blind faith

placing our trust in the unknown

When I was eight years old, a member of my Church gave me a wooden hand cross for my First Holy Communion. Too mesmerised by the big cake with my name adorned on it, I didn’t pay any mind to this relatively uninteresting piece of Christian paraphernalia.

I would be lying if I said I remembered the exact moment when this little relic from my childhood began to bear a deeper resonance in my life. But gradually, The Cross became an anchoring presence in an ever-changing and complicated world.

I was brought up Christian, and so its literal symbolism initially spoke to my religious proclivities. As I began a comforting rigmarole each night of gripping onto it and whispering all my troubles into my hand, I soon found that peace would almost always find me. It brought me an overwhelming sense of safety, and a feeling that whatever noise and destruction the world threw at me, there existed something bigger than all of it. That perhaps there were answers to my deepest questions, after all.

It became the balm to my sorrows. The physical manifestation of solidity in a viscous world.

As I have gotten older, my Christian belief system has gradually watered down into a general spirituality. A faith in something bigger, but unknown. And, funnily enough, The Cross has survived this evolution. Its religious roots may not carry the same weight as they once did, but it has become a dependable talisman of good luck in my life.

I bring it with me to most places I go. In Australia it actually became a running joke between my friends and I to ‘touch The Cross’ in times of strife. One example that is seared into my memory, is a time when a group of us were sitting on a 13-hour-long Greyhound Bus journey up the East Coast, when the bus unexpectedly shuddered to a concerning halt. We sat in confused silence as we collectively tried to figure out what our fate was to be.

All of a sudden, I remembered The Cross! I plunged my hand into my backpack, and clasped my fingers around its smooth, familiar body. As I willed the bus to move, I swear to God the rumble of the engine sounded almost instantaneously.

Whether my cross has magical properties or not, I think what it ultimately represents is a trust in the unknown. Unlike Thomas in The Bible, we don’t have to see to believe. Humans are particularly good at suspending all logic and rationality in favour of an unknown cause. I am not ashamed to admit that my little hand cross has become the vessel that holds all my projected hopes, dreams and beliefs. Otherwise, where does it all go?

Some excerpts from my journal dated 23/02/2024:

I’ve tried time and time again to assuage myself with objective truth. But then you realise you’ll never know, and the only thing you have is Faith. Blind Faith. As humans we attach ourselves to answers and objectivity to escape The Void. Cults. Superiority figures. Doctrines. Work. All of it stems from the same thing: seeking truth in an uncertain world.

Surely life wasn’t designed for us to live, suspended in The Void. Dreading, spiralling, anticipating. We all deserve to belong to something. Even if, ultimately, it is illusory.

We find meaning in different places. Maybe for you this comes in the form of organised religion, or in the spiritual principles of yoga. Or, maybe, everyday rituals bring satisfactory meaning to your life. Like soaking up that first bite of toast in the morning, and noticing as the butter oozes delightfully onto your tongue. These moments can feel sacred and precious. Reserved for solitude.

Our respective crosses don’t provide us with objective answers to any of life’s questions. But they do bring us peace and solace in the face of perpetual uncertainty.

This is why I think faith is beautiful. Against all the odds, we still wake up and place our trust in something more. We somehow drown out the noise of the world, and let faith do the talking.

So, what’s your cross?