“I believe in belief!”

– Ted Lasso

Belief is an odd, mercurial, mysterious thing. And “thing” is the best word I can find to encapsulate this wild, ranging idea. (According to most writing instructors, you are never supposed to use the word “thing”, but as one myself, I say go ahead once in a while.)

If you were to poll one hundred random people, children, adults, college students, retirees, and everyone in between about something odd they believe, you could likely compile quite a list before even reaching the eleventh person. Even in an age of staggering scientific progress on so many fronts, there are those out there in the suburbs of American cities who believe that the earth is flat. Others may say that the moon landing was staged on a film set in the California desert, or that there are mutant people living in the sewers of New York City. Some of these beliefs are fairly benign, while others, like election denialism or refusal to see the effects of mankind’s industrial impact on the earth form their own harrowing future for those effected by these beliefs. My lovely wife once went to a séance organized by a coworker of hers and experienced a mother, full of belief, desperately trying to communicate with a tragically deceased son.

On the lighter side of things, sports bring their own, odd sense of belief that is not necessarily grounded in any form of reality. In my neck of the woods, the Boston Red Sox baseball team went nearly one hundred years between World Series Championships and were deemed to be “cursed” by the great Babe Ruth (a belief that merits its own chapter) when he was unceremoniously traded to the New York Yankees for cash to fund a Broadway show. The years I grew up rooting for the Red Sox were full of “belief” language every season. “This will be our year” the old men in the barber shops or pubs would say. When that fateful year came that the curse was indeed broken, the airwaves were full of sports radio announcers saying “have faith” when the Sox were down three games to nothing against those detested New York Yankees. Cries of “have faith” echoed around the hallowed corridors of the boarding school where I live and work and the sacred language of organized religion was coopted by drunken fans in the streets when that final out of the World Series against the St. Louis Cardinals was recorded. The headlines of the storied Boston Globe shouted, “FAITH REWARDED” while tearful fans waved homemade signs that said, “I always believed,” as if to tout their devotion over those fans who had waivered and turned off their radios and television sets too early to see the great comeback.

Yes, the contagious, sparking flame of belief can be an intoxicating thing. And sometimes “intoxicating” is exactly the right word to use. Towards the end of the American Civil War, there were those on the Confederate side of the conflict who, despite all evidence to the contrary, believed that the South would win the war, or indeed had won the war despite the occupying enemy troops in their states. Newspapers touted the victorious Southern states for months and even years afterwards leading a generation into profound confusion about the state of affairs.

Belief versus evidence, unbelief versus faith has been a universal theme since the dawn of humanity and has been debated for thousands of years by those far smarter and accomplished than myself. But my wrestling with belief, with the thought that something that I cannot see, or touch or grasp is still altogether real is as much in my bones, in my very sub-atomic wiring as it was for my ancestors out in the fields looking up at the stars in wonder and awe.

While the monstrously big idea of belief could fill every library in all the world with volumes that would not even remotely scratch the surface of the concept, the humble tale of my own journey into belief, specifically in the Christian story of the fall, and redemption of humanity through the central character of a humble carpenter from a backwater town in the Middle East, is one that I desire to undertake, if only to remind myself of the long, wonderful journey that it has been for me. Add to this the great desire I have for my loved ones and friends to know this same joy and peace that “has found me,” or to perhaps aim lower, to understand what has spurred my belief in the grace and love of the Lord through the person of his one and only son; one Jesus of Nazareth.

To many of my friends, neighbors and coworkers, this faith I hold close to my heart, the faith that has changed (and is still changing) me is a mysterious, quirky idea who’s time has run out long ago, like the rotary phone I grew up dialing, or the video rental store that I still wish was just down the street from me on Friday nights. This antiquated faith burns in my heart and moves me to love those around me each day in ways far beyond myself (and reassures me that I am still loved when my love for others runs cold due to my choices).

This fiery belief, this molten faith springs up in me from an ancient source and has a wonderful story that’s still being written in me. And it’s this desire to share my story, in all of its odd twists and turns that spurs me to type ever onward. There are stories to be told, beautiful memories to be turned up like the soft soil of a garden in the spring. And there are stories still yet to be told in my life and yours. I believe (there’s that word again) that there is no life that cannot be the source of a beautiful story when the Lord is the author of it. My own life (at forty-six wonderful years as of the writing of this) is still brimming with stories to tell, adventures to be set out on and the continued refining of these rough edges day by day. (One wouldn’t think that learning how to get the laundry consistently done or the checkbook fully balanced would count, but those adventures are out there, and the good Lord provides energy for journeys big and small.)

So may my story, in its humble form inspire your own faith. For without faith, without belief that adventures can be had, and growth can be achieved, this living of life is a sad story indeed. May yours be surprising, with unexpected roads and new trails cut every moment.

I believe it can happen because it happened to me.

Have a great week, and may your fire burn brightly.

– Tin Can Caldwell