Last night I spent some time with a friend at an impasse in life. We talked about his legalistic religious background, where everything is works-based and his family doesn't allow men
to grow hair past their ears in fear of losing salvation. Yet life circumstances
were forcing him to question a lot about his beliefs, convictions, and
family. None of the answers were easy. Belief in a salvation of grace alone
would necessitate a horrible fight and separation from his mother, his best
friend and only real pillar in life. All in pursuit of a faith hardly
understood and a God barely known. With his current foundation crumbling, the end question was: on what must he base his faith?
But now I stand asking
the same question. I have lived in the church for twenty years and led Bible
studies, boys' cabins, and men's halls towards Christ. And so much more. I’ve
walked in God's presence, laughed at countless inside jokes only He and I
understand, and embarrassingly wept in public over sin and grace. I’ve seen,
I’ve felt, I’ve tasted, I’ve known.
So why is that not
enough? During moments of spiritual intimacy, I feel this black doubt perching
on the corner of my heart, driving questions into my head like "what if
it's not real", "what if this is all just a waste of time", and "what
if everyone else sees". To which I usually snap “shut up, I’m not supposed
to be thinking that, go away”. I don't know what upsets me more - the presence
of the doubt or my inability to prevent it from coming back.
On what have I based
my faith?
Facts won't work. Every incontrovertible "fact" in my head - persona, experience, blessings - can be shoved and explained away by mental rushes, perception, or coincidence. Chemicals in my brain can warp perception of reality, and momentary feeling is no foundation for a world-shaking faith.
And the past is no
foundation either. Devoting yourself to something just because it makes your
family happy, or because you've developed hard-to-break habits around it, is
laughable. Countless people have defied family both in pursuit and hate of
Christ. Habit is no indicator of truth, as neither are history or ritual.
What about creation
and the universe itself? There are many claims about this planet and its
origin; in deliberate avoidance of that debate I rest on two facts. First, everywhere I look I see infinitely complex systems begetting endlessly
intertwined life. Second, that all of these systems seem remarkably intentional
and I must assume an intentional creator. Perhaps that's the strongest yet -
art denotes the existence of an artist. Yet again I trip over myself, as that
sentiment is based on my own vulnerable and fickle perceptions. Observation of the natural world is a strong base, but not the final cornerstone on which to base faith.
Therefore the
foundation of faith cannot be based on anything I see, feel, or know. It must
be something other, something
impregnably unaffected by mine or anyone else's perceptions. It must be the
foundation of all foundations, something all-powerful and all-knowing. I guess we'd probably call that God. But to start to believe in any god, your
brain requires reason and evidence, both of which are flawed by perception and
feeling. The circle begins again.
There's an impasse
here. As I know my perceptions are faulty, I cannot base my faith on anything I
sense. Yet without some sensed proof there's no thought towards faith in the first place.
A leap has to happen. A leap letting go of the expectation of knowing, of proof, of quantifiable certainty; if I could quantify it I couldn't trust it anyways. It has to be a Faith rooted in faith -a leap of pure, unwavering trust that the chasm has another side. It's a letting go of what I know and just trusting that something…else is there across the gap. It's believing in the unfeelable, unseeable, and unknowable, then and letting that belief fuel everything in life.
Instantly at the
thought my deathgrip grows tighter on the mental handhold of what I know, and
all the "what ifs" pound into my head again. What if it's all fake,
what if it's not real, what if you fall and everyone sees? But those are exactly the same questions plaguing me
at the beginning. They circle around like sharks biting tail of the other,
neither finding any end but their own. Futile. Unmoving. Stagnant. And I hate stagnation.
You know what, this
is stupid. I'm always that guy that jumps first, the one that unthinkingly
hurls himself headfirst into things. Why do I fearfully cling to the wall only
here? Screw the damn doubt questions. I thirst deepest for action, for purpose,
for integrity, and this is the only recourse I have for all three. I don't care
if I fall. I don't care if people see. I want to find the truth and truly live, so I'm jumping.
See you on the other
side.
