I’m not sure about you, but I’ve noticed a wave of uncertainty swirling about. Within the last few weeks, I’ve heard uncertainty preached on, read an article in print, listened to a podcast and caught a blog online. None by my own searching. As I interact with others, murmurs of concern for our world are spoken, a low grade unrest revealed. In the United States, the election of our next president is a few weeks away. With two candidates who are causing quite a stir, the outcome is weighing on many. Hateful dictators are looming. Terrorism is lurking. Civil discord is reemerging. Beyond the uncertainty of the world, uncertainties in our personal lives are continuous. Recently, for me, this uncertainty has arrived as phone calls about illness, new leadership at my children’s school and the church I give time to slowly working towards life-giving change. What are we to do with our uncertainty?
During times like these, worry is a reflex. Denial comes naturally. Becoming consumed by information so we are “in the know” comes second nature. We are masters of control, masters of denying, masters of knowing. But, is there a healthier way to deal with our uncertainty? Maybe it’s to take a look at what we think we are certain about. What we believe we fully grasp. I was struck by a line penned by author Christine Valters-Paintner in the current journal, Weavings. She writes, “Consider the possibility that the next time you feel absolutely certain about something, you will whisper the possibility that “I don’t know” and see what happens when you open to something bigger than your own imagining, a vision that moves beyond tension and holds the fullness of things.” Is it possible when we are certain we know the truth, the right belief, the correct way, we still do not know? Could this unknowing open us to a wider understanding of ourselves and others? Could opening to uncertainty in our certainty help to to hold the uncertain in a tender way?
Usually, “Trust God” is mentioned in the face of uncertainty. Truthfully, I’ve struggled with this phrase. “Trust God” is spoken as if there is simple formula to follow. Or, if I doubt and struggle, I’m not trusting God enough. However, I’m beginning to see “Trust God” in a new way. “Trusting God” is not dismissing the struggle I face. But rather, “Trust God” offers me a possibility to linger in the depths of unknowing. When I whisper “I don’t know” in the face of certainty and in the midst of uncertainty, I say “yes” to God. Whispering “I don’t know” in my certainty humbles my being. Resting in uncertainty is the place where grief ebbs and flows, where emotions pour out without judgement. This space offers gracious time to sit with uncertainty, believing God is beside me, helping me through the struggle. Maybe, in both certainty and uncertainty, I begin to see the wider expanse of humanity, the small part I play and the mysterious God who redeems all.