I’m struck by how close the word is to ‘insurrection’.
Because, what we believe is in many ways a revolt against reason.
Yet millions upon millions throw down the shackles of human understanding,
for the belief that there’s something more. Hope.
I’m alarmed that my faith, at times, makes me feel alone, despite the millions.
In this way, I have failed to progress much from the days of the persecuted church, whose members used their feet to draw the faint outline of a fish in the sand. Their quiet protest.
Day after day, I die a bit. And each day I become more a man of this world, craving, needing, never satisfied and thirsty.
Where have I gone and where are my people? The kings of this world don’t believe as I do and they drink wine and they have women and a fireplace, a hot tub and a bellyful laugh.
But today, the droves emerge from their hiding place, an insurgency, and they say: “This is still important to me. This still means something.”
Perhaps that’s not enough, but it’s something. And for what it’s worth, it makes me proud to belong to such an imperfect group.
And the death of me is over as I resurrect to begin anew.
Friends, if you believe as I do, let us begin anew.