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This past Sunday I attended a ward that wasn’t my own. I sat in the back and left promptly after sacrament meeting. But I’ve been thinking about one of the talks ever since I left the building.

The man started his talk with a story about a friend of his recently announced that they were leaving the church. He repeated how they had been overcome by doubt. After expressing his disappointment, he followed up with the story about the individual stranded in the ocean who is picked up by a weathered boat and fisherman (You know, this one). After spending some time on the boat and noticing all it’s dents and blemishes, the rescued becomes worried and asks to be let back into the ocean to swim the remainder of the way to shore on their own. After the speaker finished the story, he remarked proudly that the boat represents the church and the fisherman is those called to lead it.

I understand the point of this story. Humans and the institutions they create cannot be perfect. In fact, small dents, paint chips, and difficult machinery shouldn’t keep us from utilizing those institutions for good. But this story, especially when listening to it yesterday, fills me with unease.

It seems to belittle and invalidate the feelings of those who are sitting in doubt while simultaneously diminishing the real institutional flaws of the church as mere “dents.” Feeling doubt is often more than uncomfortable, it is painful. And sometimes it feels like the only place on the boat you’re comfortable being requires you to hang over the edge. When we say that people who doubt are willingly climbing back into the ocean after being rescued by a perfectly safe boat, we ignore the fact that getting back into the ocean might be the only real option someone has. Sometimes the dents are actually leaks and the boat is slowly sinking. Sometimes the faulty mechanics are keeping the fisherman from being able to keep the boat on its proper course. The paint chips can be signs of a system unwilling to fix or even acknowledge the errors of its past.

Some days I feel like climbing back into the ocean. Sometimes that really seems like the safer option. The boat is rocking and sometimes looks like its veering off course. Right now I am clinging to the side rails hoping that my questions do not become to heavy to carry.

But if they do, if I find the ocean is becoming more inviting than the boat itself, I don’t need a fisherman to gently let me back in the water and leave. I also don’t need a fisherman who will jump in the ocean to save me, dragging me back onto the boat I was trying to escape. I need fishermen who are willing to jump in and tread water with me while I figure things out.

I feel like all I think about is doubt (I even think this is my third post on this topic in this past year). And maybe it isn’t productive to have this focus. But doubt is a natural companion to faith. It shouldn’t be ignored and it shouldn’t be shamed. I don’t need stories telling me how I should be ignoring my doubts. I can’t ignore them. They are as much a part of my experience as my faith. Ignoring them doesn’t make them go away.

What I need is people to sit with me and listen, for people to get in the ocean with me and tread. Maybe you’re already here in the water. Maybe we can find each other and together face our doubts head on.