Sense of Life #3
From The Journals of Andre Gide Volume I: 1889-1913 by Andre Gide Trans. Justin O’Brien, (London: Secker & Warburg, 1948), pp. 163:
One must recall here the words of Christ: ‘Not peace, but a sword.’ That’s what Christ means. We must not seek happiness in peace, but in conflict. The life of a saint is a struggle from one end to the other; the greatest saint is the one who at the end is the most vanquished.
I add numbers to post titles to signal to the reader that the ideas or subjects discussed can be picked up at any time and continued. My thoughts will always evolve — “The thoughts I express here are inchoate, transitory, and open to revision and refinement.” In Sense of Life #2, I wrote about losing my faith and the accompanying pain that came with that realization. Here’s a new twist: over the last four or five months, I have attended church every week. Just like you, I am surprised, because prior to this, I hadn’t been to a church in almost a decade. When a friend passed away last year, a service was held for her at a church. Since I had exhausted myself from crying all week while attending other memorial events in her honor, I had to sit out the church service. Another reason for not attending the service was that she was going to be buried a few hours later. The burial was going to confirm that I would never see her again. Although the truth, it doesn’t mean I was ready to accept that. Nothing aches the heart more than losing people you care deeply about. Through my own experiences, I've come to understand that I mourn differently — I suppose we all do. I grieve alone, quietly, and slowly. I don’t want to be consoled, a sentiment that has been consistent from the loss of my father to that of close friends. I find myself at a loss for words when it comes to consoling others in their time of grief, as I don’t want to simply parrot the usual consolations. “I am so sorry for your loss, and if there’s anything I can do, don’t hesitate to reach out.” After all, what people truly desire is the return of their loved ones. What, then, is the right thing to say? Do you simply offer a hug and just hold space for them? Besides this, there’s also a realization that I am unwilling to accept: as I get older, I am going to keep losing friends and family members, and that’s if they don’t lose me first. A friend who is five years older than I am always jokes that, tough luck for me, he’s going to die first and that he'll be giggling when I'm crying by his graveside. I always counter that he'd probably be the one crying at mine. I understand what he's trying to convey through this jest, as we both deeply value our friendship and know that if either of us were to pass away, it would hurt really badly.
When another friend invited me to that same church, I was a bit hesitant. The three reasons I didn’t want to go were that it would bring back intense emotions and memories I wasn’t strong enough to deal with, I hadn’t been to church in years, and I was still struggling with issues of faith. However, I convinced myself that it was time to visit that church as a way of honouring my friend. I couldn’t go then; now I can. It would be a personal experience, a slow transition into another phase of mourning. I wouldn’t say it’s acceptance, but more like “it doesn’t make sense that our loved one is gone, and I will never understand why, and I also don’t want to wallow in why.” I have always been curious about the meaning of life, but for the last few years or so, I have let that question go. I will never know, and I don’t care whatever the answer is anyway. That last line wasn’t totally true. I would be keen to know the answer or answers, but I am just not the one who is going to be solving for X. Right now, joy matters deeply to me, and certain questions will bring nothing but intense unhappiness. I summoned the courage to go to church with the friend who invited me. The friend was unaware of all the decision-making that went into my acceptance of their invitation. Another reason I hadn’t mentioned was that something good had occurred in my life for which I was quite grateful. My immediate thought was, “I’d like to thank God.” Those are the reasons that come to mind at the moment, but I sense that there are other factors that influenced the decision that I may not realize. I disliked church because some members were often too sanctimonious. When I was younger, I knew certain church members whose lives outside of Sunday services were so different from how they acted or presented themselves in church. That knowledge really troubled my young mind. Also, my struggles with faith weren't resolved, and I didn't have the time or energy to wrestle with them any further. I wanted to put a lid on it and just move forward.
Now, I go to that particular church every Sunday without fail. I feel safe and protected when I am in it. I feel connected to those I have lost and am thankful for those who are alive. It should have been more a place of mourning, but it’s now a place of comfort from the worries and cares of the world. I often go to church late and leave as the final prayers are being said. It’s mostly intentional — I don’t want to speak to or get to know anyone. I just want to enjoy the solace I have found and not let the behaviour of any congregant soil that. I know it doesn’t make sense, but right now, I have to guard that little flame. Sometimes, things don’t have to make sense, and that’s okay. Ah, yes! Another reason I didn’t want to go to church was that I had written a public post stating I was losing faith and could potentially become an atheist. And then I remembered that this was the trait that I disliked in academics, public intellectuals, politicians, and TV pundits. Even when these professionals commit errors or undergo a shift in perspective, they remain overly attached to the ideas they've publicly endorsed. Have you noticed how politicians remain silent and avoid discussing their role in decision-making processes that resulted in a negative outcome for a country? They either double down on their stance or assert that the policy seemed like the right thing to do at the time. They never acknowledge or take responsibility for their contribution. Well, in the words of an economist I respect, John Maynard Keynes, “When the facts change, I change my mind.” Anyway, when that good thing happened to me, the only being I wanted to share it with was God. Now, I just go to church for the sermon. I find it edifying because I often come out recharged, and there are also services where I wonder, “what was that pastor on about?” I have walked out on a pastor who was preaching about race. Why that triggered me, I do not know, but there was just something off about it. Usually on my way home from Church, I go to a Nigerian restaurant to eat Ogbono or Okro. This ritual has done wonders for my soul. Will this struggle with faith end? I don’t think so. I believe it’s about living with the ambiguity that things can be both yes and no at the same time. Some dilemmas don't have or require clear solutions; instead, they call for a knack for gracefully moonwalking through contradictions.
Thanks for reading. If there's anything you'd like to chat about, or if you have any questions, feel free to shoot me an email. I'd love to hear from you. :)