My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Saturday, May 31, 2014
Questioning Faith
He was saying how uncertain he becomes when thinking what he really believes. He was reciting the creed, as he had done each Sunday for hundreds of Sundays, but for whatever reason he noticed today how the words emerged and with them a sense that maybe this was not his belief. Maybe only parts of it were, or maybe there were more aspects fitting less well than they should have, and so he stopped -- allowing the congregation to carry on the faith for at least one day.
Labels:
belief,
doing the best you can,
doubt,
faith,
tradition,
uncertainty
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