By: Alex J. Nagem © July 29, 2025

To struggle with faith does not mean we are failing. More often, it means we are reaching—stretching beyond our comfort, longing for deeper understanding, and daring to ask God the hard questions. Wrestling with doubt, silence, or sorrow is not a weakness of faith, but a sign that our heart, mind, and soul are truly seeking communion with God.

Faith is not a mountaintop breeze that sweeps us effortlessly through life. It is a journey—a winding road shaped by peaks and valleys, by shadow and light, joy and trial.

Throughout Scripture, we encounter men and women who loved God—and yet wrestled deeply with Him:

In Genesis 15, Abram (later named Abraham by God), questions how God’s promises can come to pass. Yet in Abram’s surrender, God seals a covenant that would bless generations. His story reminds us that divine promises often arrive wrapped in human uncertainty.

In Exodus 4, Moses protests his calling, afraid and feeling unworthy. Yet God chooses him—flaws and all—to lead His people. Here, we see that God equips those He calls, even when they falter.

In 1 Kings 19, the prophet Elijah, exhausted and hopeless, hides in a cave. But God does not meet him in fire or earthquake — instead, in a quiet, small whisper. Even in our lowest moments, God speaks softly, lovingly, into our needs.

And in John 20, Thomas, overcome with doubt, cannot believe the resurrection without touching Christ’s wounds. Jesus does not scold him. Instead, He invites Thomas to come close and see—and in doing so, invites all of us who struggle to draw near.

These are not tales of spiritual failure. They are stories of grace where faith was forged in fire.

Even the saints, those radiant souls who now dwell in the presence of God, walked through their valleys of darkness:

• St. John of the Cross gave voice to the Dark Night of the Soul, not as punishment but as a passage of purifying love.
• St. Thérèse of Lisieux, even as death approached, was tempted by despair and the silence of God.
• St. Teresa of Calcutta endured decades of spiritual dryness, yet her hands and smile carried Christ to the poorest of the poor.

The lives of these saints, and there are many more, assure us that God is not absent in our struggles. He is often closest when we feel furthest from Him. In the quiet, in our longing, and our ache, God is calling us into deeper trust.

Speak honestly to God, as a child to a loving Father. Tell Him your fears, your doubts, your ache to understand. The answers may not come all at once. But grace will. Peace will.

The Holy Spirit will be your companion, even in the silence. Let the Eucharist be your refuge. In this sacred mystery, Christ gives Himself to you—Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity. Receiving the Eucharist is the closest we come to Heaven on earth. Your struggle meets His mercy.

In finding comfort in your struggles, let the Psalms become your prayer, and the Proverbs your guide. Let silence shape your heart, and reflection shape your way forward.

Faith isn’t about how you feel. It’s about trusting in God regardless of the circumstances.

Struggling with faith is not a sign of weakness. It is human. It is holy.

For in your wrestling, you will encounter Christ. Remember, from the Cross, Christ cried out in anguish, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46). Yet even in that cry, hidden with the sorrow, was the promise of resurrection. God’s love did not abandon Jesus then, and His love will not abandon you now.  For God is ultimate love, perfect, unfailing, and immeasurable. A love so vast, so complete in every way, that in our earthly state, we may only begin to glimpse its depth.

So, struggle well, dear friend.
Struggle honestly. Struggle faithfully.
For in the struggle, you are not alone.
And you are never unloved.

Vocatus Atque Non Vocatus Deus Aderit

Alex J. Nagem