In the end, no white light shines out from the wounds of Christ to bathe me in His glory. Faith is a choice like any other. If you’re picking a career or a husband — or deciding whether to have a baby — there are feelings and reasons pro and con out the wazoo. But thinking it through is — at the final hour — horse dookey. You can only try it out. Not choosing baptism would make me feel half-assed somehow, like a dilettante — scared to commit to praising a force I do feel is divine — a reluctance grown from pride or because the mysteries are too unfathomable.
MARRY KARR — LIT
I have an (almost) unwavering belief in a divine presence that connects us that I call God. But I just can’t seem to get fully on board with Christ despite the fact that for the past year, I have attended an Episcopal church near my house most Sundays and I cry almost every week when I receive the eucharist.[1] I can describe the feeling that overtakes me only as a sense of gratitude for the deepest parts of me being seen and loved. As soon as my intellect kicks in, though, the whole Christ story doesn’t make sense to me.
It isn’t the miracles — I’ve been learning more about faith healing and I believe that Jesus was a gifted healer. The historians agree he was brutally murdered by hanging on a cross. I’ve always loved his teachings, although I have been perplexed by some. I have…
