Existential Conundrum

Child-like faith.

A manger and a star. Shepherds in a field. Wise men from the east.

Storytelling at its finest, or accounts of an actual event written down years after that event? The jury continues to be out.

I used to spend most of my time with like-minded people, people of faith, whether parishioners or colleagues in ministry. This all sustained me. But anymore, I might as well be on a deserted island left to my own devices, to my own thoughts and theories and deepening doubts.

I could reconnect, find someplace to worship, give myself the opportunity for finding something I kinda sorta used to have. But would it be faith, or just the confidence gained from a return to a setting, to that strength in numbers, to that groupthink– to hearing the story over and over until the only logical outcome would be to start believing it again?

We’re expected to grow up, to mature, to leave naivete behind, yet in matters of faith, we are encouraged to suspend reason and reality, to embrace ancient words in books, and remain childlike and obedient. This is making less and less sense to me.