To My Beloved Father

Last night, you asked me a really great question: Do you believe the Bible is true? While it might look straightforward on the surface, the answer is a lot more complex than meets the eye. A simple yes or no could never do justice to all the questions behind the question, so instead, I've decided to address each one individually.

Is the Bible historically accurate? Yes and no. Many parts of the Bible deal with historical events, but others seem more allegorical. Given what we now know about evolution, it's highly unlikely that Adam literally sprang up fully-formed out of the dust, or that Noah literally crammed thousands of animals onto the ark. Our scientific understanding evolves over time, and we'd be fools not to evolve with it. But, at the same time, these stories are more than just fairytales—they help us explore what it truly means to be human.

Was the Bible written by God? Not exactly. To me, the very essence of the Gospel is the union of complementary opposites: rules with grace, death with life, and human with divine. So, in a way, I feel that God is in (but not limited to) the Bible and other religious books. Yet I chuckle at the concept of a deity holding your pen as you write, whispering words into your ear. Try as we might, none of us will ever corner the market on God. When people talk about scripture being God-breathed, I think they mean "inspired." It's like the oxygen we breathe—is it true? Is it perfect? We don't think of air that way. It's just there. It fills us with every breath we take, and it's all we've ever known.

But it seems like, deep down, there's yet another question behind those questions: Why do bad things happen? This is the core of our doubts. If there's really a loving God, then why is the world full of chaos, struggle, pain, and fear? Why, for example, would an all-powerful deity stand by and allow disasters like 9/11? My knee-jerk response—the one that probably resonates with most people—is "I don't know." And the truth is, this side of Heaven, we won't fully understand the way things are. We weren't meant to make sense of a world where innocent people die gruesome, agonizing deaths.

But I'm not going to leave you in that familiar, dark, and lonely place with a simple pat answer. Instead, I'm going to tell you the story of the diamond. Ordinary carbon, refined by tremendous heat and pressure, transforms into something extraordinary. The resulting diamond is not only strikingly beautiful but also stronger than concrete.

We, too, are diamonds in the rough. We shouldn't aspire to a glass faith that shatters under the slightest difficulty, but rather to a faith as strong as diamonds. A refined faith, forged by fire and sharper than steel, reassures us that failure is not the end of the story. God, as a truly caring father, doesn't just want his children to be happy—he also wants us to be strong, and that strength is built in our darkest times more than anytime else. He allows us to live in a world of uncertainty so we can build an inner confidence that's truly unshakable.

In an era of faith, it seems we've forgotten the holiness of doubt. A healthy dose of skepticism pushes us to become our best selves. I'd assume that God wants us to embrace the humility of not knowing all the answers; of choosing to love those who disagree with us; and of pursuing a messy, grace-filled life beyond black-and-white rules.

As a follower of Christ, I believe that every question has an answer, and every problem has a solution. But it's the seeking, not the finding, that ultimately refines us.