My Struggles in Faith

2009-01-01

It’s been a long time since I’ve been drawn to write quite like this. Without the isolation of BCIT, I retreat to my friends and escape my fears. It’s my first period of extended internal denial. Or rather, that’s what I think most of the time… fortunately, there’s another side to it. I don’t write now, because, unlike in years past, there is hope. I can honestly say I’m better served projecting an impression of sanity than publicly lamenting my defeat - projecting hope, and an image that the object of my desire might consider attractive might still be an investment that pays off! And so I do so now, as best I can, but I will cast aside the behaviour I adopted in notes past, and finally drop names - this is not simply an excuse to brainstorm or feel sorry for myself, but a real attempt to reach out to you, my (our) friends, and anyone else with helpful insight.

Catherine, I miss you so. Every moment together exceeded the last. The time I spend dreaming of the joys we shared here is surpassed only by my dreaming of the future that could, somehow, be waiting for us when you return, and perhaps by the time I spend working towards it. I’ve spent a modest lifetime searching for a miracle I could barely envision, but that, in hindsight, still fails to compare to what I found in you. Heartfelt years I’ve poured into others whom, while wonderful people and dear friends, I knew even at the height of my passion would never allow me even the hint of relief that the search for my soulmate was finally over. For the immense hope and worth I still see for us, my effort and my patience is limitless. My feelings for you are unbounded by time or space, no matter their greatness.

But, as we both know, passion and effort are not all that are required here; it’s my mind which has to change, and while I’m the only one in this world with the power to change it, I’m also so powerless to comply. It’s not up to me, but to the universe itself to compel my worldview’s transformation. And as a result, though I grasp desperately at every piece of this universe within reach for something that can fulfill this need, my reasons are misleading; I avoid primary sources, reading barely a word of the Bible itself, for fear that it won’t have the answers you promise, and that I will have to proclaim defeat. I prolong doubt, and with it, hope.

I’ve tried, of course, where there was nothing to lose. The philosophical debate, which I could attempt in my previous ignorance by reason alone, has been settled in my mind for many years (in favour of atheism), leaving me only with opportunity to shake that confidence by looking into it further, but I’ve been left disappointed at every turn, facing exclusively desperate, irrational arguments supporting God and his methods. What if I turn to the evidence in the Bible itself, and find, as I fear I might, that the prophecies and miracles of Christianity are more easily explained by erroneous dating of its books, exaggeration of its events, or falsification of its details than by extraterrestrial, much less supernatural intervention? I have yet to do so, and have trouble even answering the question of what it would take to convince me, but I find this far less discouraging than the fact that so few Christians are able to pinpoint what specifically has already convinced them. What should it really take to convince an honest, logical and unbiased mind of such specific things as Christianity teaches?

It sounds cynical, but this outlook is not permanent, I promise you. I have wanted it to be true - most of my life, in fact, and without exception until only months before getting to know you. Now, I waver frequently, the battle between my short and long-term perspectives waging on as it does. I have prayed with all my heart for it to be true. I have lain down in the grass in silence, my eyes damp and my cheeks burning, staring in awe at the starry sky, desperate for a sign. But when I return to cynisicm, it is only my knowledge that people in pain and in need are among the most likley to turn to God that allows me to permit such a mental state without some form of resistence.

I feel as if I must be the only one to hear such lovely music and feel the warmth of community at a place like your church, and find myself fighting back tears (and failing to) as a result. You see, on paper, I do believe the world is best accepting the truth, whatever it might be. This principle, and without it simply my immense affection and desire for you in my life, requires that I ask you to reconsider my perspective if I’m unable to reject it myself. Every conviction the church holds, even the beautiful metaphoric melodies that echo with it, serves to remind me both of how far I have to go to see things as you do, how far you and so many of those that matter to you have been driven from how I see things now. In either direction, the more I pull at the knot of tenets composing my own beliefs, the more it seems to tighten. Worse yet, there is still another possibility, that I might be left powerless in the face of a response akin to “It may not be true, but I’m happier operating as if it is, and need people in my life that can help me continue to feel that way.” Unifying our worldviews seems almost insurmountable at times.

But then, I remember just how precious those short weeks we shared really were, and my hesitations float away. At Church today, we sang “The River”, like you did the Sunday before you left. I sang along louder, and I hope clearer than usual, and staved off depression through the first half. Guilt began to creep in with time, though, as I remembered arriving a full 15 minutes late for your service, perhaps excusable had you not shown the devotion to arrive on time despite our shared lack of sleep the night prior, but upsetting all the same. Then, in the confines of my consciousness as I replayed the memory of your rendition in my head, I heard your voice cry out loud above the rest, more clear and beautiful both in my mind and in the microphones, “He is calling”, “He is waiting”, and in that moment, my problems consolidated themselves. The question to ask became simply “should I keep trying?”, and I can’t imagine an answer other than “YES!” I don’t know if he is calling, but no matter how confident I may grow that he isn’t, that confidence could not exceed my confidence that this is all worth it.

What’s more, I can align this idealistic approach with the lessons of the Church quite easily, in my own manipulative way. The Church constantly emplores people to trust in God for their futures, something I have always found puzzling, since they are presumably speaking to people who would readily attest to God’s existence, and define him as being absolutely trustworthy. Regardless of the trouble churches face in guiding their flocks, I just don’t see beauty in or feel admiration for this last step. It seems to me far more telling where someone’s heart and soul lies, and far more worthy of becoming a tragic or (I hope) a comedic story for the ages, when someone puts themselves on the line that we all agree is risky, and might not be the wisest thing to do for the objective observer. That’s real trust, and that’s real faith.

(On a more pragmatic note, it seems to me the premise that God is trustworthy must be false for a Calvinist, since we are told that God chooses for his own good pleasure a selection of those among us to join him in heaven, all with no basis in our personal merits and leaving the remainder condemned for no exceptional faults of their own, but this is one of the many areas of Christianity I have yet to master.)

All the above thoughts raced through my mind in the span of my first waking hour Sunday morning, and all but those regarding the church service have grown to be a part of my daily routine (a fact which should surprise few, if any at all), but this evening I was able to further reaffirm my reasons to try. As I quietly looped “The River” I scoured the Internet for your name, and was shocked to find page upon page of references to you, both new and old. As I read, I recalled that same evening that I first heard you sing at rehearsal, but later into the night, when between the most passionate kisses I’ve ever felt, you told me that among the happiest moments of your life was the discovery of new cased of gravitational lensing while you studied at university. Now I see why. I truly envy you, and wish I had known you then to celebrate the accomplishment. The mastery of math and physics you display in your work will forever leave me in violation of God’s laws on idolatry, but for that I make no apologies.

For now, I will continue my search, and continue to hope that my search is all that we need. And I’ll write you again, the 11 days remaining in my handwritten account of our time together.

In the meantime, when you next see the stars, think back to the living poetry that was our two weeks together, and what wonderful things might still lie ahead for us. Could there be a more perfect story to tell of how we came to know each other, than one filled with so much passion, patience and fortune as ours?