of what he said. Since even my best experiences proved unsatisfying, I could essentially respond in one of three ways:

I could embrace godless hedonism and keep trying to chase momentary intoxicating pleasures.
I could embrace cynicism and reject any hope that life might have some ultimate meaning.
I could embrace the possibility, as Lewis so eloquently puts it, that “if I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world” (Mere Christianity, 136–37).

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From Desiring God: Randy Newman, our longtime friend, wrote this article just weeks ago to be published May 30 at Desiring God. Last week Randy died unexpectedly of heart complications. We publish this article with the blessing of his wife and family, and in gratitude to God for Randy’s faithful ministry and contagious joy in Jesus.
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The pursuit of godliness requires focus, sacrifice, commitment, and endurance. Paul knows that training is a perfect metaphor for Christian obedience—training “for godliness” (1 Tim. 4:7b). This kind of training has value for the present life and the life to come. In other words, there is an all-compassing value to this pursuit. Don’t you want to invest in what matters most? Don’t you want to give yourself—your time, your resources, your energy—to what is of surpassing value?

What goals do you have? Do you have aims for your job, your household, your personal life? Paul thinks you should have an overarching goal, and it’s the goal he wrote about to Timothy.
“Rather train yourself for godliness; for while bodily training is of some value, godliness is of value in every way, as it holds promise for the present life and also for the life to come” (1 Tim. 4:7b–8).
Paul employs the metaphor of an athlete who is training to compete. And he recognizes that bodily training “is of some value.” There are bone and muscular benefits, there are mental health benefits, and there are organ and immune system benefits to regular exercise.
Why is bodily training of only “some value”? Because graveyards are filled with people who ate well and went regularly to the gym. Bodily training cannot defeat death. So while bodily training is of some value, it is not of ultimate value.
Bodily training involves focus, sacrifice, commitment, and endurance. Let’s think about each of these terms.

Focus—You need to know why you’re training. What’s the goal? Why are you putting yourself through the rigor of training? Do you have your eye on the prize?
Sacrifice—If you’re in training mode, you can’t live like those who aren’t training. Your mindset is different. You forgo what inhibits your training. You let your goal shape your behavior in the present. This behavior involves sacrifice—

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I don’t know what the future holds. I don’t know how much time I have left with my mom or how long she’ll continue to know who I am. But even if she forgets absolutely everything, God will never forget her. He will hold her in His arms as His dearly loved child. And He will do the same for you and me. As He promised His people before they entered the promised land, “The LORD is the one who goes ahead of you; He will be with you. He will not fail you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed” (Deut. 31:8).

The soul that on Jesus relies, He’ll never, no never deceive; He freely and faithfully gives more blessings than we can conceive; Yea, down to old age He will keep, nor will He forsake us at last; He knows and is known by His sheep; They’re His, and He will hold them fast. William Gadsby, “Poor Sinner Dejected with Fear”
Do you have a favorite hymn? One of my favorites, “How Firm a Foundation,” has become even more meaningful to me through the last year. I can hardly sing it without getting choked up. The last two verses in particular make me think of my mom:
E’en down to old age all my people shall prove my sovereign, eternal, unchangeable love; and when hoary hairs shall their temples adorn, like lambs they shall still in my bosom be borne.
The soul that on Jesus has leaned for repose, I will not, I will not desert to his foes; that soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake, I’ll never, no never, no never forsake.
I learned to read music and sing alto by singing next to my mom in church. Something we’ve always shared is a love for music. Recently, while sitting with my mom, I started humming a hymn tune. Without missing a beat, she joined right in. Music, hymns, and Scriptures are things that stick with us.
You see, my mom has Alzheimer’s, and she has good days and not-so-good days. I treasure the time I have with her. I’m extremely thankful that she still knows us, although I know that may not always be the case. It’s painful to watch someone you love fade away.
Those verses from “How Firm a Foundation” reflect the hope and security we have in Christ. These sweet promises come from the Scriptures: Isaiah 46:4 says, “Even to your old age I will be the same, and even to your graying years I will bear you! I have done it, and I will carry you; and I will bear you and I will deliver you.” And Hebrews 13:5: “I will never desert you, nor will I ever forsake you.”
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