‘... the vision is for its appointed time, it hastens towards its end and it will not lie; although it may take some time, wait for it, for come it certainly will before too long.’ (Habakkuk 2:3)
I have so many questions half-buried in my mind. Doing my best to ignore them is part of the process of fitting into the routine, the company, or the form of expression with which I have become comfortable.
This can appear to make some sort of sense in the day-to-day happenings of my life, but most of these questions need bringing to the surface occasionally; they will not go away of their own accord, and cannot be made to fade into insignificance without first being brought into the open and answered honestly.
I am not alone in this. Indeed, I would be surprised if any man or woman is without their own doubts, discomforts or discontents; and those who truly believe otherwise are in far greater danger and have already lost far more than they will ever be able to comprehend. I dare to say this, because I know some part of what I have lost, and am conscious of how little I understand, through always being aware of my own half-submerged questions.
Finding the honest answers is not a matter of forcing ourselves into submission, as it were; attempting to implant what we perceive as the expected answers: the ones proclaimed by others as the only possible ones available to right-thinking people. We should not allow ourselves to bury the questions so completely that we forget them, and nor should we remain aware of our doubts and difficulties of faith without acknowledging them and pondering them. It is through our calm consideration of them, not through an anguished building of barricades against them, that we come to see them as they truly are. They are not enemies to be feared, hidden away from, or fought against; some of the consequences of bringing them to the surface may indeed disturb our peace and equilibrium, but the consequences of thought are not the same as the questions themselves.
Trying to learn more about our particular areas of difficulty, in an attempt to understand what we really believe and what we value sufficiently to openly profess, frees us to continue our journey instead of shrinking into immobility and a form of invisibility that keeps us unnoticed and untroubled. How could we ever believe that a desert can bloom if we do not see it for ourselves? And how shall we see it for ourselves if we remain with our heads buried in the very sand from which the blossoming will come?
We may give some thought to aspects of our faith without ever moving on in our knowing of ourselves. The matter rises and falls in our consciousness, but is never met full on: we never confront it; and, as with getting to know other people, and relating closely to family and friends, we need to meet our doubts and concerns face to face that we may see them, recognize them, accept and understand them more fully.
What do I believe? Where does faith lead me? What is faith? Do I have faith?
Such inner questions may once have troubled me in some way, and, in the past, more specific aspects of such blueprints and horizon-scanning thoughts have certainly been kept to myself. A combination of fear and shame locked them away as inadmissible secrets. Others were not allowed to know of my doubting when, apparently, everyone around me believed without question. How wrong we can be; how wrong I was. How many years have been lost in that all-enveloping self-deception? And yet they are not lost; they are never lost – for any of us. That we continue to regard them as being so, is evidence of an ongoing failure to appreciate the fullness of our relationship with God; and the extent of His gifts, so freely given into our undeserving lives.
However long the period behind us, and however short the time ahead may appear to be, those years have been our preparation for the steps we are asked to make today.
