Being a ’90s kid, one movie that always found its way onto the TV was Jumanji. In case you haven’t seen it, the story follows a couple of kids lured by the sound of drums to an old board game that unleashes a series of jungle experiences. Jungle elements emerge from the game, like bats, vines, or even a stampede. But there’s one scene that has always stuck with me: a kid rolls the dice, turns into sand, and gets sucked into the game. He later emerges, forever changed by what he experienced.
What Spiritual Doubt Feels Like
This scene comes to mind when trying to explain what spiritual doubt feels like. Imagine facing spiritual doubt as if you’re suddenly transformed into sand and pulled into the Jumanji game. One moment, you’re confidently walking on solid ground, and the next, it’s gone, leaving you disoriented and trapped. That’s exactly how it felt when I hit my own spiritual uncertainty. I was cruising along, grounded in practices and beliefs that had always felt right, when suddenly, the floor dropped out from under me. No specific event triggered it; it was just this unexpected twist that pulled me into a new, unsettling reality I hadn’t chosen.
I Craved Certainty
In the beginning of my spiritual journey, I was drawn to spirituality like the kids in Jumanji were drawn to the game’s captivating drums—it called out to me, promising wisdom and purpose. Growing up, my parents offered an interfaith experience of Catholic traditions mixed with spiritual New Age practices, giving me an eclectic view of faith. Mom always said, “All paths go up the mountain.” But when I got to college, I craved certainty. The local megachurch offered that with clear answers and a passionate community. Their charismatic leaders and dynamic environment were a stark contrast to the fluid spirituality I was used to. I dove in, seeking structure and certainty.
Disillusionment Hit Me
Then came the disillusionment. The fall of pastors I admired shook me, revealing flaws and even corruption. It hit hard. Coupled with the diverse theological perspectives and historical contexts I encountered in seminary, it complicated the black-and-white faith I’d embraced. Old doubts resurfaced, now tangled with new ones.
The emotional rollercoaster was intense—guilt, anger, sorrow, hope. I felt guilty, like I was failing in my faith; angry because I couldn’t reconcile my beliefs with reality; sad at the loss of comforting certainty; and hopeful that this struggle might lead to a deeper understanding. Doubting my faith felt like a betrayal—not just to my religious community, but to my family and former self. I was scared to voice my uncertainties, worried about judgment or disappointment. Talking to friends was tough. I felt like I had a contagious condition, afraid they’d judge or reject me. But finding people willing to explore these questions with me was crucial.
And then, there was the existential dread. What if there was no greater meaning? What if everything I’d believed was just a comforting lie? These thoughts were dark and heavy, casting a shadow over everything.
What Helped Me?
What helped during this chaotic time? Surprisingly, embracing the doubt instead of fighting it. I read widely, exploring different perspectives on faith, spirituality, and philosophy. Authors like Rachel Held Evans, who faced her own doubts, offered a sense of camaraderie. She showed that doubt isn’t the enemy of faith but a necessary part of it.
Therapy was another lifeline. My therapist helped me navigate the emotional turmoil, encouraging me to sit with my discomfort and explore it. She introduced me to mindfulness practices, which quieted the relentless questioning and helped me stay present. This didn’t bring answers, but it brought peace. I stopped seeking answers and started seeking connection.
In my attempt to connect, I realized I needed to be honest and not hide my struggles. Surprisingly, sharing my doubts brought safety and connection. I wasn’t cast out; instead, my friendships deepened, and I found the support I desperately needed.
Doubts Are a Sign of a Living, Evolving Quest for Truth
I wish I could tie this up in a nice neat bow and say that I’ve arrived at a state of spiritual contentment. However, the doubts are still there. Some days, they’re overwhelming; other days, they’re just a whisper. But I’ve learned to see them not as a failure but as a sign of a living, evolving quest for truth. My beliefs aren’t rigid rules anymore; they’re a fluid, evolving understanding. I’ve learned to hold the tension, live in the questions, and find meaning not in certainty but in the search itself.
Looking back, I see that when I became a Christian, I rejected my past instead of integrating it. This tendency to split—rejecting the old for the new—only deepened my inner conflict. It became a habit for how I handled internal shifts. But now, I understand that integration can be a pathway to a more honest and authentic understanding. It’s taught me to be gentle with myself, to seek connection rather than definite answers, and to find peace in uncertainty. For now, I keep playing the game in hopes that my journey leads me out of the jungle of Jumanji. Because maybe, just maybe, true meaning isn’t in the absence of doubt but in the courage to keep searching, to keep playing, even when the answers are elusive.
~ Hannah Williams, guest contributor
Addendum by Rich Knopp, Executive Director, Room For Doubt
The tag line of Room For Doubt is: “Encourage Questions, Address Doubts, Strengthen Faith.” This candid article by Hannah Williams illustrates the importance of honestly dealing with our doubts, especially when we confront the limitations of what we can intellectually know with certainty. Some relevant considerations are given in the article, “Help! I Don’t Want To Waste My Life on Something False.” In addition, in chapter three of my book, Truth About God, I propose a critical distinction between “certainty” and “certitude.” While Christians do not possess intellectual “certainty,” I contend that they can be sufficiently confident in their faith through “certitude.”