Remembering Words and Water

Forgotten PeopleMy crisis of faith is always a crisis of memory.

It’s always in the times I forget what has happened, what words have been spoken, what water I passed through that I begin to doubt my belief, my faith. In the days of being caught up in myself and my situations, the memories grow dim.

When I forget, then my faith falters and I lose my way.

I’m not saying that remembering will always lead to a robust faith or will somehow guaran-damn-tee that I will never doubt, fear, or shrink back. What I am saying is when I lose my way and begin to question this whole Christian thing as something I can do, I have forgotten.

I have forgotten the creeds, the words of faith that I choose to believe. Words that have been passed down through the long days of history, from one mouth to another, from one heart to the next. Words of articulation to the theology I am embracing as truth. Words of faith that the theology is embracing me too.

I have forgotten my baptism, the passing through the waters of death and rising again. In the water, I proclaim that my true life is hidden with Christ. Through the water I rise, a symbol of Christ’s resurrection after three long days in death. A symbol of the resurrection that will one day fall upon my body.

I have forgotten the words I have written and the things that have happened. I have forgotten the times when I felt heaven was here, tangible, and the presence of God sat heavy on all present. I have forgotten the truth sung from trembling lips as prayers over the congregation. I have forgotten waking up with tongues pouring from my throat.

When I forget, my faith fails.

So how do I remember? How do I hold these things, these words and water?

The truth is, my memory grow dark quite often, especially these days. These days when it is hard to believe, hard to see the point of a Christina life. Whether it is from my depression of my weary heart, my memory stays dim and without the light of remembrance I lose my way. Most hours these days I don’t remember. Most days these years I lose my way. What will that mean for most years of this life?

But I can remember.

I can remember at the table, in the Eucharist. With the bread and the wine, the body and the blood, I can remember my own words and water. When I eat of the Lord’s body, I may not feel him near but I can remind myself that he is real, and he remains closer than the food I ingest. At the table, I remember.

I remember in the words of the Psalms. Specifically Psalm 42. “Why are you so downcast oh my soul? I will yet praise him, my savior and my king.” These words, words about remembering and hoping, ring true and remind me of my journey. This psalm is my life song as if it was written for my heart, to express my soul.

I can remember the bread and wine. I can remember the words of an old song. I am not destined to forget and be forgotten. I can remember and catch the scent of life calling me towards the hope of resurrection. I can remember and find my faith again.

The body and the blood will always lead me home.

Over at Bedlam: Making Up Adulthood

I’m writing articles for Bedlam Magazine. I’m really proud of being a staff writer for them. It’s a great community. I’ll be sharing here when I have an article over there. Today, I’m talking about adulthood and how we are all making it up. I am 13. At least that’s what it feels like in…Continue Reading

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