On Life, Struggles, and Faith

I’ve always been spiritual, and arguably, faithful.

Raised as Hungarian Reformed Protestant, Lutheran (ELCA), and later converted to Catholicism, I’ve been exposed to Christianity throughout my life.

I have never been Evangelical or Charismatic. I’d make for an extremely poor and unenthusiastic Missionary.

Over the decades, I’ve attended Jewish services in Synagogues, Sunday Services with Devout Pentecostals, Sundays with the Southern Baptist Conference, drum circles with modern pagans, and weekends with “Charismatic Catholics”.

While I appreciate the devotion of others, I honestly believe that it is our actions that define us as a Christians. Try as I might, I have severe difficulty understanding when some call themselves “Christian” and yet hate half our nation because they’re Democrat, or they’re Republican, or they’re immigrants, or they’re homeless, or they’re… whatever… “they’re not you.”

I paid attention during Matthew 25:34-37 where Jesus spoke about the poor, the homeless, the imprisoned, the sick. I must wonder if many of my fellow Christians conveniently forgot that part. For all our Nativity scenes, we forget that Christ himself was a refugee, an immigrant, and without a home at his birth.

My faith keeps me and sustains me through my life. I lost family and friends. I served in the military. I had a decent career between corporations and government contracting. I survived cancer, chemo, radiation, and being immunocompromised. I don’t shout it from the rooftops, but I quietly carry it in my heart as I hope to serve others by word and deed rather than charismatic and performative evangelism.

And so it goes. As I wait for the latest word and chapter in my life, I have faith. It sustains me. It is a quiet candle burning in my heart and shared together with my family.