I’m reminded time and time again that faith needs no religious affiliation. If a Catholic cathedral or Buddhist reading or Hindu meditation or Jewish prayer ritual moves my Mennonite-ish soul, my faith is touched.
While taking an early photo-stroll this morning, I was struck by the majesty of the immense gold cross adorning the top of a local cathedral spire, raised high into the heavenly blue sky broken only slightly by wispy cloud swaths.
Then a different glint caught my eye, and I noticed the curls of barbed and razor wire in the foreground, evoking whispers of the crown of thorns so often shown on depictions of Jesus’s crucifixion. Not an image that typically stirs me, yet somehow this morning it did.
I couldn’t help but think that stunning contrast of the gently beckoning church spire splendor against the sharp warning of razor-studded barriers had a message for me, for us.
A reminder, perhaps, that no matter what we personally believe (or don’t), there are enough other people out there believing in some Higher Power that sanctuaries of worship are built … places where they focus on the objects and concepts of their faith in order to soothe the cuts from some harsh realities of life.
Maybe, even on our days of little faith, we can be sheltered by this knowledge that others are gathered in worship, offering their beliefs to the world around them; in essence, believing on our behalf until we regain our faith.
Faith, whether in us or not, is always there… somewhere.