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Posts Tagged "Faith":

Faith: One Long Alleluia Sung Into A Dark Night – Joan Chittister

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Deep down, we are still substituting a kind of magic for faith. God we make a cornucopia of human desires, a vending machine of human delights.  We coax God to be on our side and call it faith. We cajole God to save us from ourselves and call it devotion. But those things reduce God to some kind of popular puppet. For those things there is little room for alleluia.

The truth is that faith requires the awareness that God is and that God is holding all of us responsible for the other. Being a card-carrying member of a religious tradition does not give us the right to consume the world for our own ends in the name of God. We do not have the right to loose havoc on the rest of the world in the name of the God we have made in our own image. It is not getting the rest of the world to think and worship as we do that qualifies as real religion. It is giving ourselves for the welfare of the rest of the world to which we are called.

The Abrahamic tradition, in which Abraham’s rush to welcome strangers to his table is one of scripture’s most powerful icons, calls us all to be keepers of an open tent in the desert, for fear a stranger should simply happen to come by without water in the summer sun of the globe.

Faith is belief that God is leading us to become in tune with the universe, however different we see ourselves to be.

Faith is trust in the unknown goodness of life without demand for certainty in the science of it.

Faith is belief that the God we call ‘our God’ is either the God of all or cannot possibly be God at all.

Faith is confidence in darkness, for the willingness to trust in the deep-down humanity of others as well as in our own may be the deepest act of faith we can possibly devise.

Faith is the willingness to see God at work in others – in their needs and ideas, their hopes and plans – as well as in ourselves.

Faith is the certainty that God is working through others just as certainly that God is working through us for the good of all humankind.

For those things we sing alleluia. Those are surely the only things that can possibly save the globe from our own unmaking of it. Faith, real faith, real willingness to forgo our own need to either understand God’s ways with humankind or control them ourselves, is real reason for alleluia. Why? Because faith is not about understanding the ways of God. It is not about maneuvering God into  a position of human subjugation, making a God who is a benign deity who exists to see life as we do. Faith, in fact, is not about understanding at all. It is about awe in the face of the God of all. And it is awe that inspires an alleluia in the human soul.

Faith is about reverencing precisely what we do not understand – the mystery of the Life Force that generates life for us all. It is about grounding ourselves in a universe so intelligent, so logical, so clearly loving that only a God in love with life could possibly account for it completely.

When we center our power outside ourselves, which is of the essence of faith, we have faith in something greater than our smallness. We take our very lack of control as a sign of God’s presence in the world. It is precisely because of our smallness that we can come to see and trust the greatness of God that surrounds us. It is only then that we can really come to see the face of God in the face of the other.

Faith in what we cannot control, do not see, cannot understand, destroys the idol that is ourselves. It is only the deep-down belief that we are not the be-all and end-all of the universe that can save us from ourselves. It is the awareness of being part of something vast and intelligent and well-intentioned that gives purpose to life, that leads us to seek beyond the horizons of our smallness to the hope that tomorrow, warped as we may be today, we can all be better.

Faith in God is the only ground we have for faith in ourselves, in humanity, in life. Then we may care enough about others, about the purpose of God for all human life, to go beyond the kind of religion that turns God into a local deity and life into a zero-sum game in which winner takes all and losers abound.

Faith is one long alleluia sung into a dark night, the only end of which is another challenging dawn.

 


This wonderful piece of writing is by Joan Chittister from ‘For all that has been, thanks: growing a sense of gratitude‘ by Rowan Williams and Joan Chittister OSB, published by Canterbury Press Norwich in 2010

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(I have followed Canterbury Press’s lead and left the US spelling of manoeuvre and centre, with gritted teeth it must be admitted :>)

Thought for the 18th Sunday after Trinity (Proper 22): Faith

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. Hebrews 2:1

Paul the apostle famously found his faith in a blinding light on the road to Damascus, but most of us cannot claim anything so dramatic. Some days, the most any of us can manage is Lord I believe; help thou mine unbeliefMark 9:24

Matthew Arnold expressed his despair in ‘Dover Beach‘:

The Sea of Faith was once, too, at the full and round earth’s shore, lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled. But now I only hear its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, retreating, to the breath of the night wind down the vast edges drear and naked shingles of the world.
 
 
Noel Coward said Life without Faith is an arid business 
 
But Faith, an unswerving unshakeable faith, is sometimes difficult to find:
Our technological civilization has cushioned life on all sides, yet more than ever before, people helplessly succumb to the blows of life. This is very simply because a merely technological culture cannot give any help in the face of life’s eternal tragedy; here only an inward foundation can help. Externalized as they are, too many people today have no ideas, no strength, nothing that might enable them to master their restlessness and dividedness. They do not know what to make of trials, obstacles, or suffering—how to make something constructive of them—and perceive them only as things that oppress and irritate them and interfere with lifeF W Foerster, ‘The Cushioned Life’
 
 
But here the French come to the rescue, in the shape of Blaise Pascal.
You have to bet. It is not voluntary- you are already embarked [on life’s voyage].
And not to bet that God exists is to bet that he does not exist. Which side will you choose? Let us weigh the gain and the loss in opting for the side that God exists. If you win, you win everything. If you lose, you lose nothing. So you should wager without hesitation that he exists. I tell you that you will also win in this life; and that at every step you take along the way you will see so much certitude of winning, and so much and so much nothingness in what you are hazarding that you will know in the end that you have bet in favour of something certain and infinite. ‘Pensées’ #54
 
I told a Turkish friend about Pascal once, and she was deeply shocked at what she regarded as such a cynical reason for having faith in God. But Christianity allows us to use our reason as well as our emotion, and I think Pascal, whose faith was deep and genuine and who also said:
Be comforted. You would not be seeking God if you had not already found Him, was just trying to talk to the most logical people on earth in a language they could understand.
 
 
Tolstoy said:
We have one infallible guide, and only one: the Universal Spirit which inspires each and all of us, implanting in every individual a yearning for what ought to be – the same spirit which causes the tree to aspire towards the sun, which causes the flower to shed its seeds in autumn and which impels us instinctively to draw closer together.
Lucerne, 1857
 
 
Wordsworth speaks of:
one in whom persuasion and belief had ripened into faith, and faith become a passionate intuition‘The Excursion’ Book IV, line 1293
 
 
In the end, we have to be prepared to make a leap of faith.

Did Jesus live? And did he really say
The burning words that banish mortal fear?…
Between the probable and the proved there yawns
A gap. Afraid to jump, we stand absurd,
Then see behind us sink the ground and, worse,
Our very standpoint crumbling. Desperate dawns
Our only hope: to leap into the word
That opens up the shattered universe.

Sheldon Vanauken‘A Severe Mercy’1
 
 
Professor Vanauken was a friend of C S Lewis, who describes how he finally took this leap:
You must picture me alone in that room at Magdalen, night after night, feeling, whenever my mind lifted even for a second from my work, the steady, unrelenting approach of Him whom I so earnestly desired not to meet. That which I greatly feared had at last come upon me. In the Trinity Term of 1929 I gave in, admitted that God was God, and knelt and prayed …I know very well when, but hardly how, the final step was taken. I was driven to Whipsnade one sunny morning. When we set out I did not believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and when we reached the zoo I did. Yet I had not exactly spent the journey in thought or great emotion. It was more like when a man, after long sleep, still lying motionless in bed, becomes aware that he is now awake. ‘Surprised by Joy’
 
 
We started this thought with our bad days, when our faith wobbles. But let us not forget our good days, when we can echo with feeling the words of Job,9:25 set so marvellously to music in Handel’s Messiah that I challenge you to say them without your spine tingling:
‘I Know that My Redeemer Liveth!’

Finally, I end with the same thought as the passage from Hebrews with which this post began, the strapline from June Butler’s blog:

Faith is not certainty so much as it is acting-as-if in great hope.

 
 
 

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If my selection of singer for ‘I know that my Redeemer liveth’ is not classical enough for you, I suggest you follow the hyperlink instead, which leads you to a rendition  by Isobel Baillie. The reason I chose this one is that I was left in no doubt whatsoever that the singer does indeed have faith.

1 I am unfortunately unable to quote the poem in full for reasons of copyright but you can read it if you follow the hyperlink.

The illustration is by Tim Pillinger – view my workCeltic Cross Abstract Acrylic in Red Gold Black & Blue. A canvas showing a cross. On the cross is a knot pattern based upon a three point grid. Each has a different function, but without all three it would not work. Sound like anything?

 
 

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