Held Even When I Doubt

Daily Office — Friday, October 30, 2026
Psalms 69 and 73; Sirach 50:1, 11–24; Revelation 17:1–18; Luke 13:31–35

There are days when God seems far away.

I pray, but the words feel as though they disappear into silence. Questions rise. Old fears return. Sometimes the trouble comes from outside me. Sometimes I feel like my own worst enemy.

That is why I understand the plea in Psalm 69: “Draw near to me.”

The psalmist feels as though he is drowning. He brings his distress, his failures, and the cruelty of others into prayer. He appeals to God’s steadfast love and abundant mercy.

I need that reminder. I do not have to settle every question before I pray. I can begin with the truth of where I am: Lord, I am struggling. Please draw near.

Psalm 73 gives doubt another voice. The writer looks around and sees arrogant people prospering while those trying to live faithfully suffer. His experience seems to contradict what he believes about God.

I understand that tension, too. We see people gaining wealth and influence through dishonesty or the suffering of others. We wonder why. And sometimes concern about injustice becomes tangled with comparison: Why does their life seem so easy when mine feels so difficult?

Comparison gives us an incomplete picture of another person’s life and can keep us from attending to our own.

The turning point comes when the psalmist enters the sanctuary. In God’s presence, he begins to see beyond the apparent permanence of wealth and power. Then comes the assurance that holds my attention: “you hold my right hand.”

Even through bitterness and confusion, there is a relationship sustaining him.

Perhaps faith sometimes looks like bringing our doubts into that relationship and allowing ourselves to be held.

Sirach gives us a picture of people worshiping together. Simon leads the congregation in prayer and blessing. There is beauty, ceremony, music, and reverence. There is also a shared need for mercy.

I prefer simplicity, but I recognize what a gathered community can offer. Some days, another person’s prayer helps carry my own. A familiar song gives me words when I cannot find them. Someone’s quiet presence reminds me that I do not have to walk alone.

Simon’s care for the Temple and Jerusalem also reminds us that spiritual leadership includes practical responsibility. Buildings need repair. People need protection. Prayer belongs alongside the work of caring for a community.

Revelation presents another kind of splendor. Babylon dazzles, but beneath its wealth lies violence and corruption. Here, economic power is entangled with domination and demands for allegiance.

Psalm 73 asks why the wicked prosper. Revelation asks us to look closely at the prosperity we admire. Who pays its price? Whose suffering makes someone else’s comfort possible?

Those questions reach into my own life. What do my spending, loyalties, and daily choices support? Where have I grown comfortable with something that harms others?

I cannot untangle every injustice. I can ask for clearer sight and take the next faithful step.

Then Luke brings us to Jesus.

Herod threatens him, but Jesus continues healing and setting people free. His courage is accompanied by tenderness. Looking toward Jerusalem, he grieves and longs to gather its children as a hen gathers her chicks beneath her wings.

That image brings these readings close to my heart.

In Psalm 69, a suffering person asks God to draw near. In Luke, Jesus longs to gather people near.

I hear an invitation to come with my questions, my weariness, and the wounded places I am still learning to understand. Doubt need not keep me from seeking shelter.

And receiving that shelter asks something of me. Will I allow Christ’s compassion to shape the way I treat other people? Can I continue doing good without letting fear or disappointment harden my heart?

I am learning to pray: Heal what is wounded. Teach me to see with compassion, to listen with wisdom, to speak with love, and to discern what is true and loving. Teach me to welcome.

Today, I add this:

Lord, when I cannot feel your nearness, help me keep reaching for your hand.

Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me. Gather what is frightened and scattered within me. Free me from comparisons that obscure your gifts and comforts that make me indifferent to others. Give me courage to do good, tenderness toward those I struggle to love, and an open heart to receive your mercy. Be the strength of my heart when my own strength fails. Amen.