Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Barb loved it. I almost lost my faith.
My background was pretty much solid muddle. I believe that Jesus is the Son of God (in the 'triune Godhead' sense), and that he rose from the dead, thereby permanently defeating the Last Enemy.Beyond that I didn't think about it too much, and read a mixture of Christian, Buddhist, Taoist, and Sikh books to keep my spiritual compass working. I did okay.
Suddenly, I was challenged. All these people, on fore for Jesus, singing with their hands raised. Speaking in tongues. Able to quote chapter and verse.
I tried. Raised my hands when I sang. Told to just open my heart to Jesus and be forever changed, I did.
Like a skydiver whose parachute had failed to open, I was concerned. I invited Jesus in. Apparently, He said Thanks, but No Thanks. Now what?
Maybe I didn't sing hard enough, or read enough of the Bible. I put away all my other religious readings, and concentrated on the Good Book.
And drifted further away. The words lay on the page, and when I talked to the pastoral staff they said I needed to read with the kind of open heart that I, clearly, did not possess.
My faith in God was going, and so was my faith in everything else. The world that had been a place of familiarity was now uncertain, totally unpredictable, and a Darwinian vale of danger.
I was saved by a butterfly. It flew its random aerial meander through a fresh morning, a seemingly mindless path from one hazard past the next. It even flew past my face, oblivious to the possibility that I might devour it on the wing, in a toothy gnash.
And that, I realized, is the faith that works for me. Feet up, mind in neutral, secure in the knowledge that a) God is there; b) God sorta likes me, and c) it's all way over me head.
Like a little child. I can live with that.