Credo quia absurdum
“Not the least of my problems is that I can hardly even imagine what kind of an experience a genuine, self-authenticating religious experience would be. Without somehow destroying me in the process, how could God reveal himself in a way that would leave no room for doubt? If there were no room for doubt, there would be no room for me.” – Frederick Buechner (epigraph to A Prayer for Owen Meany)
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Today is Good Friday.
I was planning on going to a Good Friday service tonight, since I can’t make it to church on Sunday, but I got the times wrong. I’m frustrated with myself; I don’t really know how to observe the holy day outside of church. Write a poem?
I haven’t gone to church in a long time. It may since Christmas, actually. But as I’ve blogged before, I feel closer to God than I’ve ever been. And as this important holiday approaches, I want to go to church. I want to celebrate Christ with other people! I know, too, that I will go back to church again. This is just a season. As Ruthanne told me long ago, church isn’t just about what you get out of it, but what you give to it. I don’t know what that is yet. I don’t really know how I fit into the Church as is.
So. Here I am.
My Contemporary Lit. class has spent the past few weeks reading and analyzing John Irving’s A Prayer for Owen Meany, which is about this awkward, 5-foot-tall guy who believes he’s God’s instrument, that God tells him things, that he will die a heroic death. We’ve spent those class periods discussing belief; there seem to be different levels of belief within the book:
Owen believes from the get-go.
Johnny doesn’t believe until he sees Owen’s faith lived out and his prophecy fulfilled.
Reverend Merrill doesn’t believe until Johnny tricks him into believing.
We talked briefly in class about Johnny’s and Rev. Merrill’s faiths being shallow, at least compared to Owen’s. But the more I think about it, the less I’m convinced of that. I mean, if you believe, then you believe. Who cares where that puts you on the spectrum?
Last night I had a conversation with my friend Doran about Christianity, and I left crying. I don’t handle confrontation well, nor do I like defending my faith–not like that, anyway. I ran off to meet my lovely roommate Elizabeth, who let me rant and figure things out through that ranting. While drinking lattes.
Why do I believe? I think I believe the way Owen believes. I believe because I always have, and I believe because I’ve seen things and have felt things. There has been proof, but it’s been proof for me, as Kierkegaardian as that sounds.
I told Doran, and I tell Nate and Elizabeth this to: I don’t think proving one’s faith has always been top priority. We are now products of the enlightenment. We are children of the Print Age. We live in modernity. Seeing is believing, right? But I don’t think Eastern Christinity treats what we call apologetics like that. Sometimes you just believe. Rationalism aside.
The folks in the Middle Ages had a phrase for it: credo quia absurdum.
I believe because it is absurd.
I don’t need my faith to make complete sense.
When Nate and I were apart for those two months, I prayed often for him and about him. God reassured me that Nate still loved me. (And, as any rational girl would do, I refused to believe Him. But He turned out to be right.) I remember spending so much time daydreaming about Nate and me getting back together. I had a million scenerios picked out, including one that landed me in a hospital bed.
But then God told me, It isn’t going to make sense.
How we got back together wouldn’t make sense. There wouldn’t be any profound moment. It wouldn’t be with angels; it wouldn’t be with some heroic deed on his part or mine. It would just happen.
And it did. We just–got back together.
After that I started realizing that other parts of my faith don’t need to make sense. I want them to, but they really don’t have to. I don’t need to fully understand the Bible or Christ’s mission on earth. I just need to try to believe, and pray that God helps my unbelief.
As an intellectual (and, I am one) this sounds absurd for me to say. But as Kant pointed out, faith doesn’t have to be connected with rationality. It’s its own thing.
So, no. I don’t have a great defense of my faith. You know, a lot of it relies on personal revelation. Again, is that really Kierkegaardian of me? Yes, it is. Do I wish I had a defense of my faith that at least sounded more intellectual? Uh, definitely.
But I’m okay with this. At least for now, I am.
April 6, 2012