So why does Faith matter anyway?

You know, I think it’s time to confess that I am no stranger to depression. I have come close to taking my life. Yep, me sitting here typing away about Faith. I also feel the need to share a turn around point.

Once many years ago, I made my way to midnight Mass Christmas Eve. I hung in the back pew like an apparition, my face feeling hollow from all the crying, a familiar darkness calling me to take my life. I looked battered, knew homelessness, my heart broken, hope squelched – dreams destroyed.

During the service I became mesmerized looking up at the huge crucifix above the altar. Halfway through the readings I made my way to the side of the altar for a closer look. From that vantage point I could see very clearly the image of Christ’s feet and this huge black spike driven deeply through his bone and flesh. I began to weep. Images of him as a baby no longer held my consciousness that Christmas. I was so aware of his pain that mine seemed minuscule, his sacrifice so great. God’s love was so big.

The words permeated my soul. God so loved the world that he sent his only son. Sent his only son. Sent his only son. And look what we did to him. We hung him up on a tree – good job! It was at that instant that I knew he understood people who were as broken as I. He understood the alien who flees his country, he and his family were refugees. He knew what it meant to be homeless – the son of man has no place to lay his head. He understood mourning, he wept at his friend’s Lazarus’ death, even though he knew he would be raising him from the dead. He knew betrayal, not only from Judas, but from “holy men” of his time who tried to slip him up, get him to say the wrong thing all the time acting friendly yet plotting his death. His best friends fell asleep when he wept tears of blood knowing his upcoming torture. He was abandoned by his friend Peter, when he uttered in his own desperation no, I do not know him. He understood what it meant to be mocked by the crowds yelling crucify him, even though he probably healed some of them. He understood it all. He knew suffering.

God so loved the world that he sent his only son. He gave so freely his life so that we all understood how much God loves us. He was battered, rejected, tortured, so that all of us could relate to him, especially the broken, lost and rejected. The ones he said were blessed.

If we pay attention we’d understand Jesus, because he understands us. He understood feelings of rejection and hurt. He is our brother, our God and our Redeemer. I kept staring at those feet, tears streamed down my face as I repented for my sins – the resentment I held in my heart for a broken past, forgiving abusers who should have known better. I prayed for them because they were just as broken as me, only in a different way. I wanted nothing to do with malice, anger, hatred or my stinking depression. I wanted to be free of all the hurt, rejection and sin. I wanted to forget my past and find meaning in the future. That’s what happens when we look at our pain in relation to the biggest sacrifice in human history. It loses its meaning and we can proclaim Jesus as our Savior, stare at those feet and be grateful. And that, my friends, is why faith matters.

“By grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God.” Ephesians 2:8