Some perspectives on faith seem to involve denying reality, that is, the world as we actually experience it. Our existence constantly teeters on the edge of meaninglessness because so much that occurs has no apparent purpose, plan, design, or redemptive value, not for us as individuals nor for the whole of humanity. History is littered with nonsense.
One approach to faith suggests that we ought to believe that, despite all appearances, God has a plan and everything is under his control. Each absurd and maddening event becomes a challenge to still trust that there is a divine purpose unseen within the nonsensical. This view of faith entails essentially denying that life is as it appears, and instead insisting that God has a good and orderly plan that is being worked out.
Critics of religion see this denial of reality as precisely the problem with religious belief. Karl Marx called religion “the opium of the people” because, though he recognized that religion may help people cope with suffering, he believed it does so through creating an illusion of happiness rather than real happiness. He likened the effect to a drug-induced state.
Marx has a point for us to consider. Is our practice of faith fanciful escapism and how do we respond in faith to the apparent meaninglessness of so much suffering, despair, and evil in life? Is faith the belief that nothing is as it appears, that all is somehow part of a divine plan, despite what that would say about a God who would make such a plan?
I admire the persistence and sincerity of those who continue to insist on viewing life in terms which are at odds with our experiences, but I believe that this approach can be “whistling in the dark”, trying to keep the monsters of despair and meaninglessness at bay. “God has a plan” and “God is in control” may prove insufficient if suffering and evil increases, and unconvincing evangelisitcally.
What if our faith is placed in God himself rather than his plan? What does it mean to trust in God and not in his control? What happens if we abandon our hopes and assurances of divine plans and overaight, and instead hope in God, who is love? We might take up the cross.
To address ever-present meaninglessness in the events of life we need to contemplate the cross, particularly the cry of Jesus, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me”. His question, and it is a question, comes from faith. His raw trust reaches out to God who is of no help. God is not delivering. God is absent. God is the great Forsaker of the faithful and Beloved in that moment, and yet Jesus’ faith remains, for it is his Father that he questions.
Let me suggest that faith is relying on the unending and indefeatable love of God, shown in how Jesus commits his spirit into the hands of One who seems not to be there.
Faith does not deny the experience of the nonsensical, but inspite of it, wills to trust in eternal love in the midst of the meaningless events of life. Less than confidence in a divine plan we cling to eternal love. Faith is the courage to hope against hope (Romans 4:18).
Our communion through love with the Eternal provides meaning independent of what is happening. We do not have to infer meaning or purpose in each trial, believing it somehow fits into a good plan, but rather love itself is meaningful. Our faith is the will to love in each moment, which makes meaning rather than finds it.
Sometimes meaning cannot be found, but it always can be made by those willing to do so. Faith is not the search for meaning, or belief in hidden purposes, but the bold and reckless courage to make everything meaningful through love. Even the inexplicable and emptiness of life can be filled with the meaning we create through the love which says, “Father, forgive them”
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