Something about blogging on the Sunday of Yom Kippur sets me to thinking about fellowship, and about the people of genuine faith I have come to know. Many of them, I know, would be happy for me to finally find my way to their respective flocks, and, were it in my nature, I think I might enjoy that, as well.Sadly, I probably always will be unsure. But I always, also, will appreciate those who cherish their beliefs and abide by those teachings.
After all these years, I have learned not to take offense when somebody invites me to hear what he knows about his faith. Jehovah's Witnesses knock on my door, and I step out to chat with them (I can't invite them in... TiGrr pees on strangers' shoes, and finds ways to escape into the out-of-doors, where he doesn't have survival equipment). My next-door neighbor and I have long, frank discussions about what it is to develop an unwavering faith. She has one. I find it intriguing, even beguiling.
In fact, I keep trying to get my atheist friends to relax about the question, "Are you saved?" After all, many of the married ones among them have tried, for many long years, to match me up with "Mr. Right." How, I ask them, is that any different from somebody else trying to fix them up with "Mr. God"? In either case, the person doing the "fixing up" feels that he or she has a really good thing going in his/her relationship, and simply wants to help this friend find the same sort of happiness.
I encourage both the yentas and the Witnesses, on the off chance that one of them will finally find the right answer for me. I suspect, though, whatever man suits me will be more than a little insane. And if God exists, He'll have to accept me as a sorely cracked vessel, leaking great quantities of faith I can not bear.
Blessings to all on this Yom Kippur, and peace find you in your faith.
You have my respect.
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