A bastard child of faith

My beloved brother-in-law, Nat, sent me this quote recently (6 Sept 2014) from Karen Kilby, a Professor of Catholic Theology: "The logic of the Augustinian tradition leaves the question of theodicy unanswerable." This basically deals with the struggles of men with faith, hope and God and finding no answers to them that are particularly intellectually and emotionally satisfying; except to accept everything by faith as a stop-gap measure for what our human understanding cannot reconcile.

My reply? Here goes…

Thanks for the quote Nat. The soft power of an illume nudge eh? It somehow squares with what a professor of Hebrew Scripture once said, "The beginning of true wisdom is asking the questions for which there are no answers." (Harrell F. Beck)

Here's my returning the serve (and favor) with this poem by minister Cynthia Langston Kirk entitled "Stripped by God".

What would happen if I pursued God -

If I filled my pockets with openness,

Grabbed a thermos half full of fortitude,

And crawled into the cave of the Almighty

Nose first, eyes peeled, heart hesitantly following

Until I was face to face

With the raw, pulsing beat of the Mystery?

What if I entered and it looked different

Than anyone ever described?

What if the cave was too large to be fully known,

Far too extensive to be comprehended by one person or group,

Too vast for one dogma or doctrine?

Would I shatter at such a thought?

Perish from paradox or puzzle?

Shrink and shrivel before the power?

Would God be diminished if I lived a question

Rather than a statement?

Would I lose my faith

As I discovered the magnitude of Grace?

O, for the willingness to explore

To leave my tiny vocabulary at the entrance

And stand before you naked

Stripped of pretenses and rigidity,

Disrobed of self-righteousness and tidy packages,

Stripped of all that holds me at a distance from you

And your world.

Strip me, O God.

Then clothe me in curiosity and courage.

And here's my take on the above...my angst and my groping forward nevertheless...

I am a bastard child of faith

That's how I feel sometimes

Left to suckle for myself

From the breast of a surrogate's source

Hoping to catch but a glimpse

Of the one whose devotion I am indebted.

I am a bastard child of faith

Waiting by the pound, wondering

When will he come or has he even left?

Sometimes the subtlety turns to subterfuge

The hiddenness turns to fore-longing.

The mystery turns to opacity.

And the anxiety churns and churns...

Into a souring mix of doubts, hope and restlessness.

One day, maybe this illegitimacy will shed

Maybe the vaulted gates will swing open

But just a little to reveal his face

Or just the posteriority of eternity.

Maybe then he will whisper a prayer

To remind me of Calvary's adoption

To remind me that I am blood-related.

But until then, this is where I stand

Overlooking the tortuous existential terrains

Seemingly insurmountable.

Seemingly incomprehensible.

Slavishly following the crumbs he had left behind

Always hungry but no less hopeful though

Provoked by the taunting of faith

This narrow and dreary road.

I guess it's mine to trek.

I am a bastard child of faith.

I am also an adopted child of the most high.

Cheerz.