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.

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).

Since the third response is the only one that gave me hope, it propelled me to read a copy of the New Testament that friends had given me years before. In it, I found Jesus to be compelling, brilliant, challenging, and transformative. Though my objections and doubts did not simply disappear, the power of Jesus’s message and life began to overshadow the doubts. He tipped — and continues to tip — the scales for me.

“Where will your current beliefs lead in the future, especially at the end of your earthly life?”

I also immersed myself in pursuing answers to my questions, insisting on finding the best arguments available. Although some of that reading seemed dry compared to the splendor of Matthew’s Gospel, it was necessary. I needed to sufficiently address my doubts about the reliability of the Bible, the historicity of the resurrection, the validity of New Testament interpretation of Old Testament prophecy, and several other crucial issues. But eventually, I found the arguments in favor of Christianity more compelling than the arguments against it.

Five Clusters of Questions

As I pursued answers to my questions about Christianity, I also found myself asking questions of my own skepticism. Instead of only questioning faith, I started to doubt my doubts. In the process, the foundations of my own unbelief began to feel more brittle.

If you find yourself in a similar place, intrigued by Jesus but kept back by questions, I would encourage you to doubt your doubts and explore faith in Christ with an open mind. Here are five clusters of questions that may help.

CLUSTER 1: WHAT IS SOLID?

Where do you fit on the spectrum between “I know all about Christianity” and “I hardly know anything at all”? What do you already accept about the Christian faith — and why? What has convinced you of its plausibility?

CLUSTER 2: WHAT IS ADRIFT?

Which parts of the Christian message are you doubting? What has prompted these doubts? Might there be factors other than sound reason that have triggered this current round of doubt? Those factors could include disappointment with God due to unanswered prayer, some disaster or suffering that felt like the last straw, the hypocrisy of Christians you know, or reports of Christians behaving non-Christianly.

CLUSTER 3: WHAT NEEDS ATTENTION?

Just how strong are the arguments in favor of your doubts? Have you talked about these arguments with someone you trust to give you honest feedback, or have you immersed yourself in an echo chamber of skepticism? Have you sought out the best arguments in favor of the Christian perspective — not merely the shallow, silly so-called “defenses” of Christianity?

CLUSTER 4: WHAT ARE THE ALTERNATIVES?

Have you given greater credence to your own ability to reason than to numerous arguments in support of belief? Have you considered that you might be guilty of chronological snobbery — the belief that new arguments are superior to older, more “traditional” perspectives simply because they’re newer? What convictions form the backbone of your present way of thinking? And where will your current beliefs lead in the future, especially at the end of your earthly life? Does your skepticism produce hope, purpose, meaning, and strength?

CLUSTER 5: WHAT COMES NEXT?

If you were to believe (or return to belief), what would that look like for you? How might it change your life? What questions do you need to address? With whom can you process your doubts?

Overcoming Unbelief

Doubts still surface occasionally for me — especially upon hearing news of some terrible natural disaster or exposure of Christian hypocrisy. But the best biblical, serious, and thoughtful Christian responses to even the most painful challenges continue to outweigh my objections. I shudder to think of what my life would be like now if I had not abandoned absurdism, immorality, and overindulgences. I continue to marvel that God intervened with his hope, love, and grace.

I hope you’ll confront your doubts with the best that Christianity has to offer. Are you willing to echo the man who once said to Jesus, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief” (Mark 9:24 NIV)?

It feels like a Norman Rockwell painting. Your family is gathered around a luxuriously set table. A huge roasted turkey makes its arrival. Side dishes crowd the scene. Relatives begin to drool.

Suddenly, the background music veers into an ominous minor key. Your brother-in-law, who has already had too much to drink, announces, “I suppose we need our token religious guy to pronounce some kind of prayer, right? Let’s not take too long on this — the food’s getting cold.”

Everyone turns to you, the lone Christian of the family. Which prayer do you pray?

Choice A: “Bless us, O Lord, and these thy gifts, which we are about to receive from thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

Choice B: “Thank you, Lord Jesus, for coming to earth to save sinners. Thank you that all who receive you as their Savior and Lord can be born again, can have their many, many, many sins forgiven, and can have eternal life. What a great God you are! And thank you for all this delicious food. Please protect us from gluttony. In Jesus’s name. Amen.”

Of course, I’ve exaggerated this scenario. But for some of us, going to a holiday gathering (or hosting one) can be fraught with spiritual tension when few (or none) share our Christian faith. And given numerous trends in our society, the tension may only get worse in the days ahead. Not long ago, most of our non-Christian family, friends, neighbors, and coworkers believed that Christianity and church membership contributed to the well-being of society. Today, many people blame us for all sorts of problems in our world. We’re the bigoted, intolerant, homophobic, gun-toting, anti-science Neanderthals that are dragging our country down, backward, and into decay.

Into such an environment we gather together to celebrate “the holidays.” How do we navigate this terrain? How might we evangelize our family on what appears to be a minefield? It may prove helpful to begin with some internal preparation before we brainstorm strategies for external interaction. In fact, framing the topic through before, during, and after scenarios might ease the burden of our endeavor.

Before

Have you been praying for the people you’ll see at the upcoming gathering? If not, it’s not too late to start. If so, it’s never a bad idea to intensify your efforts. Jesus taught the disciples to “pray and not lose heart” because he knew they — and we — would be tempted to quit (Luke 18:1). Prayer takes perseverance, especially when it comes to praying for people who seem resistant to change or closed to the gospel. That’s one reason Paul tells us to “continue steadfastly in prayer” (Colossians 4:2).

It’s also good to check your attitude toward your family. Do you love them, or do you find them difficult to love? Perhaps both feelings swarm together. For many, family is the realm where love is assumed but not so often expressed (or, at least, not expressed well). If we’re honest, some of us disdain our family. So at times, preparing to connect with family should include confession of a cold heart. God is the one who has sovereignly placed you in your particular family. Perhaps your chief objection about your earthly family is toward your heavenly Father.

A little self-reflection about your default settings regarding evangelism also can help. Are you pushy when it comes to sharing your faith, or are you an evangelistic chicken? Do you tend to “always be closing” when telling people about Jesus, or do you live more in the realm of the wallflower-witness? If your family dreads seeing you, fearing your questions about their eternal destiny, perhaps you need to consider a less overbearing approach. If you never or seldom broach the topic of faith, perhaps you need to make God’s glory a higher priority than your comfort or family harmony.

During

Some Christians think of evangelism as convincing others to agree with cognitive arguments and logical propositions. Others imagine evangelism as overwhelmingly emotional. They say that people need to be loved, not argued, into the kingdom. But the Bible sees us as whole persons with both brains and hearts. We need multifaceted approaches to connect with multifaceted people. We proclaim truth and express love. We craft arguments and also embody hope, joy, and peace.

If you tend toward the cognitive side, perhaps this Thanksgiving and Christmas you’d do well to talk about what you’re thankful for, why you’re encouraged about the future, and how you have felt buoyed by the ways you’ve been provided for in the past. You might consider ways to convey care for people: listening more, sympathizing more, and pontificating less. Explore common interests as avenues for further, deeper conversation, which could make room to discuss God’s goodness shown through common grace and general revelation.

If you lean more in the direction of the silent witness, perhaps you should prepare to explain what you believe, and then try verbalizing your faith to one or two relatives who are most likely to converse in respectful ways. To be sure, you’ll find this uncomfortable. Again, perhaps you need to repent of making comfort an idol.

After

Before the age of social media, email, texting, and other modes of electronic connection (can you remember such ancient history?), holiday gatherings were some of the only times to have substantive conversations with family. If we didn’t broach important topics then, another year or more would pass before we could.

It’s a whole new world now, which does offer some advantages for evangelism. We can continue the conversation long after the family gathering, and some forms of electronic communication might be better than the face-to-face variety. Many people feel put on the spot or backed into a corner when they’re asked about their religious beliefs. Those moments can be so uncomfortable, they resort to dismissing the topic out of hand, changing the subject, or offering mindless clichés: “I think religion is a private matter,” “Well, who’s to say what’s right or wrong?” or “I think all religions contain some truth.”

A follow-up email after a brief in-person conversation may prove more fruitful. First, it’s one-on-one, with no one overhearing. Second, it gives people time to reflect before responding, allowing them the chance to think deeply about what they really do believe.

Many people almost never think about spiritual things. If you ask them about their beliefs, it may be the first time (or the first time in a very long time) they’ve considered the topic. That’s why some resort to clichés, which protect them from deep reflection. But as they sit in front of their computer or look at their phone, with the question you posed waiting patiently before them, they have time to consider a new perspective.

Let’s not forget that considering the gospel unnerves many nonbelievers. When people seriously think about their sinfulness or God’s holiness or Jesus’s uniqueness or the world’s emptiness or their own lack of inner peace, we shouldn’t be surprised if they need space to wrestle on their own before coming to painful conclusions. As C.S. Lewis observed about the kinds of gods in which we would rather believe instead of the real God,

An “impersonal God” — well and good. A subjective God of beauty, truth, and goodness, inside our own heads — better still. A formless life-force surging through us, a vast power which we can tap — best of all. But God Himself, alive, pulling at the other end of the cord, perhaps approaching at an infinite speed, the hunter, king, husband — that is quite another matter. (Miracles, 150)

Battle for Family

It shouldn’t surprise us if witnessing to family members seems tougher than talking to strangers or close acquaintances. It is more difficult! Our emotions run deeper with family. We’ve known them longer, and will know them longer still.

But on a larger scale, the family is a favorite battlefield for the devil. He hates marriage, family, and, most of all, the God who calls himself “Father.” God places a high value on families, and they are a high priority for him. If family is a high priority for God, then family is certainly a high priority for the evil one.

So, as we come together for holiday celebrations, let’s not be naive: there’s a lot more going on than just turkey and all the trimmings.

I recently had the incomparable joy of visiting the Grand Canyon. Though visit isn’t quite the right word, I suppose. You don’t just visit the Grand Canyon — you marvel at it, stand in awe of it, catch your breath before it, and find yourself transfixed and transformed by it. You come away “canyoned” by the juxtaposed emotions of feeling smaller and bigger at the same time. As a Christian, I reveled in knowing that the Creator of such beauty also happens to be the Savior of my soul.

I believe gospel-shaped humility can have similar effects. It makes us feel smaller and bigger at the same time. But only if we have a proper understanding of humility, carefully defined, delineated, displayed, and distinguished — that is, only if we move past some common confusions about humility.

Humility Confused

I’ve heard some Christians say things like, “I’m nothing. I’m just a worm.” Or, “I didn’t do a thing. I’m just an empty vessel.” I don’t think such statements reflect a healthy view of humility. The New Testament calls us saints and God’s children and goes out of its way to declare just how loved, redeemed, and blessed we are. Our new identity cannot square with “I’m nothing.”

It’s easy to get confused about humility. Consider how C.S. Lewis put these directions into the mouth of Screwtape, the senior demon in charge of training a new tempter:

Your patient has become humble; have you drawn his attention to the fact? . . . Catch him at the moment when he is really poor in spirit and smuggle into his mind the gratifying reflection, “By jove! I’m being humble,” and almost immediately pride — pride at his own humility — will appear. If he awakes to the danger and tries to smother this new form of pride, make him proud of his attempt — and so on, through as many stages as you please. But don’t try this too long, for fear you awake his sense of humor and proportion, in which case he will merely laugh at you and go to bed. (The Screwtape Letters, 69)

Humility Defined

Merriam-Webster defines humility as “freedom from pride or arrogance.” But that leaves us needing another definition — one for pride. And we need the Bible’s authority, not the dictionary’s, to help us most.

“Humility is not thinking of yourself more highly than you ought but with sober judgment, according to what God says in his word.”

I suggest this definition adapted from Romans 12:3: humility is not thinking of yourself more highly than you ought but with sober judgment, according to what God says in his word. Thus, growing in humility is a lifelong venture as you increase in knowledge of God’s word and in appreciation for God’s work through Christ.

Humility Delineated

Clear thinking about humility is on display in Andrew Murray’s classic short book Humility: The Beauty of Holiness. He starts with this insight: “There are three great motives that urge us to humility. It becomes me as a creature, as a sinner, as a saint” (10).

First, we should be humbled by the fact that we did not create ourselves or have any say in the specifics of our birth. How is it that you weren’t born in the 1300s in an obscure, poverty-stricken, disease-ridden village? Can you provide breath at any given moment? Which talents came from your blueprint, and not God’s? Consider Paul’s insightful question, “What do you have that you did not receive?” (1 Corinthians 4:7).

Second, humility befits our fallenness. We’re sinners, rebels, transgressors, and worshipers of false gods. Reflect on Paul’s recounting of our before-salvation résumé: “We ourselves were once foolish, disobedient, led astray, slaves to various passions and pleasures, passing our days in malice and envy, hated by others and hating one another” (Titus 3:3).

Third, we are saved by grace, “not because of works done by us in righteousness” (Titus 3:5) “so that no one may boast” (Ephesians 2:9).

Humility Displayed

Humility’s central text is Philippians 2:1–11, where Jesus is lifted up as the perfect example of humility. It’s easy to zoom in on verse 5, “Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus,” and think, “I should be humble like Jesus was humble.” He is indeed our supreme example.

But we can follow his example only because he was also our supreme sacrifice. Don’t race past the first phrase of this chapter: “If you have any encouragement from being united with Christ . . . .” It is your union with Christ that transforms you into a new creature who can “consider others better than yourself,” and “look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others” (Philippians 2:1–4 NIV).

Humility Distinguished

Humility, as the Bible puts forth, must be distinguished from vague ideas apart from the specifics of the gospel. Humility is not feeling bad about oneself. Humility is not comparing ourselves to others. And humility isn’t merely the absence of boasting. (What goes on inside our heads can be disgustingly self-exalting even while we keep our mouths shut.)

“Humility shaped by the gospel shows us just how bad we are and, at the same time, just how great God’s salvation is.”

Humility shaped by the gospel shows us just how bad we are and, at the same time, just how great God’s salvation is. It chastens while it emboldens. It puts us in our place, which, amazingly, is a place of both contrition and confidence. It is a proper and complete understanding of who we are — created, fallen, redeemed, and blessed. We live out our lives in humble boldness, knowing we deserve wrath instead of grace, judgment instead of justification, separation from God instead of the indwelling of his Spirit.

Humility Pursued

Note what immediately follows Philippians 2:1–11. Verse 12 begins with “therefore” and goes on to tell us to “work out [our] salvation with fear and trembling.” We do have a part to play in pursuing humility. Consider some practical suggestions.

Bodily Prayerfulness

The position of our bodies can make a difference in our prayer lives. Kneeling while interceding, raising our arms while praising, and opening our palms while giving thanks can intensify the blessings received through prayer. And it can help us grow in humility before God. It’s hard (although not impossible!) to feel self-empowered while kneeling.

Rigorous Confession

I’ll let C.S. Lewis present this case for me. He writes in The Weight of Glory,

I find that when I think I am asking God to forgive me I am often in reality (unless I watch myself very carefully) asking him to do something quite different. I am asking him not to forgive me but to excuse me. But there is all the difference in the world between forgiving and excusing.

Forgiveness says, “Yes, you have done this thing, but I accept your apology; I will never hold it against you and everything between us two will be exactly as it was before.” But excusing says, “I see that you couldn’t help it or didn’t mean it; you weren’t really to blame.” If one was not really to blame then there is nothing to forgive. In that sense forgiveness and excusing are almost opposites. (178–79)

Humility makes a regular practice of asking God, and others, to forgive us instead of excuse us.

Regular Periods of Fasting

Simply put, fasting makes us feel physically weak. That’s a good state for trusting entirely in God’s provision for everything. Fasting can take all sorts of forms and varieties. All of them can help in growth toward humility.

Outward-Facing Intercession

Jesus told us to include “our daily bread” (the most basic unit of physical sustenance) as well as “your kingdom come” (the most expansive scope of church growth) in our prayers. Prayer guides like Operation World (both the book and the app), which inform us how to pray for gospel advance in every country, help us see our individual needs on a larger canvas and forge humility.

Others-Centered Conversation

Many so-called dialogues are really simultaneous monologues. A gospel-humbled conversationalist can allow the interchange to be unbalanced — in the direction of the other person. Asking questions to draw more out of the other person can display Philippians 2 humility in tangible, practical ways.

Bowing Low, Standing Tall

Some might say standing before the Grand Canyon should have made me feel like “nothing.” But that wasn’t my experience. To be sure, I had no doubt that the nearly two thousand square miles of a mile-deep chasm dwarfed my 5-foot, 9-inch frame. If I did not know the Creator of both the physical universe and my physical body, I would have felt like dust.

But standing before an even greater wonder — the cross, where we are “united with Christ . . . in the comfort from his love . . . with the fellowship of the Holy Spirit . . . with tenderness and compassion” (Philippians 2:1 NIV) — forges a gospel-humility that bows us low and stands us tall.