I don't know, I believe

So  in Mormonism, once a month the main church service is a testimony meeting. The microphone is open to anyone that wants to say something. Often people talk about an especially challenging time and how God has helped them, or how they’ve felt especially blessed. But the whole meeting is supposed to revolve around testifying about Jesus (although I’m not really sure what the preposition should be there--testifying for, to, of…)

And when I was little I got up a lot, because I liked to talk, and I liked Jesus, and it seemed like a pretty good opportunity. As I’ve gotten older I realized that there are social considerations around testimony meeting that shouldn’t matter but do.  And part of this uncomfortable feeling as I’ve gotten older is my choice of verb.

Jesus Walks on Water by Ivan Aivazovsky

Most people say “I know.” And I don’t. I believe.

There are some religious things I know. Like I know that human beings can’t possibly be the wisest, most compassionate creatures in the universe. And I know that each human life is valuable. I “know” these things, because if I believed otherwise there would be no point in living. No point in having children. No point in being sad about Syria. No point in being anything but psychopathically hedonistic other than gaining the fickle approval of my peers. Yes, I know that there are Athiests that live happy, compassionate lives. I know them and respect them.  But I wouldn’t be one of them.

So to me it’s not a choice. Athieism is as off the table to me as joining the flat earth society.

I do have a choice to believe that there’s a God that’s actively involved and concerned about my life. So I do. And I will say that often, I feel there is evidence to support that belief. Usually in the form of a sense of serenity that replaces internal turmoil. But since I’m human, I also doubt that serenity as soon as its gone. Occasionally in the panic of wondering if I’ve manufactured divinity out of biology, I feel that odd, out of body calm again. And when I put words to that impulse it sounds something like “Don’t be an idiot, I love you. It’s me.”  I’ve had that experience so often that I can pretty comfortably say “I know God loves me.” And just following through logically, since I’m not particularly loveable among all the people on the planet: “I know that God loves all of us.”

And there are lots of Theists in general, Christians, and Mormons in particular that feel that through the evidence of experience they Know about many aspects of their faith. But I usually stick to believe. Not because I think any of those things are “unknowable.” Since I believe in angels and miracles, I certainly have to believe that there are people that Know. I’m just not one of them.

For a long time, I thought this made me a second-rung Christian because I couldn’t commit to knowing Jesus. But thankfully, Jesus saved me a seat in Christianity: “blessed are they who shall believe in your words because that ye shall testify that ye have seen me, and that ye know that I am.” (3 Ne. 12:2) 

I’m really grateful for the people that Know. But I’m also really grateful for the people that believe. People like me that through the quandary of reality have a hard time knowing, but still make the choice to give it a go.

Evangelical Athiests often point to the large percentage of scientists that are Athiest as a selling point. Ironically,  this makes me think, “Look! There are extremely well educated, evidenced-minded, skeptical people out there, that despite the pressure of their colleagues still choose to believe in God!” Don’t get me wrong, that’s a lousy reason to believe in God, I just find it comforting after I choose to keep doing so. Because faith is paradoxical. Natural and alien, easy and tremendously difficult.

I will tell you that I am a child of this century, a child of disbelief and doubt. I am that today and will remain so until the grave. How much terrible torture this thirst for faith has cost me and costs me even now, which is all the stronger in my soul the more arguments I can find against it. And yet, God sends me sometimes instants when I am completely calm; at those instants I love and feel loved by others, and it is at those instances that I have shaped for myself a Credo where everything is clear and sacred for me. This Credo is very simple, here it is: to believe that nothing is more beautiful, profound, sympathetic, reasonable, manly and more powerful than Christ.  

- Fyodor Dostoevsky

Pretty mandolin music! 

Steph