Thomas Merton wrote that it is absolutely impossible for a man to live without some kind of faith.

Faith, he wrote, is, in the broadest sense, the acceptance of a truth on the evidence of another person, or another force.

His faith came from a worship of God, my faith comes from a different place, and I am only now realizing I have had a crisis of faith in recent days or weeks.

Perhaps it is the hurt of seeing the suffering of the refugees and their families, or the isolation and fear of the Mansion residents, or the hardships being savagely inflicted on my community by this heartless virus.

It might be the cruelty and selfishness of our political leaders or the exploitation of human suffering and death for political gain, or it might just be the evil working of the Pandemic itself, striking down the neediest and most vulnerable in harsh and frightening ways.

I don’t need any more reasons than that, but it didn’t help to be flooded with angry and cruel messages from strangers when I started writing about politics.  I felt there was an alien circle around me, and I was losing my bearing.

The haters seem so empty me, driven not by belief but by grievance and vengeance.

And no wonder – we all struggle with faith. When you no longer are certain of what to believe in, you apt to believe in anything.

Merton himself struggled with faith all of his life; he even considered leaving his monastery when he fell in love with a nurse he met while in the hospital.

Men and women who have no faith are defenseless in our world are lost in one way or another. They need and seek belief, they submit to any charlatan or demagogue who comes along or has access to a computer or camera.

People who have no faith believe everything they hear or see online or on television or read on a mailing list, or shout in a crowded stadium. When the soul is empty, it’s easy to fill the space with bile and anger.

I lost my faith last week, the anger and hatred in me bubbled up – it never really goes away, it just hides and waits for emptiness and fear and provocation.

And there is so much provocation right now. I didn’t get it at first, not until I realized that the hateful and wounded energy inside of me was drawing it in from the outside.

I do believe in the power of energy.

This emptiness, this vulnerability,  is a part of me. I can transcend it and move past it, but it is always there, and when it is gone, I have come to see what is happening and go and begin the painful but crucial work to find my faith, and get it back.

That is what awakening is. It isn’ perfection, it’s acceptance.

My brokenness is manageable but never curable.

The problem with unbelief is that it leaves me bare and exposed; it pulls me back into time and darkness.

But I got out, I always get out. That is part of my faith as well.

I believe in thought and compassion. I believe in the healing power of words.

I believe in stepping out of myself. I believe in taking less and giving more. Doing good, being better,  has become faith, not in the sense of wishing to be a saint, but of wanting to be whole.

I don’t have to be good to do good.

Men and women without faith will believe the most fantastic lies and claims of grievance and political propaganda, even though the dishonesty of the propagandists is epic, even proverbial.

For me, faith is an act of reason, not of blind faith. My God is my belief in truth and humanity, in acceptance of my pain and brokenness, and my resolve to never give up on the idea that I can be better. Empathy is my Holy Grail, as often as I fail to find it.

In solitude, I only answer to me, and I find my belief there.

When I lose faith, I come face to face with the worst parts of me, and I go into my aloneness and find my faith.

But then I begin to heal, to get back on the path of recovery and humanity.

Until the next time, when I fall off the path like an alcoholic, trying to climb into the light. There is much liberation in accepting I will never be whole my faith will never be absolute and inviolate.  I need to do the work, again and again, and always.

There are no tricks or shortcuts for me, there is nowhere to run or hide.

There are great beauty and solace in finding it again, like an old friend; it just picks me up to where I left off.

The false idea of faith brings me to anger and isolation and smallness of heart. In the absence of belief, faith barricades itself in the attic and leaves the rest of the house to try to reason.

I’m coming downstairs.