And yet it seems that however hard I try, I simply cannot emphatically and finally renounce my faith, however much I may want to. Why this grace, and yet ungrace from God? Why this perfect blessing and yet this horrendous curse? Why this blessed emancipation and yet this accursed condemnation? I think and yet I cannot answer until I am made to think of this quote from one of my favourite authors, Fyodor Dostoevsky:
“If someone proved to me that Christ is outside the truth and that in reality the truth were outside of Christ, then I should prefer to remain with Christ rather than with the truth."
I cannot think I understand, and words no longer take on any significance and meaning. My Christ, the Exemplar I so rarely follow is far too absurd for words and yet it is only with and in him things begin to make perfect sense. When I see him I am blinded by his dazzling light and yet it is only by being struck blind that I begin to see a path ahead. When I see his character, that paradox of divine humanity I am forced to see my naked wretchedness and yet I have faith beyond faith that I shall one day be clothed in glory and transfigured.