Finding God: part 2
If you’ve been following my blog assiduously (and if you
haven’t, why not? It’s ace…) you’ll
remember that sometime last autumn I posted about the challenges of finding God
in a city where there’s so much religion.
This is the sequel to that particular post, which could also be titled ‘Seriously,
where are you?’ This may get a little
heavy, but bear with me if you can. It's been an essential part of my experience here in Jerusalem
I had something of a melt-down in February, in terms of faith and what I believed, and it was pretty scary. I became a Christian when I was 13 in the chapel at my boarding school and since then I have had many questions and doubts, been faced with many challenges, walked through good times and hard times, and have come to what I considered to be the end of myself on many occasions. However throughout all those times (and indeed because of them) my faith in God has been the one thing I have been able to rely upon, the one solid rock under my feet in a world where life doesn’t always take the turns you expect it to and sadness and injustice can’t be easily explained away. This February was the first time in nearly 20 years that I have genuinely wondered if I was seriously deluded about God and about Jesus Christ.
I was having a Skype conversation with one of my dearest friends, rattling on about expat life and talking about some of the issues I was trying to get my head round at the time: the accuracy of the Old Testament; the confusion I was feeling about much Biblical history and the connections between Christianity and Judaism, new covenant and old; the way God seemed so silent to me in this city, of all cities; the frustrating search for a church that seemed to fit. Rach listened to me babble for a while; then because she knows me very, very well she cut straight through all the talk and asked me, very simply, “Yes, Anna, but are you OK?” And I realised that I wasn't; in fact, I realised that I wasn’t sure about what I believed in anymore; in fact, I wondered if I really believed in anything. And then I wept.
I can’t emphasise enough how terrifying that moment was for me. I have always believed in God, from my earliest childhood, and He, along with church and Christian fellowship, has been the central pillar in my life. What on earth would my life look like without God? It was unfathomable. If God wasn’t in my life then everything else unravelled, like a knitted scarf where the central thread is pulled out. Without wanting to sound melodramatic, it was a dark night of the soul; I felt lost at sea, drifting in an ocean with no sign of land. The Bible talks about nights like these, times when you can’t see or hear or feel God and you feel utterly desolate. Jesus Christ felt that, on the cross: My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? - Eloi, Eloi, lama sabacthani?
The Bible also shows, countless times over, that God rescues us from these dark nights, though it’s sometimes hard to explain how. The same Psalm, 22 which contains the words Jesus called out in despair on the cross also contains the certain words For he has not despised or abhorred the affliction of the afflicted, and he has not hidden his face from him, but has heard, when he cried to him. God heard my cry. Friends of mine from back home gathered round, sent e-mails and words of encouragement, called me, prayed for me. New friends of mine here, of all faiths and walks of life, listened to me and talked through the issues with me. Everyone pointed me back to Jesus, the centre of my faith, and my confidence in him returned. One of my new friends finally persuaded me to come to her church with her (which she’d been nagging me about for months), telling me she thought it was my sort of place, and she was dead right (well done Brittany). I tried to pray and worship; I read my Bible; I read Tim Keller and Rob Bell and C.S. Lewis and Don Miller and David Cooke’s blog; I waited. Slowly, slowly, my faith returned. I still have questions, I still have concerns, but I’m no longer terrified that my world is falling apart.
Doubt is an essential part of faith. I am not the first person to realise that, nor, I should imagine, will I be the last. Questioning and being challenged and finding that you are back at square one is part of the process by which faith deepens, becomes more profound and richer. Tolstoy wrote the following: “If I know the way home and am walking along it drunkenly, is it any less the right way because I am staggering from side to side? If it is not the right way, then show me another way; but if I stagger and lose the way, you must help me…” In my darkest moments of straying away from the path, there remained in me a kernel of certainty that the path I chose when I was 13 is the right one, no matter how much I ramble on and off it like Tolstoy’s drunkard. My faith is the central thread in that big, badly-knitted scarf; everything falls apart without it. I’d like to finish with some words written by the great C.S. Lewis, who wrestled with his own questions and whose honesty in answering them always astonishes me.
“I believe in Christianity as I believe the sun has risen; not only because I see it but because by it I see everything else.”
I had something of a melt-down in February, in terms of faith and what I believed, and it was pretty scary. I became a Christian when I was 13 in the chapel at my boarding school and since then I have had many questions and doubts, been faced with many challenges, walked through good times and hard times, and have come to what I considered to be the end of myself on many occasions. However throughout all those times (and indeed because of them) my faith in God has been the one thing I have been able to rely upon, the one solid rock under my feet in a world where life doesn’t always take the turns you expect it to and sadness and injustice can’t be easily explained away. This February was the first time in nearly 20 years that I have genuinely wondered if I was seriously deluded about God and about Jesus Christ.
I was having a Skype conversation with one of my dearest friends, rattling on about expat life and talking about some of the issues I was trying to get my head round at the time: the accuracy of the Old Testament; the confusion I was feeling about much Biblical history and the connections between Christianity and Judaism, new covenant and old; the way God seemed so silent to me in this city, of all cities; the frustrating search for a church that seemed to fit. Rach listened to me babble for a while; then because she knows me very, very well she cut straight through all the talk and asked me, very simply, “Yes, Anna, but are you OK?” And I realised that I wasn't; in fact, I realised that I wasn’t sure about what I believed in anymore; in fact, I wondered if I really believed in anything. And then I wept.
I can’t emphasise enough how terrifying that moment was for me. I have always believed in God, from my earliest childhood, and He, along with church and Christian fellowship, has been the central pillar in my life. What on earth would my life look like without God? It was unfathomable. If God wasn’t in my life then everything else unravelled, like a knitted scarf where the central thread is pulled out. Without wanting to sound melodramatic, it was a dark night of the soul; I felt lost at sea, drifting in an ocean with no sign of land. The Bible talks about nights like these, times when you can’t see or hear or feel God and you feel utterly desolate. Jesus Christ felt that, on the cross: My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? - Eloi, Eloi, lama sabacthani?
The Bible also shows, countless times over, that God rescues us from these dark nights, though it’s sometimes hard to explain how. The same Psalm, 22 which contains the words Jesus called out in despair on the cross also contains the certain words For he has not despised or abhorred the affliction of the afflicted, and he has not hidden his face from him, but has heard, when he cried to him. God heard my cry. Friends of mine from back home gathered round, sent e-mails and words of encouragement, called me, prayed for me. New friends of mine here, of all faiths and walks of life, listened to me and talked through the issues with me. Everyone pointed me back to Jesus, the centre of my faith, and my confidence in him returned. One of my new friends finally persuaded me to come to her church with her (which she’d been nagging me about for months), telling me she thought it was my sort of place, and she was dead right (well done Brittany). I tried to pray and worship; I read my Bible; I read Tim Keller and Rob Bell and C.S. Lewis and Don Miller and David Cooke’s blog; I waited. Slowly, slowly, my faith returned. I still have questions, I still have concerns, but I’m no longer terrified that my world is falling apart.
Doubt is an essential part of faith. I am not the first person to realise that, nor, I should imagine, will I be the last. Questioning and being challenged and finding that you are back at square one is part of the process by which faith deepens, becomes more profound and richer. Tolstoy wrote the following: “If I know the way home and am walking along it drunkenly, is it any less the right way because I am staggering from side to side? If it is not the right way, then show me another way; but if I stagger and lose the way, you must help me…” In my darkest moments of straying away from the path, there remained in me a kernel of certainty that the path I chose when I was 13 is the right one, no matter how much I ramble on and off it like Tolstoy’s drunkard. My faith is the central thread in that big, badly-knitted scarf; everything falls apart without it. I’d like to finish with some words written by the great C.S. Lewis, who wrestled with his own questions and whose honesty in answering them always astonishes me.
“I believe in Christianity as I believe the sun has risen; not only because I see it but because by it I see everything else.”
It scares me that I don't believe in something I can name or call a religion. As you talk about your world fall apart and losing meaning, I wonder what mine means at all, it's interesting, I'd not slightly worrying if I'm missing something.
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