For me, what's left is a daily effort to respect the actuality of suffering, the improbability of this whole "faith" matter, and the inevitability of my allying myself with the saints, loved ones, teachers, and friends who have shown me Truth. Though not all of them profess Christian faith, and some explicitly disavow it, I have from their insight and wisdom better understood what it is that I can't help believing, the exquisitely (invisibly?) subtle plot line that weaves the multifarious melodies of the world I observe into a peculiar, idiosyncratic, syncopated, sublimely harmonious non-fictional novel in which we all are characters. They have bound me to the Truth they have taught me, ardently as I sometimes wish I could escape, unlikely as it all looks. They have made me a faithful man against all the odds, and against my own (one-time) deliberate intention, and against the currents that draw me away toward the satisfactions of a life lived without the conundrums that my faith continually raises.
Against these, and toward a joyous affirmation that whatever I have misunderstood or stated poorly, however I have fumbled or fallen short, whomever I have wronged, my cracked pot jumbled full of goodness and foolishness, aspirations to holiness and addictions to self-indulgence, my smallness cannot diminish the grace and constancy by which the Truth makes the most of what I offer, and brings me along despite myself to share in a peace which passes human understanding.
Periodically I've considered writing some kind of credo for public consumption. Having read this one, which is so eloquent, I'm even more hesitant to try.
Write to me!
