Finding God When It All Goes Quiet
Tidy, contained God is easier to worship, but crumbles in the presence of my big, nuanced problems
I’m at a festival in Allihies, Ireland. To the left of us are houses painted gumball pink, blue, yellow and green. To the right is endless sea. People spill out from steamy pubs onto the street, forming a semicircle around musicians playing classic Irish ballads like “Stairway to Heaven” and “Hey Jude.” Whenever a lone car appears, the crowd parts down the middle to let it through, cheerfully banging on the hood and shouting slurry greetings. During one of these vehicular interludes, I elbow a bald guy standing next to me. Clinking his glass against mine, he asks me something I’ve been wondering myself: “Why are you here, of all places?”
Would a change in scenery help me feel less lost?
It started with restlessness. Routines I normally took pleasure in had lost their appeal, including my nightly prayers. Talking to God reminded me of sessions with a cold therapist, someone who mutely observed me week after week, never offering any direction. How long would I be sprawled out on my couch, aiming questions at the ceiling? Would a change in scenery help me feel less lost? I had heard of people taking sabbaticals to reflect, but didn’t have the…
