As a very young child in a convent school, faith was handed to me on a plate. Not literally as in communion, for I was unconfirmed and literally not of the faith for that, but there was magic and mystery, sweetness and light, with the added bonus of a guardian angel for guidance and protection.
I don’t think there was any particular moment when that surety faded but with all the bumps and scrapes of growing up, the pendulum swung the other way. After all, the ingenue gets taken in only so many times before incredulity sets in.
Yet always I’ve felt great empathy for Thomas the Doubter – you can’t just take people at their word, especially when they are claiming to be the risen Lord. In the 1961 film “Whistle down the wind” the children start to realise that the fugitive they are hiding is not the second coming of the Messiah and the tremendous sense of disillusionment is summed up by the young boy: “Anyway it weren’t Jesus, it were just some fella”.
To be honest I’m spiritually lazy – not so much a seeker as a stumbler after the truth. I surely would believe if only the Almighty would call loudly or a path would open up in the great divide. Instead of signs there are signposts that point in all directions and yet I have faith that God is not whistling downwind just yet.
[To whistle down the wind is to cast something off to its own fate – Phrases]