How can we even talk about faith?
Faith is a nebulous and strange thing, especially for those who have never consciously experienced anything like it. In some ways, faith is the very opposite of fact-based knowledge. In a sense—a sense that is maddening to those who don't have faith—it is both weaker and stronger than facts.
It's weaker because it eludes the scientific process. Take gravity, for instance. Gravity is something that is real and scientifically proven. While we might not grasp all the scientific facts that make it work, we see it in action every single minute of our lives. We can trust gravity, and it can always be replicated. It is so much a part of our reality that we rarely even think about it. Gravity is one of the laws that define our environment and therefore us, all of us and all the time.
Clearly, the realities of faith are different. They are completely hidden from those who don't share the faith. They are so hidden, in fact, that those who claim to have faith elicit a variety of reactions from those who don't, everything from ridicule and pity to envy and admiration. For those with faith, however, the realities of faith are not only real but represent an ultimate reality, a reality beyond reality.
It's frustrating that the gap between faith and no faith cannot be proven by science (or more fundamentally: by smell, sound, taste, touch, or sight). Even more, our language—the very vehicle through which we want to communicate it—fails us.
There are two reasons behind this failure. First, words need to have a common point of reference between the speaker and the listener. If that commonality is missing, words create misunderstandings. But there is also another perhaps even more acute reason why communication often fails. I can choose to use words to describe my faith that are commonly used in the non-faith realm (words like "trust," "hope," "love," "community," "joy," and, yes, even "faith"). Because of their wide usage, however, these words may imply a different reality than I intended. Or I can use religious words that are highly specialized and therefore meaningless because my listener simply has no point of reference to understand them (words like "baptism" or "sanctification").
If words could communicate seamlessly, the Christian scriptures might read something like this:
I am God and I created you. I want you to be with me, but since you—and everyone else—are not yet as complete as you'd have to be to be in my presence, I need you to accept that I in the form of Jesus have taken it upon myself to die for your shortcomings. Accept that, love according to the guidance of the spirit that I'll give you once you accept it, and you'll be with me forever.
That's it.
Does that mean anything to anyone except those who are deeply familiar with the Christian faith? Of course not. Not only do the words ring hollow ("created me," "complete," "shortcomings," "spirit," and, yes, "God"), but the whole message seems bizarre at best, unhinged at worst.
To avoid these misunderstandings, I'd like to try talking about faith not in an abstract sense but as something with a real and measurable impact on areas of life that all people share. With that as our point of reference, communication might actually be possible.
We all have emotions surrounding ideas about
loneliness
community
life’s purpose
our true selves
our place in the world
beauty and the planet
understanding our life stories in a larger context
thankfulness
life’s value
forgiveness
suffering
aging
death
I have experienced a profound difference in how I perceive each of these realities since I embraced the Christian faith, and that is what motivates me to find language that expresses that difference for you.
So, if you're reluctant to go on that practical faith journey with me, you can stop right here and maybe tell someone else about this book. Either way, I'm so glad to have met you!
