An old friend – who probably best remembers me as the girl who sang at Mass on Sundays when we were kids – said of my Tent City involvement, “It’s good to see you found your faith again.”
Except that, well, I really haven’t. My relationship with this thing called “faith” is a lot more complex than just possessing it, losing it, and finding it like a set of keys.
The truth is, I still have many, many doubts and misgivings about religion as a whole. In my own experience, being bound by dogma was stifling. For me, belief in some intangible, invisible entity was fruitless and irrelevant. Relying on prayer in lieu of initiating change was insufficient. And most of all, my disdain for those who used God and the Bible as tools of oppression knew no bounds. Time and again, I encounter insecure, fearful, controlling, and bitter individuals who are so immersed in religion itself that they’ve lost their connection to humanity. It’s like they’re issuing a proclamation of expert swimming techniques and lifesaving skills when they’ve never even left the kiddie pool.
As for me…I consider myself a learned person, but I have far more questions than answers. I think I always will, and I’m at peace with that. I follow my own heart and my own conscience, but not blindly. Reason, logic, and foresight have become my closest allies, more so as I grow older.
I don’t identify as Christian - at least not in the mainstream religious sense, even though my spiritual self has been molded largely by the teachings of Jesus Christ. Yet, I do not identify as an atheist, because I still believe there are spiritual truths and mysteries that defy scientific explanation, and because I do not preclude the Divine from the answers.
I question so many things, up to and including the existence of God. Because to believe in something implies acceptance, and to accept something as truth without evidence has never served me all that well.
The Catholic faith in which I was raised played a huge role throughout most of my life. Since I was very young, I was always encouraged to use my passion and talents to serve God. At the age of eleven, I was a church cantor. I attended a Catholic university and got involved with the Retreat Team and volunteer projects - Boarder Babies and Prison Pen Pals, for example. After I graduated, a friend and former professor got me a part-time writing gig with The Catholic Advocate, the publication of the Newark Archdiocese. I got engaged to my high school sweetheart, relocated to Germany for several months, and took on writing assignments via the then-fledgling Internet - including the advice column for a Christian teen magazine.
Upon my return to the States, I spent four years as a Campus Minister, during which time I set out to complete my graduate studies in Pastoral Ministry. But during that time, I was facing many major life changes: marriage, pregnancy, another relocation (this time back to my hometown), and eventually a newborn daughter. Emotionally, I was ill-prepared and feeling overwhelmed, saddled with all responsibility and no freedom. When I was younger, my faith helped me through some difficult times – among them, my father’s death when I was eighteen, and my diagnosis of manic-depression when I was twenty-two. But now I felt like it was failing me. And what’s more, I felt like I was failing God. I resigned from my job, discontinued my studies, and eventually left the Church altogether.
And then came the day I was forced from my comfort zone, learning to adapt on the fly with little knowledge and few resources: when my marriage fell apart six years ago. But I did not pray about it. I took action. I summoned my own inner strength, relied on the love of my family and friends, and found a good therapist and medical care. I navigated my way through the maze of a new life phase and came out the other side a stronger, more resilient, and more stable person, and I’m proud of that. Too proud, in fact, to settle for relying on faith.
When I’m in Tent City, I’m not there just to assist with physical needs like food and clothing. I have only one thing to give, without condition or limit, and that is joy. The moments I get to share with them are a blessing. I love to listen to their stories, their jokes, and their insights – and there are so very many. We banter and we laugh together. I sing with them and to them. I hug them - a lot. I tell them and I show them how much I love them. They have enough struggle, hardship, and harshness in their lives. At least when I’m there, they are free to forget it all for a little while.
It is in serving the less fortunate, and finding connection and companionship in others who do the same, that my own spiritual purpose is fulfilled. It is in letting Love – the bottomless, unconditional love that some call God – flow from my soul to others that allows me to feel completely at peace.
So to refer to my friend’s statement, I’m not convinced I’ve found my faith, but I’ve definitely found the other pieces of St. Paul’s equation: hope and love. And those are more than enough for me.
