A Crisis of Faith

When I was 17 years old I refused to stand with the rest of my high school graduating class, and walk down the isle of our church to take communion.  Let's just say my mother did not approve of my decision.  She did not, and could not understand that I did not arrive at this action, or lack of, easily.  She saw only a willful child.

Perhaps it was a bit of willful spite.  A teenager's demonstration of emancipation: compounded by the simple fact that, for me, there was a disconnect between what we were taught by the church and what was actually going on in the world - for that matter in my own school among those we placed our trust in.

There was a war going on that came into my living room every night, courtesy of the evening news. I watched from a distance, at the extent of man’s inhumanity.  All of us who came of age during that time, watched the destructive power of an arsenal of weapons unleashed indiscriminately against civilians and soldiers a like.  We saw the aftermath  -  the dead and mutilated bodies of children, women and men, all of it in living color. And I wondered where was God in all of this?

For as long as I can remember, I have been in a struggle with my faith and with each passing year, that struggle has intensified.  My questions have found few answers and each time I think, “OK, maybe there is something to this God talk,” I am struck by how much evil is done in the name of God.  And then all of those old questions come rushing back.

More recently, after the massacre in Newtown, I found myself reflecting on the faith I so desperately seek, but which has eluded me.  This horrible deed,  committed only weeks before the celebration of Christmas, the day reserved in celebration of the birth of Christ.  I looked at the pained faces on the news, of a community in shock,  grappling to find the meaning in this senseless act committed against 20 innocent children and six brave adults.  I wondered what preachers and priests and pastors would tell their flock during this time of mourning.  How would they weave the word of God into this painful and horrible event?  How would they position God in all of this?

I was taught that God was the creator of everything.  That he was all knowing and all seeing -- that we were all created in his image and likeness.  But even as a child I wondered: “If he, God, is all knowing, why would he create a world where tragedy can be visited upon us by man or mother nature?”   Why would any being, so utterly good and merciful, create a world in which the most inhuman things are done every single day in some part of this world?  How could he not have known that man would turn out to be two sides of a coin – both good and evil?  And if he knew, why did he create us knowing the  disastrous consequences of that decision?

Yes, I think for many of us the bible is simply a series of parables, not an exact account of historical facts - written by men who set a tone for the on-going, division of power, racism, gender bias, capital punishment, class and cultural warfare and for the use of fear, as a tool to control. 

Remember, this good and merciful God is also a vengeful God.  Striking down sinners and non-believers, causing floods, pestilence, and drought.  Testing man’s faith at every turn.  Why, if he is all seeing, all knowing – should he not choose to stop man’s evil intent? The standard answer that I’ve heard: “God gave man free will,” just doesn't hold up, because it leads to an endless stream of additional questions.

I once asked someone dear and close to me, about their unquestioning devotion and belief.  “The day I gave my faith over to him,” I was told, “everything turned around and I began to receive his bounty.”

I envy this blind devotion -- this pure and utter conviction that some invisible being is the reason for all of the good fortune we might receive.  

I do understand that in times of great and small crisis, many people need to turn to something that will help them make sense of the incomprehensible or simply help them get through the bad times.  That is when many turn to their church, their synagogue, their temple and they lean on their faith.  I have done the same on occasions.  But inevitably my cynicism sneaks in and with clarity I see things that beg questioning.   Things that seem so counterintuitive.

Jesus, we are told, was a simple carpenter.  The son of God came into this world a poor man.  Born in a stable not a palace.  He lived a humble life, preaching parables and performing miracles until his death. 

So how do we justify the riches of the Vatican?  A group of men, hidden from the world, making decisions that govern the principles and ideals of a global congregation.  They decree that women cannot be priests and deny them leadership in the church.  They condemn the use of contraceptives and damn abortions even if a woman’s life hangs in the balance, while at the same time aiding and abetting, through their silence, the actions of pedophile priests.  They slam alternative lifestyles as sinful, but tell us that God created us all.  Preachers like Pat Robertson and Franklin Graham have used the pulpit for a series of outrageous criticisms, many politically motivated and much of it unfathomable coming from men who call themselves, “men of God”.

An easy fix these days is becoming a pastor of a mega-church.  As if God decreed, build it big and they

will come.  These mega-churches have sprung up everywhere, yielding their pastors, unheard of  riches.  Some fly around in their own private jets, have a fleet of cars, several mansions and are multi-millionaires.  I cannot imagine this was the intention for tithing.  Their answer to all of this – “God has willed it so.”  REALLY?  So I am to believe that God sent his only begotten son to be born and raised humbly, die on a cross so that some snake oil salesman can live high off the hog?

In spite of my internal conflicts, I still keep a bible close by and every now and then I thumb through passages that I remember studying as a child – the story of David, of Esther, Cane & Abel, the miracle of the loaves and fishes.  I think about my own life and how differently things might have turned out for me had certain things not happened precisely as they did when they did.  I think about how complex this existence is.  And I often pause to contemplate the invisible, unseen hand that moves the pieces on this chessboard we call earth.

As I have gotten older, I find that I want answers desperately. I want clarity.  I want to know what lesson there is in a child’s death, in rape, in war, in starvation, in poverty, in disease, in annihilation?   If God truly created us all in his own likeness – whether through the big bang theory, or the Adam and Eve, Garden of Eden version, what was his purpose?  Why are we here?

I simply want to believe that this life I have lived counts for something.  That there is a reason for the hordes of people living homeless and hungry in the streets; that there is some justification for the children we raise and send off to war – who die or come home broken;  that there is a lesson to be learned from the victims of violent crimes or those lost in natural disasters, and that there is an answer to the rising tide of anger we see around the world.  While my brain questions, my heart still wants to believe that saying a prayer every night might just help.