Remembering Faith

I realized something about my faith tonight. And I feel more… fulfilled? Enlightened? I don’t know the word… but I feel more whole than I have in a long time.

I was talking to someone about the Syrian refugees, and how I want to do what I can to help. I’d very easily let a refugee live in my house if one found its way into Montana (unfortunately, I’m not sure he/she would make it very far. There’s a lot of hateful people out here. Many of whom are armed).

Anyway. The person in question asked me this:

“Would you let that person into your home if you suspected he might kill you and your family in the night and have no remorse because he thought Islam told him to do it?”

My response is as follows.

“Well, yeah. Because God tells me to love everyone and to help those in need.

It’s interesting– saying that made me realize that I am as willing to die for my religion as any Muslim extremist, because I know that my faith is just as strong as theirs. The only difference is I think my “Allahu Akbar” would instead be closer to “For I was hungry, and you fed me.”

(Please note that up above I specifically said “Muslim extremist” rather than simply “Muslim.” The conversation up until this point was basically a shorter retelling of this post here)

It was a short post. Only 70 words. And yet, typing them and knowing they were absolutely true had a greater affect on me than most of the page-long, truth-filled rants that make up this blog.

Today, for the first time in a long time, I feel like religion is more than a word. I remember my place in the world. And as much hatred as there is out there, as much death and destruction and inhumanity– it was gratifying to realize with a staggering certainty that I would still let that person into my home no matter what I expected or what I feared. The darkness in this world has not changed me. I am not a part of that hatred. And I never will be.

I don’t think it was my faith in God that faltered. I think it was my faith in me. 

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