05 Aug The Great Schism: When What We Believe About God Doesn’t Match What We Experience

There’s a kind of inner split that few Christians talk about openly, but many of us feel at some point in our walk with God. I’ve come to call it the great schism. It’s that deep, often painful disconnect between what we know is true about God – because the Bible tells us so – and what our current reality is screaming back at us.

You know the tension. You’ve probably felt it too.

We say with conviction that God is good. We proclaim that He is our provider. Our healer. Faithful. Present. Yet there are seasons in life when those truths feel painfully hollow. Not because they aren’t true, but because they don’t seem to be true for us – right now.

I lived in that space for quite a while.

When the Mind Knows but the Heart Breaks

A few years ago, I was walking through the quiet, aching valley of infertility. Month after month of hope followed by heartbreak. I prayed. I fasted. I believed. I declared. I did all the “right” things. But the silence from heaven grew louder, more deafening, more disorienting. My theology said God is good. My heart whispered, “But is He good to me?”

That’s the kind of question that feels scandalous to admit out loud in Christian circles. But it’s the one that kept me up at night. I knew the verses. I could quote James 1:17 in my sleep: “Every good and perfect gift is from above.” I believed in the goodness of God like I believed in gravity. But in the middle of my pain, those truths started to feel distant, even cruel. What kind of good God withholds something so good?

That’s when I realised I was in a spiritual tug-of-war between what I believed and what I experienced.

The Tension is Biblical

If you’re there right now, I want you to know that you’re not alone and you’re not faithless. In fact, you’re standing in a long tradition of believers who have wrestled with the same kind of dissonance.

Think of Job. A man who lived blamelessly, who honoured God in every way, yet lost everything – his children, his wealth, even his health. His friends were convinced his suffering was because of hidden sin. But Job knew differently. He just didn’t understand why a good God would allow so much pain. At one point, Job said, “Though he slay me, I will hope in him” (Job 13:15 ESV). That’s faith in the face of profound confusion.

Or take David. In the Psalms, he pours out his frustration, saying things like “Why, O Lord, do you stand far away? Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?” (Psalm 10:1 ESV). These aren’t neat, Sunday-school prayers. They’re raw cries from a man wrestling with the seeming gap between God’s character and God’s actions.

Even Jesus, in His humanity, cried out on the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46 ESV). If the Son of God could feel abandoned, could feel the tension between truth and experience, then surely our doubts don’t disqualify us.

Faith Is Not Denial

Somewhere along the way, many of us were taught that faith means always having the right answers or always feeling hopeful. But biblical faith isn’t about denial; it’s about holding onto God even when everything in us wants to let go.

It’s choosing to say, “God, I don’t understand what You’re doing. I don’t like how this feels. But I still believe You are who You say You are.”

That’s not weak faith. That’s deep faith.

It’s faith that has been tested in the fire of disappointment and has chosen, again and again, to trust, even with a limp, even with tears, even with clenched fists.

So How Do We Reconcile the Gap?

This is the question I wrestled with the most. How do we reconcile what we know about God with what we experience when the two seem worlds apart?

I don’t claim to have all the answers, but here’s what I’ve learned – and what I’m still learning:

1. Acknowledge the Gap Honestly

Pretending everything’s fine doesn’t help. God isn’t threatened by our honesty. In fact, He invites it. The Psalms are full of brutal transparency, and yet God called David “a man after My own heart” (Acts 13:22). Lament is a biblical language. It makes space for grief and faith to coexist.

2. Anchor Yourself in the Bigger Story

When we focus only on our present pain, it’s easy to lose sight of the bigger picture. But Scripture reminds us that we’re part of an eternal story – a story where suffering isn’t meaningless and where God *will* make all things new.

Romans 8:28 says, “And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.” Notice it doesn’t say all things are good. Infertility is not good. Suffering is not good. But somehow, mysteriously, God works through it all to bring about a greater good we may not fully see on this side of eternity.

3. Let Your Questions Lead You Closer

For a while, I feared that questioning God would create distance. But I found that my most honest questions became a bridge to deeper intimacy with Him. When I stopped pretending and started praying prayers like, “Lord, I believe; help my unbelief” (Mark 9:24), I found a God who didn’t rebuke me but instead met me with tenderness.

He doesn’t always give us explanations. But He always gives us Himself.

4. Remember That Jesus Entered Our Pain

One of the most comforting truths for me has been this: Jesus knows. He’s not a distant deity watching us suffer from afar. He entered into our broken world. He wept. He grieved. He felt abandoned. He suffered.

Hebrews 4:15 says we have a High Priest who can “sympathize with our weaknesses.” Jesus is not only our Saviour – He is our companion in suffering.

5. Choose to Worship Anyway

This one was the hardest for me. Worship felt hypocritical when I was full of doubt. I remember walking out of a service once during worship because I simply couldn’t do it. But slowly, I learned that worship isn’t just a response to good news – it’s a declaration of trust. It’s saying, “God, even in the dark, I choose to believe You’re still worthy.”

There’s a kind of worship that only comes from the valley. A song that only rises from broken places. And I believe that kind of worship is precious to God.

Walking With a Limp

I didn’t get the answer I prayed for in the way I expected. My story didn’t unfold the way I hoped. But I can say now, years later, that something beautiful happened in the brokenness.

My faith grew deeper. Not neater but deeper.

I still believe God is good. But now, that belief isn’t rooted in what He gives or doesn’t give. It’s rooted in *who He is*. And that’s a shift that suffering often brings.

The great schism between what we know and what we experience may never close entirely this side of heaven. It hasn’t for me. But God is not asking us to resolve the tension. He’s inviting us to trust Him within it.

Even when the prayers go unanswered. Even when the healing doesn’t come. Even when the silence lingers.
God is still good. And somehow, in ways we can’t always see, He is working all things together – not just to fix our story, but to redeem it.

Friend, you don’t have to pretend. You don’t have to tie a bow on your pain or resolve all your doubts to stay in God’s presence.

He welcomes you as you are. Confused. Tired. Hopeful. Hurting. Faithful. Doubting.

And He walks with you in the in-between.

The great schism doesn’t mean your faith is broken. It means your faith is being forged.

If this resonated with you, I’d love to hear your story. Have you ever walked through a season where God’s goodness felt out of reach? How did you navigate the tension between what you know and what you experienced?

Let’s create a space where honesty and faith can coexist.

Because they can.

Marthe Badibanga

A volunteer blogger whose passion is to see the people of God become all that the LORD intended them to be in their personal relationships with Him that overflow into their daily lives.