MysteriousFaith

You Have to Work For It

Our age is marked by a social dialogue that proposes easy answers to terribly complex situations. We are uncomfortable with political, social, or spiritual discussions that can not be easily wrapped up into a simple set of “how-to” steps. Our media institutions carelessly search out sound bites: pithy statements that show insight and intelligence - all within the shortest period of time as is possible. As a nation we honestly think we can have meaningful discussion about troublesome issues like AIDS in Africa and drug resistant super-flu bugs. Or do we? Do we really think simple answers are the right ones to complex questions? Or have we so fixated on the comforts of today, that any discussion or dialogue that requires thought, work and initiative is unnecessary. And so we accept simple answers, not because we think they are right, but because they are convenient.

I think my father invented the audio book phenomenon; not that he has ever received the publicity and financial reward he should have for this discovery. As a three-year-old, I was already an expert at frustrating my Dad. My love of books knows its origins in a toddler repeatedly asking to be told a story. As my Dad grew weary of this exercise, he had a brilliant idea: why not tape the books for me and teach me how to turn the player on, and to turn the pages myself. His paternal dilemma was solved and the age of the audio book was born. To this day, my love of books is perhaps my predominant characteristic. My mother likes to come to our home and steal away to my upstairs office - taking the chance to push in, reverse or remove several of my books from their orderly placement. As a child, when asked to throw away some tattered paperbacks, I cried to my mother, “but Mom, these are my friends!” No more true statement have I made in the last fifteen years. My books are my friends. Each of them has been a companion in my life journey. Many of them have characters within them that I resonate with more than any live human being.

I attached myself to Charles Dickens’ writing at an early age - his vivid portrayal of the orphans of the industrial age resonating with me. Throughout the journey the authors of time past took me on, my mind began to develop very much on its own. These books, very much like the best of friends, began to challenge me, to shape me, to form me. More than forming any line of thought, books taught me one other thing: the deepest of meaning must be sought after. Nothing of value simply presents itself. The stories of finding treasure, of discovering a magic Genie, or gaining some magical power are just that - stories. The discipline of reading forced upon me, at the earliest of ages, the realization that anything of worth would be found only by seeking it out. This lesson, more than any other, is one I am grateful for as it has been the roots of my reawakened faith. Had I not learned as a child to seek for knowledge, I fear my story would be much different and the pain much more intense.

Much of what colors my worldview is the belief that little of value comes from one-dimensional analyses that are handed to you for digestion. I bring this self-taught perspective to politics, social issues and religion. Its impact on my faith has been dramatic - I have been freed from wooden literalism, from the bondage of legalism, from the scurvy of thin answers to deep problems. Unfortunately, maintaining such a perspective is not easy. Our age is marked by a social dialogue that proposes easy answers to terribly complex situations. We are uncomfortable with political, social, or spiritual discussions that can not be easily wrapped up into a simple set of “how-to” steps. Our media institutions carelessly search out sound bites: pithy statements that show insight and intelligence - all within the shortest period of time as is possible. As a nation we honestly think we can have meaningful discussion about troublesome issues like AIDS in Africa and drug resistant super-flu bugs. Or do we? Do we really think simple answers are the right ones to complex questions? Or have we so fixated on the comforts of today, that any discussion or dialogue that requires thought, work and initiative is unnecessary. And so we accept simple answers, not because we think they are right, but because they are convenient.

Here again, reaching out for meaning and getting only direction, our friend religion would prefer to greet us. Where any candid discussion about the biggest questions in life must come back to our intent and initiative in finding answers, religion packages up coy responses to complex issues. It is not that all of the answers religion proposes are wrong, rather it is that religion gives answers too readily. Where religion should provide less of an answer and instead serve to spark an individual quest is where religion can go astray. The pursuit of religion is too often focused on the dissemination of fact rather than the fostering of questions.

Even in my own life, the specter of initiative is never far off. My most natural desire for creature comforts strives against the obligation initiative requires. I would much rather engage myself in a movie, television program or other such activity that devote some portion of my day to genuine study, genuine reflection. I think the emphasis on personal reflection and individual initiative is so important because I believe in the individual’s pursuit of truth is when God can reveal Himself to us most. Where too often we look to religious doctrine, liturgy or belief to connect us to our Creator, we miss the fact that God is always willing to present Himself to us in the world around us. He is found in the quiet of the day, when we simply set aside the time to contemplate those most rich of questions.

But for me, such initiative is not something I can count on all the time. My own laziness and unrequited love of television gets in the way. And so church and religion become the means by which I can reach enlightenment. I would rather be told how much to give to those in need as a specific percentage of our income than be challenged to give until I can give no more. I would rather be told who is “in” and who is “out” with the implicit understanding that I stay in certain types’ company while avoiding the company of certain others.

There are moments in life we all remember for their particular richness; those moments when friends seem their closest and when memories seem to be made with regularity. One recent weekend is a fresh but precious moment for me. It is bittersweet as its memory it has several too-typical failures as a part of the narrative. But within the all-too-human weakness of the weekend were memories that are more precious than I would have ever imagined. The weekend was marked by outdoor activity that culminated in a friendly discussion about the nature of God. Our conversation went on for several hours, dealing with tough questions and open ended issues that clearly had been problematic for each of us. Within the group were people I would frankly have not labeled as being prone to any sort of spiritual thought. One of the people in particular had been a very reluctant conversant in one previous discussion and was obviously not interested in a discussion about God at that time. But this evening, the turn-around could not have been more obvious: something was going on in this young man’s life. In going back to the hotel room to go to bed, another young man stopped me and asked me for an honest answer: “do you think all my questions about God are really crap?”
I was not sure how to answer. At one level, I sensed from how this young man had participated in the discussion, that he was guilty of being overly confident in issues that he had not researched - beliefs he could not intellectually own up to. But as we spoke in private, I saw this strong young man - a very competent, articulate and confident person - begin to physically respond to his ideas about God. Here I stood, the instigator of much of our conversation about God, being asked to help walk with him through the burning path of his own disbelief. I thought for a moment and responded to him: “No, I do not think you are full of crap. I think you need to be careful that you have put in the work to make your beliefs your own.”

In all of this young man’s education, his beliefs had never progressed beyond those that had been passed down from his family. In the case of positive parts of his heritage, this was something to be honored. But as with the case of any maturing young adult, certain portions of his belief system had yet to progress from inheritance to ownership. Particularly, he had yet to deal with his family’s perception of God. For him, he freely admitted that “our family thinks if you leave God alone, He will leave you alone.” I am struck this is less a position and more a bartering statement: “you leave God alone and He’ll leave you alone.”

For this young man, the effort to develop his own belief system had not mattered enough for him to make it personal. Like most of us, his belief system had not yet needed to become wholly his own. With few exceptions, our beliefs do not crystallize until we are challenged with adversity; an adversity that typically requires of us some spiritual exploration that thus far we had been unable to overlook. For me, a neurological problem gave me the initiative to ask detailed questions about what mattered most. But in this pursuit I learned something about myself: the truest of meaning comes only when you seek it out yourself. There is no question, no obstacle, no problem of genuine logic upon which your faith would falter that God will allow to go unanswered. I used to believe that God would show Himself to everyone who genuinely seeks His face; I no longer believe this. Rather, I believe that comes magnificently short of the full reality of His revelation. It is not that God asks us to seek Him, He seeks us out! In the midst of my desire to pursue my own career, God found me. Yes, he had to do it with sickness, with the intimate realization of my own reality; but He reached out to me when I had turned my back to Him. God certainly honors those who seek Him, but He does not require it in order to pursue us. What we do with His love, with His outreached hand is our responsibility. We do bear the burden of responding to His love and mercy. Even in the lives of those people who I think are spiritually dead, God is moving. What is magnificent is that God refuses to give up on us. I believe more now that I ever had - in part because my own human frailty demands this - that it is not He that refuses us, but it is we that refuse Him.

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• November 16, 2004

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