I often read about people who have an unshakeable faith.
They endure enormous trials, they live through unimaginable horrors (Immaculee Ilibagiza, for example) and, rather than render them agnostic, they become more firmly grounded in their belief than ever.
Now that’s an impressive faith. It always makes me think ‘what do they know that I don’t know?’ or ‘seriously, can some people not take the hint?’ (I kid).
You see, if there was a continuum of faith from unshakeable to really flakey, I think that we all know where I’d be. Something will happen that causes me to throw up my hands in desperation (such as this and this) and then I abandon all of my progress and understandings and good stuff and stop blogging for a while.
But then, always, I get that little niggle again and back I come. ( this, maybe? )
But I think that there’s one main, over-riding reason why I walk away, though. Why I switch off. Because the one time that I really, really needed God, that I needed help,
help didn’t come.
and I couldn’t do it on my own
and I just can’t move past it.
While the word ‘Holocaust’ can usually pull me up in my tracks and make me question an all-loving God, it’s still distant and far away from my day to day reality.
I can more easily disconnect from it, and although it has been a convenient ‘off switch’ for my religious growth in the past, I’ve come to an understanding, of sorts, with the concept.
But then there’s my Big Road Block.
Because no matter how close I come to belief and faith, this looms in my mind and I think
God could have helped me and he didn’t.
People have come out of the Rwandan Genocide, and the Holocaust, with their faith, probably a bit bruised but essentially there. A tangible and essential part of their life.
Which makes me wonder if I’m intentionally setting up road blocks for myself…
(but that’s for the next post.)