Matters Of Faith

Historical evidence convinces me that Jesus Christ is trustworthy.

Spiritual experience convinces me that Jesus is reliable.

My internal feelings negate both of the above.

Neither history nor spiritual experience outweigh negative things I learned at my mother’s knee.

Topping these negative things is the precept that nothing matters.

I think I heard Mama say the phrase, “It doesn’t matter” millions of times as I grew up. That was her mantra for coping with life’s problems. She felt that nothing really matters, and she ingrained that idea into me from my youth.

Approaching life with that mindset influences how I interpret life experiences. Even though I now believe as a Christian, yet that undercurrent of thought drags me down. Rather than picturing life as a progression toward beauty, the joy of Heaven, the radiant presence of Christ, the vision of God — my inclination is to see myself, and everyone else, as circling the drain, the dark hole to nowhere.

I have tried so many things in life, strived for so many goals, exerted great effort —only to see it all come to nothing. Watched so many of my dreams turn to vapor. Pissing against the wind. Wasted effort. Futility.

Why keep trying?

What’s the use?

It doesn’t matter.

Nothing I do matters.

Historical evidence convinces me that Jesus Christ, the Son of God, came to earth from Somewhere else, that He fed the hungry, healed the sick, taught the ignorant, made right whatever was wrong. He died because of, and for, our sin. And He, as Lord of Life, rose again from the tomb under His own steam before going back to where He came from for the moment.

Spiritual experience convinces me that Jesus is reliable, that contact with Him enlivens people, that knowing Him generates joy, that spiritual realities exist and that they are wonderful. That He is wonderful.

But…

But…

But, in practical day to day living, my core feeling, belief, mindset, whatever-you-call-it undermines every facet of historical evidence and spiritual experience.

For me the crisis of belief always boils down to “What Does It Matter?”

The opposite of faith is not doubt but apathy.

I wallow in that stuff.

Not a pretty picture is it, John Cowart, Christian warthog.

But it’s an accurate picture — high pixel, digital quality, focused, real.

How am I supposed to attract other troubled souls to Christ when I’m such a mess myself? How can I let my little light shine, when my batteries are dying dim?...

Wait, do I have some inner glow? — No, that’s just indigestion. Never mind.

On some level, I do want to shine for Christ, to be a beacon attracting people to Him. Yet, I do not wish to contribute to the aura of Christian fakery rampant in society. We’ve all seen too much of that. Fading glowsticks just don’t cut it.

So I seek and acknowledge reality, my reality at least.

I do what I do because I do it.

In spite of all my feelings and my interpretation of life to the contrary, what I do matters. That’s a matter of faith.

So yesterday I watered the garden, it matters whether the flowers survive or wither in the drought. I formatted the Christmas book, that matters to me. I checked whether that date should be 1926 or 1929 in the King autobiography, accuracy matters. I browsed a porno site. I learned more about that new software program Ginny is teaching me. I cooked supper. I took a nap. I read a history book. I ranted and cursed over headers and footers. I prayed. I lived out my own little can of worms.

On some level, good or bad, I believe all that stuff matters.

That’s a matter of faith.

Thanks be to God.