In my
church, there is a beautiful stained glass window directly back from the
pulpit. It is enormous, running almost
to the ceiling of the hall, and the colors are brilliant on a sunny day. It portrays Jesus in a red robe, sitting against
a stone wall, and five children are gathered around him. This morning, I had a chance to study this
window for quite some time, and it got me to thinking.
Four of the
children in the window take up the center of the piece—they kneel before Jesus,
touching his robes, and Jesus holds the youngest in his arms. But the fifth child is the one who interests
me most. Alone of all the figures in the
window, her face is not seen—the child has turned towards Jesus, her back to
the viewer. I say “her” for convenience,
but it could as easily be a little boy.
The child kneels off to one side, and one hand is reached out towards
the hem of Jesus’s robe, but if she is actually touching the cloth, it is a
very light contact.
I think of
that child as representing most of us Christians in the world. Society these days frowns upon intense
religion—it is seen as fanatic or obsessive, and it is embarrassing to most of
us. I see the images on facebook (“share
this photo if Jesus is welcome on your profile!”) and I quickly scroll down
past it, telling myself of course Jesus is welcome on my profile, and that it’s
enough that I know that. Others don’t
have to know. In effect, I am a “private”
Christian.
It’s not
just Christianity, either. There are
other religions in which people take—or pretend to take—only a casual
interest. We tell ourselves that as long
as we know, as long as we remember what we believe, that’s enough. And to an extent, it is. Faith as a positive force in the world is
meant to make people better within themselves, and “private” faith is
sufficient to accomplish that.
But in
another sense, there is no such thing as a “private” faith. The ideals of the modern society shouldn’t
shame us into silence, but they do. We
are like that child in the stained glass window—when we turn towards spirituality,
we turn away from the world, and our reaching for better things is tentative
and surreptitious. But why? Very few of us really are fanatics or
obsessive, which is the conclusion to which society tends to reach. When we have these beliefs that make us reach
for the good in the world, that make us want to support it and lift it up to
the light, why should we feel the need to hide them? Private faith, also, is dangerous, because
it means we are the only one aware of it, and so we are the only ones who can
maintain it. When faith is secret, it is
so easy to go against our principles if it is more comfortable or convenient to
do so. I know I have in the past, and
probably will in the future.
There is
such a thing as too much religion, of course.
That’s the entire reason that our culture shies away from faith these
days. But there has to be a happy medium
between fanaticism and atheism. Consider
this, then, my official turn to face the world: I am a Christian, which does
not mean I scorn all other religions or even the lack of religion. It is a personal faith, but not a private one,
and yes, there is a difference. Faith,
after all, is not just a crusade to improve the world. To me, it is a battle to improve the self,
and I’m proud to say that I will keep up that struggle for many years. And if enough of us own up to that struggle—thereby
holding ourselves accountable for it—well, we will brighten the world just by
default.
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