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.
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