Conversations with a young priest have revealed unexpected wisdom. Newly ordained, he possesses a remarkable understanding of life beyond the church’s confines. His ability to listen proved refreshing as I shared my struggles with faith, a burden I have carried for many years. After decades immersed in church traditions and Catholic education, I reached a point where rituals felt mechanical, prayers echoed in silence, and the certainty of God’s presence had diminished.
Instead of resorting to standard sermons or simplistic platitudes, he offered a profound suggestion: “You think with your head. So, take a cerebral route back to faith. Use logic. Use what’s real to you.” This pivotal moment shifted my perspective. Rather than seeking comfort in ancient narratives, he encouraged me to explore spiritual literature that embraces science and reality.
The intersection of science and spirituality
The priest’s advice opened my eyes to a different approach—one where faith could coexist with empirical understanding. He guided me towards writings by thinkers who probe essential questions: What can we prove? What insights does science provide about consciousness, existence, or even the possibility of a higher power? For many, faith may not stem from age-old stories but from the awe-inspiring revelations of the universe and the mysteries yet to be uncovered.
This concept resonated deeply with me. If faith were to reclaim its significance in my life, it had to be grounded in ideas that my intellect could grasp. For the first time, I felt there might be a path I could genuinely explore.
Embracing doubt as part of faith
Another enlightening realization from our discussion was that doubt does not invalidate faith. Life often knocks us down, and we all experience moments of uncertainty. The priest reminded me that faith is not a binary concept; rather, it encompasses various seasons of belief, skepticism, and the quiet moments of waiting for illumination.
What if we consider doubt not as the end of faith but as an integral component? What if navigating our struggles honestly—acknowledging our hurt, anger, and disillusionment—forms a more authentic prayer? To say “I’m here. I’m struggling. But I’m still trying” is a testament to our resilience.
Personal reflections on loss and grief
As the holiday season approaches, I am reminded of my mother’s sudden passing over three decades ago. Her death, occurring just outside the church she cherished, left a profound void in my life. During those early years, I grappled with overwhelming grief, harboring anger towards God for allowing such loss. Well-meaning people around me offered phrases like, “God has a plan” or “One day you’ll understand”, but those words felt inadequate in the wake of my sorrow.
Even now, her absence casts a shadow over each holiday, a reminder of the emotional toll of loss. While I’ve experienced joyful celebrations since then, the essence of Christmas has been forever altered. Grief, I have learned, does not vanish; it integrates into our lives, shaping our identities.
Reconstructing faith through experience
In my attempts to reconnect with my faith, I adhered to the rituals I believed were expected of me—attending Mass, reciting prayers, and maintaining traditions. Yet, I felt increasingly isolated. My work in hospice care and the funeral industry exposed me to profound losses: young lives cut short, families torn apart, and desperate pleas for comfort. Despite my hopes for divine intervention for others, my own silence made it difficult to trust that I was heard.
Eventually, I realized that my belief had morphed into a silent assumption: IF God is present, He seems disinterested. However, the priest’s words reminded me that faith is a journey, not a destination. It evolves alongside us, reflecting the changes in our lives as we grow older and face new challenges.
Finding peace amidst the chaos
Instead of resorting to standard sermons or simplistic platitudes, he offered a profound suggestion: “You think with your head. So, take a cerebral route back to faith. Use logic. Use what’s real to you.” This pivotal moment shifted my perspective. Rather than seeking comfort in ancient narratives, he encouraged me to explore spiritual literature that embraces science and reality.0
Instead of resorting to standard sermons or simplistic platitudes, he offered a profound suggestion: “You think with your head. So, take a cerebral route back to faith. Use logic. Use what’s real to you.” This pivotal moment shifted my perspective. Rather than seeking comfort in ancient narratives, he encouraged me to explore spiritual literature that embraces science and reality.1