A starter life, or the only one we get?

I recently had breakfast and a good chat with a pastor colleague. It was fruitful, to a certain extent, but I didn’t get to say everything I wanted to say, or share what was weighing the heaviest on my heart. I held back, for some reason. I feel I’m in the midst of an existential crisis, caught between the rock and the hard place, wanting to believe in the existence of God, but leaning toward the Harari-esque take on things.

There is so much about a journey of faith that’s difficult to reconcile anymore, and this saddens me. I’ve often thought that if there is no God, no rescue from this mundane, sometimes wondrous, and often absurd and savage life, then we have no hope. My hope, for the longest time, dwelled in a certain confidence in the promise of the Gospel message that Jesus indeed arrived on the scene, taught and revealed his divinity and power, died as an atonement for our weakness and sinfulness, and overcame death and the grave to live again– a sign and a promise of comfort for all who have faith.

I wanted to believe this because there was nothing in and of this earthly life that came close to such revelation, such good news. All we get here is a life we had no say in stepping into, a crap shoot, a lottery where the winners are lucky enough to be born into stable societies with leaders who have their heads on straight; into families that care about each other, who have healthy perspectives on what’s important, who show love and humility and have a sense of humor. The losers aren’t losers in the way immature high schoolers use the term. They’re losers because they’ve started at a disadvantage– they were unlucky enough to be born into situations where it would have been wiser and more considerate of the parents to have abstained from unprotected sex. For too many children, and for a number of reasons, their journey often enough is one long, or shortened, undeserved slog and endurance test.

This idea that one must have faith, keep the faith, has died significantly in me. I lament the familiar lament: how long? How long do we wait, do we hold onto the promises, before we start looking around at the plurality of belief systems and the billions who are waiting on their God to do something, not to mention the suffering and growing despair and misery, and throw up our hands and say “What are we doing here?!”?

It often feels like it’s been long enough.