“There is an unprecedented spiritual hunger in our times,” writes John O’Donohue in Anam Cara. I’ve yet to encounter a dissenting voice among the dozens of people with whom I’ve spoken about my trip—not even from skeptics. That includes an atheist whose description of “awe” almost identically mirrored a Franciscan nun’s experience of God.
The closest anyone came to resistance was the friend of a friend with whom I was traveling to a football game. When informed of my quest, he immediately responded, “I don’t want to talk about God.” Then, turning from his front passenger seat to face me in the back, he proceeded to converse for half an hour.
While I won’t leave Portland until April 21, a few people who’ve discovered my website have recently begun sharing their observations—and doubts. “Yours is the kind of project I would love to do,” writes Judy Potts, "and the sense of spiritual purpose I would love to possess. But God is so far from my experience—though not for lack of effort.”
Judy’s longing—in contrast to that of most others with whom I’ve spoken—is unrequited. But I admire the integrity with which she voices her deep-seeded hunger.
“Though I was raised in a fairly observant (Jewish) family,” she continues, “religion never meant much to me. It didn't move me. I know how much comfort and strength people find in their religious beliefs, as well as in their spiritual communities. I want to be one of those people. Life would be easier, maybe I'd feel safer, less alone, less anxious...
“It's odd because I experience and am aware of miraculous things that happen every day. It blows my mind that a huge tree can grow from a seed, that hummingbirds survive in the frigid winter, that snowdrops are blooming in my yard right now.
“Today I was out in the snow, and right in front of me, an enormous sheet of ice crashed down from a power transformer above where I was walking. If I had been two or three steps ahead, I wouldn't be writing this. I'd either be dead or in the hospital with serious injuries.
“The question now arises in my mind: Are these phenomena created by a divine power or are they the result of the forces of the universe, science, etc. playing out? Was it chance that put me in a safe spot when the ice fell? Was it because I stopped to help someone put her books in the library drop box instead of just walking on? Was I being protected by a divine presence, or do I have good karma from being a kind person? Or what?
“I guess God's existence is just as likely to be true as not, and I sincerely wish I could come down on the side of assuming it's true until proven otherwise, instead of the opposite camp in which I can't help residing.”
I imagine even the most ardent believers–if they’re honest—have felt at least some of Judy’s misgivings. But few doubters so readily and eloquently acknowledge miracles in the same breath.
What intrigues me about Judy’s dilemma is the underlying tension it surfaces between good-hearted people of different persuasions who draw disparate conclusions from the same circumstances. Why do some people readily “see” God in the enormous tree that grows from a tiny seed, or the chance avoidance of a falling sheet of ice—and others come down in an “opposite camp” where they “can’t help residing”?
Many contend that faith is a gift. I won’t argue. But I’ll confess that I appreciate questions far more than answers. I’m moved by Judy’s quandary—and I welcome its open disclosure.
Judy’s struggle would certainly seem to validate the “unprecedented spiritual hunger” to which O’Donohue refers. More importantly, however, it affirms a hope at the heart of my journey—specifically, that my questions will invite reflection, and that the ensuing dialogue will be a bridge to insight, understanding, and connection—especially among those whose perceptions of the Divine differ.
“We are all made up of yearning and light," writes Mark Nepo in The Book of Awakening. Just recognizing our shared core may be a good place to start.
