There are questions in life that no pastor, no prophet, no scholar, no philosopher can truly answer. Questions so deep that they strip away the layers of dogma, religion, and human wisdom, leaving us face-to-face with the mystery of God.
I grew up with many of these questions burning inside me. Some of them I asked openly and got silence, rebuke, or shallow answers in return. Some of them I buried in my heart because I knew that raising them would be seen as rebellion, as lack of faith. Yet, the questions remained, tormenting me in moments of solitude.
Why is it that some babies die at birth while others live to old age?
Why do the wicked sometimes prosper while the righteous struggle in penury?
Why do some nations live in abundance while others groan under hunger, wars, and diseases?
Why are there miracles in some people's lives and silence in others, despite fervent prayers?
When you look closely, you will realize that no man truly has these answers. We all speculate. We theologize. We wrap mysteries with fine words. But at the end of the day, the honest truth is: only God knows.
One of the most common lies I heard growing up in church was that "a man of God has all the answers." Pastors positioned themselves as divine encyclopedias, as if God whispered every secret of life into their ears. But when you sit with their teachings long enough, you see the gaps, the contradictions, the recycled excuses.
A barren woman is told that her faith is not strong enough. A sick man is told that his sin has closed the door to healing. A poor man is told that he is not giving enough seed. But are these really the answers? Or are they just clever ways to cover the ignorance of men?
Sometimes, I imagine standing before God after death, finally receiving answers to the riddles that haunted me on earth. Perhaps then I will understand why some lives are cut short, why pain exists, why good people suffer, why some destinies seem cursed from the womb. But even in imagining, I come to one sobering conclusion: regret will always be constant.
The righteous may regret not having enjoyed life more. The sinner may regret not having done enough good. Both will wish they had lived differently once eternity opens their eyes. And that makes me realize something powerful: the essence of life is not to know all the answers, but to live bravely in the midst of the unknown.
But that bravery is missing in most religious circles. Instead of admitting ignorance, pastors turn uncertainties into weapons. Instead of saying "I don't know," they say, "give more, pray more, obey more." Instead of teaching people to accept the limits of human understanding, they manipulate them with promises they cannot deliver.
Yet, if you study the Bible deeply, even it acknowledges that we see in part and know in part. Even the prophets of old did not have the full picture. Jesus Himself sometimes answered questions with more questions. The humility to admit ignorance is divine, but men of God today prefer to wear a cloak of false omniscience.
I have reached a point in life where I no longer expect men to give me the ultimate answers. I know that some truths belong only to God. I know that heaven, eternity, and destiny are mysteries too vast for human comprehension. I know that life itself is a riddle that cannot be fully decoded by sermons, scriptures, or science.
So, I have stopped tormenting myself with the endless "why." I still ask questions, yes, but I do not allow the silence of heaven to enslave me. I accept that my mind has limits. I accept that God owes me no explanation. And in that acceptance, I have found peace.
Because bravery is not always about fighting battles. Sometimes, bravery is about living with unanswered questions and still moving forward. Sometimes, bravery is about looking at the silence of God and choosing not to bow to the manipulations of men who pretend to speak for Him. Sometimes, bravery is about saying: I do not know, but I will keep living.
Life is not about having all the answers it is about having the courage to live without them.