What is the Relevance of Faith?

by Linda Harmon

There is a story that comes from India.  It is about 6 blind men who encounter an elephant.   The first man touches the side of the elephant and says that it is like a wall.  The second touches the tusk and says that it is like a spear.  The third touches the trunk and reports it to be like a snake.  The fourth touches a leg and says it to be like a tree.  The fifth touches an elephant ear and states it is like a fan.  Finally, the sixth touches the tail and says it is like a rope.  Each blind man can claim to be “right” based on his experience and perception.  What each man doesn’t know is that his perception is limited and incomplete.  Each man in his rush to be right forgets to ask the question, “Is there something about this elephant that I haven’t discovered yet?”  We might ask the same question of ourselves when it comes to our faith --- what is there yet to discover?

Faith, by definition, means a firm belief in something for which there is no proof.  I believe that faith is what allows us to find meaning, depth and richness of experience in our lives.  Faith is like a labyrinth which guides us into our own personal mystery and which returns us to our Selves and to our communities both refreshed and restored.  My belief is that faith is a lifelong journey during which we may find places where we rest for a bit until we are ready to continue on into that mystery which we haven’t yet discovered.

 The Indian poet Rabindranath Tagore says that “faith is the bird which feels the light and sings when the dawn is still dark.”  This quote reflects the essence of my experience during the fall of 1995 leading into the winter of 1996.  It was during this period of time that my brother Les died.  Les died of throat cancer --- he was 48 years old and had a great life.  During the final few months of his life, Les went through several periods of time, each progressively longer, in which he lay completely still in his bed except for the movement of his breath, his body was cold to the touch, and although still alive, he was clearly not responsive to any earthly sounds or events.  What seemed to be happening in my limited perception was that Les was in limbo.  He seemed to be suspended somewhere between life and death. And during the still time between December 7th and December 18th of 2005, I felt I was nearing the end of my rope.  I wasn’t sure there was a God and my faith was nowhere to be found.  It was during this time that I first experienced a panic attack…and also learned to trust my instinct to breathe through it.  It was also during this time that I got really angry at God and demanded that he or she or whomever help my brother find peace right this second!

What I didn’t know and couldn’t know in my limited perception was that Les needed these very still times in order to prepare for his final transition into his spirit.  What I also didn’t know was that when Les woke up on December 18th, he would share with us things that ultimately became my greatest source of comfort after he died.

He told our mother, Louise, that he had seen mother.  She said, “No, Les, I’m your mother”.  Les shook his head no and said “your mother” ---  meaning our grandmother, Esther.  So in this very still place, at least part of the time, he had been with someone who loved him on earth and was waiting to love him when he died.  Les also was able to share with us that heaven was not only a spiritual place but also a physical place.  This brought me tremendous comfort because my brother was an athlete… so I knew that when he died he would be going to a great place.

What did I learn about faith from this experience?  I learned that faith doesn’t always come easy or cheap or packaged in a neat little 10 second soundbite.  I learned (many years later) that I had managed to keep my faith flickering during that time by simply breathing.  I learned that faith doesn’t go away…but that sometimes the connection can be deeply shaken.  I learned that Les’ death was not something God did to him or our family…for whatever reason, Les lived for 48 years and then it was his time to move on.  And, I learned what power there is in the love of the people in this community as you helped me and my family through our grief.  Thank you so much.

When I observe my nearly 4 year old great-nephew Liam, I see Les in Liam’s shrug of his shoulders, in his fierce determination to figure things out, in his Spiderman-like ability to rappel onto the kitchen counters in the wink of an eye, and in the gentleness and purity of his love.  And then I think that this little boy’s apple did not fall too far from his Grandpa Les’ tree after all.  I find deep joy in Liam’s unfolding but also from time to time feel a bittersweet longing that Les didn’t live long enough to meet not only Liam but also his granddaughters Mikaylee and Delaney.  Such is the way of faith, I think.  At some point we must make peace with the bitter even as we savor the sweet.

The passage from Ecclesiastes is my all-time favorite part of the Bible precisely because it teaches about the changing nature of faith through the metaphor of seasonal change.  Living here in New England we are blessed to see and experience the wonder of each season..and although we may like one season more than another, I don’t think that many of us question the fact of each season’s existence.  We know that springtime brings with it renewal and new growth, that summer brings ripening and maturity, that fall brings harvesting of the crops, and that winter brings a restful hibernation to the earth.  We can also see from the ebb and flow of the tides and the many cross-currents in the ocean created by the wind how nature has its’ own natural rhythms.  I believe we can learn a lot from nature about the fluctuations and rhythms of our faith journeys.  Sometimes we must plant new seeds along the path of our journey and then nurture them into fruition before we reap the bounty of their harvest.  And, then we rest until our calling to deepen our faith stirs us into action once again.  And, sometimes we learn that not all seeds survive and in those times, it is most helpful to simply do what Jimmy Buffett suggests in his song, “breathe in , breathe out and move on.”

This next, and final, section I call the “What if” section. Here I ask questions for which I haven’t yet found the answers. Some of my thinking  is inspired by lyrics from a Joan Osbourne song.  She sings, “What if God was one of us, Just a stranger on the bus, Trying to make his way home..”

My question is slightly different.  What if God is in all of us…and we are all on the bus…trying to make our way home, back to Center, back to what is most central, most holy, and most sacred to us?  What if God is the seed of life unfolding that has existed on Planet Earth for the past 3.8 billion years and which is alive not only in us but in all of the creatures on the planet?  What if God needs us to continue his or her very existence as much as we need God for guidance and wisdom?  What if God’s intent towards us is not to smite us here, there and everywhere when we mess up but rather to have us be smitten with the depth and breadth of love, compassion and wisdom which we might find in our faithful search for the Divine spark?  What if God is a Divine prayer shawl made up of every gradation of every possible color and formed by threads of wool for warmth, Levi Strauss authentic denim for practicality, fine silk for beauty and wonder, organic cotton for softness and breatheability with perhaps a Linus fleece blankie thrown in for pure comfort?

So, what, after all, is the relevance of faith?  I will answer that by asking another question – namely, what is the relevance of breathing?  Of course, the answer to that question is evident.  If you’re not breathing, nothing else matters.  Hodding Carter says that “There are two things we should give our children :  one is roots and the other is wings.”  This brilliant observation sums up why faith is relevant…because it is faith which gives us both the grounding from which to ask our questions, seek our truth and share our journey with our loved ones and  also the context within which we find the courage  to let our spirits soar.  Without roots and wings, without faith, how does anything else really matter?

Amen.