TAILSPIN
I remember exactly where I stood as the words stuck in my throat.
Staring out of a window. Engaged in prayer. Engaged in meditation. Tears starting down my cheeks.
What is wrong with me?
I grew up in a house of religious faith and ritual. Throughout my childhood, I attended religious schools and as an adult I lived a committed… if imperfect, religious life.
But now… I peeled the onion of faith too deeply. Like Mike Mulligan and his steam shovel, I dug a pit so deep I couldn’t find my way back out.
What is wrong with me?
I believe there are two types of people in the world… those who are blessed with the gift of instinct and action – people who just “do” stuff; and then there are those who simply overthink everything. That’s me. Classic overthinker. This habit of overthinking seemed pretty benign when it only involved the best way to hit a golf ball or my inability to pick something to watch on movie night. This was a different story. Now my overthinking focused like a cruise missile on my religious and spiritual beliefs. On the foundation of meaning in my life.
Socrates is reported to have said “the unexamined life is not worth living.” Poor guy. Another overthinker. Responding to that theme as an adult, I began to explore and question the foundations of my lifestyle, of the values, laws, and rituals I wrapped myself in every day. Was my framework of meaning true? Was it real? I know that I am part of a long-lasting religious tradition – but where did it come from? Are its core ideas, its historical narrative, fact, or fiction? Religious faith, of course, involves an element of submission. But submission to what? How do I justify submitting to one religious system and belief over another? I peeled more layers of the onion.
What is wrong with me?
I found myself trying to understand, or make peace with, the suffering of people in this world, especially the Holocaust of the 20th Century. Without claiming my own omniscience, I struggled to make sense of explanations for such incomprehensible and indefensible pain. How do I square the God-idea with that history? How could I synthesize the relationship of the creator and the creations?
I studied those who believe that traditional religions are just make-believe and even dangerous. I read books that dissected the biblical texts and questioned their origins. Like an archeologist, I wanted to see the real picture – to get to the bedrock – to understand the critics as well as the superfans. I stared longingly into the Fog of Revelation for answers. Thousands of years separate me from those miraculous events, and from the claims of subsequent revelations that spawned other traditional religions. I struggled to find my footing. To find firm ground to stand on. And I broke down.
What is wrong with me?
This is the story of a process… my process – of slowly planting (some would say, replanting) a faith garden – finding a path to meaning from that barren moment of emptiness. Creating a garden that – and this is the key – accepts the limits of what I can know and what I cannot know for certain. A faith garden that I believe does not misstate or fool itself about the nature of the soil in which it’s planted and grows. Gardens are planted by balancing a vision of how things could be with the reality of what actually is. That vision, those flowers, must take into account the actual soil and climate… or nothing will grow. The same is true for my faith. I sought an honest faith. A humble faith.
All gardens begin by preparing the ground. By leveling the soil and removing impediments to future growth. And that is where my journey to meaning and faith must begin…
