22 June 2012
Last month Mr Ang asked if Julian and I would meet the Redemptorist team who were facilitating this year's retreat. He felt that it would benefit the team if we both gave an account of our faith journey. A journey that seems to have brought us so close to God and now so far.I did give a brief summary of my journey to the group when I met them. However, during my two recent overseas trips, I decided to pen down a more detailed recount of my spiritual journey.
My journey of faith began in Secondary One. Being inducted into the Legion of Mary was the first significant step I made. The society led to much of my learning of Catholicism. We had daily morning prayers, celebrated mass on Tuesdays and Thursdays, had a weekly sharing and bible studies. We put our faith into action by actively helping others and being like Christ.
Before this, my own family and primary school provided only a bare skeletal frame of what being Catholic was. My family can be described as Sunday Catholics, and I was probably too young in primary school to understand the significance of Catholicism. Sunday class gave minimal exposure at best. The catechists and fellow students were not exactly exemplary in the way they carried themselves.
Perhaps it is during these adolescent years of great change that we are the most impressionable and willing to please. Whatever the case, these four years in my Alma Mater was when I learnt to fear God, obey God and to know about God. Prayer was as regular as my meals then. Probably even more frequent than that. Just remaining silent to listen to God and be in His presence was a common thing for me to do, too. I knew the Bible thoroughly and had verses at my fingertips that I could quote. Many times, I would defend this Catholic faith of mine and justify my actions accordingly.
At first, God was in all the rituals and traditional prayers and hymns. I was happy with that. I was holy just by going to the chapel every morning to pray and sing, and attending service regularly. This did not last long, though. How could God be put so simply into these rites and acts and creeds? Where was He when bad things happened all over the world?
The next phase brought me to believe that God could be found in the goodness and kind actions we do. God is present when we treat people around us kindly. Mother Teresa, Gandhi, and other gentle souls that only God knows, were all inspired by God to me. God is found in the relationships we have with the people we have around us. To love one another as I have loved you. This is the commandment that Jesus gave to Christians all over the world. This developed the idea of faith in the community. God was present whenever were in each others' company. Especially so when we were gathered in his name. The sharing by Mr Ang of Jesus' promise crystalized this belief of mine by no small measure: "For where two or three are gathered in my name, there am I among them."
Unfortunately, I inevitably saw the ugly side of the Church congregation and less than noble intentions of the people who call themselves Catholics. I saw how they could behave uncharitably and give in to anger so easily. Even when they realise what they do, they refuse to change. How can you profess to hate sin and yet transgress with full awareness of your actions? This did not spell the end of my faith. Instead, it spurred a deeper search of faith.
I turned inwards. God is within me. The body is the sanctuary of the Lord. In school we have a tradition to always close our prayer with a "Live Jesus in our hearts. Forever." Catholicism was not about what others were doing. I began to understand what my Christian friends were saying when they told me that theirs was not a religion. Their faith was a relationship. A special relationship with Jesus that none could compare with. This journey was mine and mine only. It was my own faith. My own imperfect faith. Who am I to judge others, when the only true worthy judge is God? No, I will not critisize others when I myself am flawed. (C. S. Lewis puts this idea across more eloquently in his book, The Screwtape Letters.)
And so, I carried my simple faith like this for some time, always remembering that I was in the most holy presence of God. Which is also the way we open our prayers in school: "Let us remember that we are in the most holy presence of God." In truth, I felt most blessed by the God on High. Many times, I have had the seemingly best outcome possible of sticky situations. Most of the time, I never even had nasty situations to deal with to begin with. It was as if someone up there was watching over me, caring for me. I particularly loved my Guardian Angel, to whom I used to pray to every night. I can still remember how it goes, word for word:
Angel of God, my guardian dear,
To whom God's love entrust me here.
Ever this night, be at my side.
To light and guard, to rule and guide,
Amen.
I also favoured Saint Michael above all the other angels. This may be due to him being the patron saint of my primary school, in which I spent six years in. On the other hand, I would prefer to believe that I chose Michael over the others because of what he stands for. He is the angel who fought with Satan and cast him out of heaven. He is the enforcer of God's will. His name is translated to "who is like God" in Hebrew. That is what every Christian strives to be. Like Christ. Like God.
I cannot say for sure what it was that made me turn away from all these. Was it a gradual shift of perception or sudden change? What was the trigger? When was the turning point?
A seed of doubt. As I delved deeper into this personal faith of mine, I demanded more and more proof of God's existence. Where was this presence of His that I was supposed to feel? Yes, I may feel quieted down and at peace, but I was looking for a transcendent experience. Something that would make me know for sure that I was not merely fooling myself into believing a spiritually-empty set of ethical rules.
What if no one actually felt God, but only believed that Christ is the real deal because of the others that seem so fervently sure about it. They live out their faith, day-in day-out with no complaints. They are the epitome of what Catholicism is about. They represent faith in a very real way. In action. What if people were only pious and God-fearing because they were following the good example of these saints? What if no one ever felt God, but only tried so hard because the saints look as if they have been there already?
Case in point: Mother Teresa. She had a dark night of the soul. Something Saint John of the Cross wrote about. It spoke of a period of time when one does not feel the presence of God for a period. This night could be extended as long as a lifetime, only to see the day again on one's deathbed. What is fascinating about this, though, is that the person who gets through this dark night always becomes many times stronger in his or her faith.
I never got through mine.
If Mother Teresa could be so incredibly holy during her dark night, who is to deny that every one else is also trying to be holy with no experience of God? There is the sudden realisation. With it, the feeling of shock and horror. What if every thing was a sham? A chain of actors, with Jesus as a cult master? What if Jesus was just an ordinary man who wanted to change the world. He devised the ultimate plan to fool the world into believing his Godhood. He preached of God and love to his followers, to spread the word to communities and societies all over. He did not want to be loved or worshipped. No, he only wanted to make the world a better place. A more loving place to be in. Full of altruistic intention, but knew that to achieve success on a global scale, he would have to become a leader for all to follow. He would have to attain the status of God.
And so, he set his plan into action. And we have Christianity today. A group of blind sheep, following the ideals of a man who dreamt big dreams. I do not oppose his ethics. His teachings are meaningful and beneficial for us here today. But the very foundations of my faith had taken an immense blow.
By the time I entered junior college, Catholicism was more of my ethical stand than a religion. I still tried to be a good Christian - most of the time, a better Christian than those self-professed ones. (Just stating an observation of a fact, not gloating. If I were, that would be pride at work. And that would be one of the seven deadly sins already.) What being a Christian means to me is some one who lives in a Christ-like manner.
I took Knowledge and Inquiry as a subject and soon realised that although faith may be classified as knowledge, it is in a whole different domain as the more classical types of knowledge such as empirical or logical. In fact, I feel that calling faith a knowledge is pretty dodgy. I was (and still am) a deeply scientific person. I need proof. I need to test and confirm things. Faith is the antithesis of this. Faith demands belief without proof. Most call it the "leap of faith".
I first heard of this phrase in my class. We can discuss about God all day long, but it always boils down to whether one is able to make this leap of faith. I have not yet been able to make this jump.
To me, this is no spot of trouble at all. God has a plan for us all. If God has planned for me to make the leap, he will help me make this leap eventually. And then I would go back to where I belong. I would go back to God. Since I have not, it either means that God does not exist, or God has not planned for me to make this leap yet.
I started to drift away from the whole idea of a Judeo-Christian type God and for a time, believed in a non-personal, First Mover, God. Like a watchmaker who first sets into motion the gears, a God who designed then left the universe it's own devices after setting it off with the Big Bang. This appealed to the intellectual side of me. This was something that I could believe in easily, because cause and effect says that if we trace everything to the beginning, there must have been a first cause. And that must then be God, who exists outside the universe. This was when I had my existentialist crisis. (Not as serious as it sounds. More of existential blues.) The full implications of a non-personal, non-interfering God hit me. I could be as good or as bad as I like, and there is no high almighty God out there who is going to judge me or stop me. I could jump off the roof of a 100-storey building and no miracle will happen. That would just be me doing what I wanted to do. There are no morals except the ones we create. Life has no purpose other than the ones we give it. A dreary worldview indeed.
Some time later, I decided that life has to have more meaning than that. Surely there is something greater than me? Surely there is something out there worth living for? I read more about other religions. Mainly Buddhism and Taoism. Their naturalist ways and "go-with-the-flow" attitude really strikes a chord with me. When I first came across the Four Noble Truths, I was simply in awe at the amount of truth conveyed in those four simple statements. I started to explore more about the culture, and expanded from there. From aimless wanderings during my existential period, I now am looking for inner peace and spiritual direction. I read about meditation, chakras, yoga, natural hallucinogens, psycho-active drugs like DMT and LSD acid, lucid dreaming, magic, occultism, zen. Many of these were interesting but impossible to try due to my circumstances. Meditating and dream weaving, I tried, but never produced the out-of-the-world experience I was looking for.
These things actually seem so ludicrous, I wonder if some of you may think me mad. I know that these may very well be pseudo-sciences and a gimmick to fool naive. But if I did not attempt to at least understand and try these possibilities, I would only live to regret if one of these does in fact open up the consciousness to newer levels of awareness.
Nowadays I hardly dabble in these esoteric practices (I resigned myself to the fact that I am not cut out for most of those) and just try to strive for excellence in life. The Greeks call it arete. In Sanskrit it is dharma. I try to be the best I can be, to be myself, for myself.
"What do you mean by 'try to be the best I can be?'", you may ask.
I leave you with this quote from a book I am coming to love.
And what is good, Phaedrus,
And what is not good-
Need we ask anyone to tell us these things?
I still believe that there are many paths leading up to the mountain of truth (and many false trail heads as well), so I will keep searching and hope that I will one day find a path for myself.