The Power of Presence.

I had a conversation with an “old” friend on Friday. We were camp buddies throughout elementary and junior high school. For a brief moment, we remembered Sugar Creek Camp and I specifically remembered Elizabeth Davey, my beloved camp counselor. I remember Elizabeth for helping me and another camper pull pranks on the other counselors (most likely to avoid being pranked herself). Mostly though, I remember Elizabeth for sitting beside me in silence as I searched for words to describe my inner experience. Those words never came in the six summers I attended camp, but Elizabeth did not seem to mind. She sat there; often in silence.

There are others in my life who have granted me the grace and blessing of presence – Lois Deyo, Lori Phillips, Karen Hartmann . . . just to name a few. These are women who loved without conditions and gave with no expectations. I remember intentionally getting in trouble in the sixth grade only to have a “bathroom lecture” from Mrs. Deyo. It was usually the same, “I am disappointed with the choices you are making, but know that I love you anyway.” I had no response at the time, but I craved that loving attention. Like my wordless experience of adolescence, my gratitude for the countless gifts is also beyond words.

Our culture promotes easy fixes. Television shows resolve themselves. When there is a conflict or crisis, the sappy music will cue, people will hug, and all will return to simple happiness. We like things nice and neat. We are a brilliant culture with many resources to problem solve. But sometimes, there are no words. There are no quick fixed. There are no bows to wrap around the packages. Sometimes, the problems are messy and complicated. Sometimes, no words can make the suffering go away. But being a loving, silent presence with another plants seeds of hope and healing.

I think of the people I have encountered who say, “I want to help. Give me something to do.” Sometimes, there is nothing to “do.” What is needed are people willing to simply “be.” To sit with someone in silence and be the physical manifestation of grace and peace, this is a great act of service. It comes with no immediate results or grand effects. We may never see the impact of our gift of presence. We may never get the credit or the glory. But being present may be the only Christ others experience.

Doubt.

I recently watched the movie Doubt. I was left pondering the role of doubt in my own life. The film begins with a sermon given by the character Father Flynn and he stated, “Doubt can be more of a bond than certainty.”

I get doubt. Or perhaps a better statement, doubt gets me. From a humorous perspective, religious belief is rather crazy. Think about it, the story of Christianity includes a bush that burns but is not consumed, a donkey that talks, a virgin that gets pregnant, dead who are risen . . . let’s face it, not exactly rational and reasonable. I was taught that I can be sure of Christianity in comparison to the “faults” in other religions, but they are no more far reaching to believe than Christianity. Mormons who get their own planet is not so ridiculous when compared to the Christian belief that we will receive a mansion in heaven. No matter what our religion teaches us, it takes faith and trust to believe that it is true. It takes a degree of craziness (crazy as defined by rejecting that which is rational) to embrace one’s religion with zeal and earnest pursuit.

I may be offending some. Christianity is not a total blind faith. After all, there were eye witnesses accounting to Christ’s life, death, resurrection, and assumption into heaven. There have been archaeological findings supporting the stories in Scripture. I admit this does make it easier to believe that Christ is indeed as he claimed, “The Son of God.” Despite this, I have never been to heaven. I have never seen Christ face to face. I believe that Christ is present in the Eucharist, but I have no “evidence” to support this. I believe, but as strongly as I trust it to be true, I am equally pulled in the opposite direction of disbelief.

I live in the tension between certainty and doubt. I am ambivalent – torn between faith and cynicism. It is in this tension, in the darkness of doubt that I find myself bound to God. Doubt should not be mistaken with disbelief. For one to have doubt suggests that there is at least a desire to believe. Perhaps if we took a snapshot of a soul plagued by doubt, we would find a caged being fighting to break free from chains of bondage. This bondage likely has many names – science, reason, or inner torments such as shame or a history of abuse . . .. We may not understand the captivity behind the doubt, but we do know the doubter is a fighter and resistant to that which holds them down.

I have had the honor or walking with many survivors of horrific abuse and legacies of tragedy. Not all outcomes are the same. There are some who accept the tragedy as their reality, and they give up and believe the lies they have been told. They grow up either believing that they are destined to be evil doers or destined to continue the story of evil being done to them. Then, there are the fighters. Despite their story, they fight the lies. Their fight may look frightening to the outsider – filled with fits of rage, but it is in the rage that they are fighting their inner shame. Those who endure, who do not give up, eventually find healing. They find that they are indeed lovable, acceptable, and able to love in return. They clung to hope that their fight was not in vain. They refused to give up and believe the lies.

Doubt is such a fight. The doubter has not given up. To many, in a wrestling match with disbelief, atheism or agnosticism often wins. They have given up on the idea of a God who knows the number of hairs on their head. Some believe, but their belief has yet to be tested. They have certainty and blessed assurance. But to those who live in the tension of doubt, their faith is being tested. In the midst of this crisis they refuse to give up on God. They grip on to faith despite “knowing” for certainty that what they are clinging to is true. They refuse to let go despite an equally opposing force pulling them toward disbelief. Their doubt has bound them to God.