Faith, Doubt, and the Silence Between Prayers

Photo: Kiev In Winter, Artem Hvozdkov/Getty Images

    Most of my readers know that my blog tends to wander across a fairly wide landscape — from humor and gentle satire to subjects that are more serious and personal. This post falls squarely into the latter category. It’s about something that matters deeply to me, and I hope, in some way, it may resonate with you as well.

    In any relationship, communication is essential. It’s the exchange of thoughts, concerns, questions, and sometimes disagreements. Without it, there isn’t much of a relationship at all.

    But what happens when the relationship isn’t with another person — when it’s with God?

    For people of faith, communication often takes the form of reading scripture and prayer. Yet that raises an uncomfortable question: can a faith relationship survive without some sense — any sense — that our prayers are being heard? Acknowledged? Even if not answered in the way we hope?

    My own faith did not come easily. I was born into a Catholic family, but as a teenager I rebelled hard against what I perceived as too many rules , too much guilt, and too much pomp and circumstance. For nearly a decade, I walked away from organized religion altogether.

    Then, somewhat unexpectedly, I met a barber named Joe. Joe wasn’t a theologian. He didn’t quote scripture or lecture — his life was the lesson. What struck me was his peace — a deep, grounded peace with himself and with the world. His faith wasn’t about rules; it was about relationship. About grace. About forgiveness. That version of faith was far more compelling than anything I had known growing up.

    Over the years, my faith — and my understanding — has grown. I see the hand of God in many places: in the natural world, in moments of grace, and in certain events in my own life that seem to defy odds.

    At the same time, scripture is filled with stories of unanswered prayers and raw human anguish. The Book of Job is essentially the story of a man who loses his health, his wealth, his family, and his friends — and curses the day he was born. His cries are not polite. They are honest.

    One of the most influential books I’ve ever read is When Bad Things Happen to Good People by Rabbi Harold Kushner. Though written from a Jewish perspective, it helped me wrestle with one of faith’s hardest contradictions: how can an all-powerful and loving God coexist with evil, war, cancer, cruelty, and loss?

    In 2026, I find myself needing to revisit those questions often. My thoughts are frequently consumed by concern for the people of Ukraine, and for so many others around the world who live amid violence, injustice, and destruction. I pray daily that suffering will ease, that peace will prevail, and that good will overcome evil.

    And yet — if I’m honest — evil often appears to be winning. Suffering multiplies. Innocent people, including people I know and love, continue to be deeply affected. The Bible speaks extensively about evil, suffering, compassion, and the responsibility of believers to care for the afflicted. It also reminds us that “faith without works is dead.”

    So I try to do more than pray. I write. I talk. I raise money and encourage others to join me. Still, it isn’t an easy road to walk. Perhaps faith that is never tested isn’t really faith at all.

    I’d genuinely like to hear your thoughts. What have your experiences been with faith and doubt? Have you found peace with the tension between them — and if so, how?

    Please feel free to share your experiences in the comments below, and share this post with others who appreciate both humor and thoughtful reflection about this blue marble we all share.

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    Thanks for reading — and for walking this road with me.