Home > Church, Faith, The Life and Times of a Disenfranchised Christian > The Life and Times of a Disenfranchised Christian, volume vi: Deconstructing Certainty

The Life and Times of a Disenfranchised Christian, volume vi: Deconstructing Certainty

One of the more significant ways my faith and views of God have been altered in these last several years has been the eroding and refining of what I am certain about. There are still of course things that I am certain about when it comes to God and the spiritual world, and in some ways this surprises me given the thorough nature of the stepping back and questioning everything I have done lately. But certainty remains.

The things I am less certain about are what God will do and how he does it. And thus how the world works, and in some ways how I am to respond. I traveled my faith journey thus far from the perspective that God meets my needs, and the acting and providing and healing he does is for my betterment. I still believe this, but differently now. Increasingly I am seeing that that point of view is woefully inadequate. God does not ignore my needs, he most certainly meets them, and promises to continue doing so. But contrary to my previous worldview (and to oversimplify it for the sake of expressing what I see changing), God is not a partially broken vending machine where I can push buttons to get what I want/need (wherever that line is), where some buttons work decently and others not at all, or dispense something other than what I put my dollar in for.

Instead I find recently that God is a waiting room, down the hall from the vending machine, with only me in the room and not much in the way of reading material. The receptionist’s window is closed, and the sign on the door is obscured, but behind the frosted glass there is movement, and the occasional muffled voice which I mostly take to be saying just keep waiting, I’ll be with you shortly, but I can’t be sure what the words actually are. But the door I came in has shrunk to an impossible opening, and the food in the vending machine has spoiled by now anyway, so I will wait.

I moved to Cincinnati with a hundred visions, and found here a hundred revisions. I can only hope that through them my faith is more real.

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