Have A Little Faith

Personally, I always wondered about authors and celebrities who loudly declared there was no God. It was usually when they were healthy and popular and being listened to by crowds. What happens, I wondered, in the quiet moments before death? By then, they have lost the stage, the world moved on. If suddenly, in their last gasping moments, through fear, a vision, a late enlightenment, they changed their minds about God, who would know?



Most religions warn against war, yet more wars have been fought over religion then perhaps anything else. Christians have killed Jews, Jews have killed Muslims, Muslims have killed Hindus, Hindus have killed Buddhists, Catholics have killed Protestants, Orthodox have killed pagans, and you could run that list backward and sideways and it would still be true. War never stops; it only pauses.

I asked the Reb if, over the years, he had changed his view on war and violence.
"Do you remember Sodom and Gomorrah?" he asked.
" So you know Abraham realized those people were bad. He knew they were miserable, vicious. But what else does he do? He argues with God against destroying the cities. He says, Can you at least spare them if there are fifty good people there? God says okay. Then he goes down to forty, then thirty. He knows there aren't that many. He bargains all the way down to ten before he closes the deal."
And they still fell short, I said.
"And they still fell short, " the Reb confirmed. "But you see? Abraham's instincts were correct. You must first argue against warfare, against violence and destruction, because these are not normal ways of living."

But so many people wage wars in God's name.
"Mitch, " the Reb said, "God does not want such killing to go on."
Then why hasn't it stopped?
He lifted his eyebrows.
"Because man does."


I flipped through the pages and out fell three small black-and-white photos, faded and smudged with dirt. One was of an older dark-haired woman, Arabic and matronly looking. One was of a moustached younger Arabic man in a suit and tie. The last photo was of two children, side by side, presumably a brother and sister.
Who are they, I asked.
"I don't know," he said, softly.
He held out his hand and I gave him the photo of the children.
"Over the years, I kept seeing these kids, the mother, her son. That's why I never threw the book away. I felt I had to keep them alive somehow. "I thought maybe someday someone would look at the pictures, say they knew the family, and return them to the survivors. But I'm running out of time."
He handed me the photo back.
Wait, I said. I don't understand. From your religious viewpoint, these people were the enemy.
His voice grew angry.
"Enemy schemenemy." he said. "This was a family."



Soon we tumbled into the most fundamental debate. How can different religions coexist? If one faith believes one thing, and another believe something else, how can they both be correct? And does one religion have the right-or even the obligation-to try and convert the other?

Is there any winning a religious argument? Whose God is better than whose? Who got the Bible right or wrong? I preferred figures like Rajchandra, the Indian poet who influenced Gandhi by teaching that no religion was superior because they brought all people closer to God; or Gandhi himself, who would break fast with Hindu prayers, Muslim quotations, or a Christian hymn.

"Ask yourself, 'Why did God create but one man?' " the Reb said, wagging a finger. "Why if he meant for there to be faiths bickering with each other, didn't he create that from the start? He created trees, right? Not one tree, countless trees. Why not the same with man?

"Because we are all from that one man-and all from that one God. That's the message."
Then why, I asked, is the world so fractured?
"Well, you can look at it this way. Would you want the world to all look alike? No. The genius of life is its variety.

"Even in our own faith, we have questions and answers, interpretations, debates. In Christianity, in Catholicism, in other faiths, the same thing-debates, interpretations. That is the beauty. It's like being a musician. If you found the note, and you keep hitting the note all the time, you would go nuts. It's the blending of the different notes that makes the music."

The music of what?

"Of believing in something bigger than yourself."
But what if other faith won't recognise yours? Or wants you dead for it?

"That is not faith. That is hate." He sighed. "And if you ask me, God sits up there and cries when this happens."

How can you-a cleric- be so open minded? I asked.

"Look. I know what I believe. It's in my soul. But I constantly tell our people: you should be convinced of the authenticity of what you have, but you must also be humble enough to say that we don't know everything. And since we don't know everything, we must accept that another person may belief something else."

He sighed.
"I am not being original here, Mitch. Most religions teach us to love our neighbour."
I thought about how much I admired him at that moment. How he never, even in private, even in old age, tried to bully another belief, or bad-mouth someone else's devotion. And I realized I should've been more proud, less intimidated. I shouldn't have bitten my tongue. If the only thing wrong with Moses is that he's not yours; if the only thing wrong with Jesus is that he's not yours; if the only thing wrong with mosques, Lent, chanting, Mecca, Buddha, confession, or reincarnation is that they're not yours-well, maybe the problem is you.



What if you get only five minutes with God?
"Five minutes?" he said.
Five minutes, I said. God is a busy God. Here's your slice of heaven. Five minutes alone with the Lord and then, poof, on you go to whatever happens next.
"And in those five minutes?" he asked, intrigued.
In those five minutes, you can ask anything you want.
"Ah.Okay."

"First, I would say, 'Do me a favour, God in heaven, if you can, members of my family who need help, please show them the way on earth. Guide them a little."
Okay, that's a minute.
"The next three minutes, I'd say, 'Lord, give these to someone who is suffering and requires your love and counsel."
You'd give up three minutes?
"If someone truly needs it, yes."
Okay, I said. That still leaves you a minute.

"All right. In that final minute, I would say, 'Look, Lord, I've done X amount of good stuff on earth. I've tried to follow your teachings and to pass them on. I have loved my family. I've been part of a community. And I have been, I think, fairly good to people.
"So, Heavenly Father, for all this, what is my reward?"

And what do you think God will say?
He smiled.
"He'll say, 'Reward? What reward? That's what you were supposed to do!"
I laughed and he laughed, and he bounced his palms on his thighs and our noise filled the house. And I think, at that moment, we could have been anywhere, anybody, any culture, any faith- a teacher and a student exploring what life is all about and delighting in the discovery.

In the beginning, there was a question. In the end, the question gets answered. God sings, we hum along, and there are many melodies, but it's all one song-one same, wonderful human song.

I am in love with hope.


Have A Little Faith- Mitch Albom

Hellooo Again!

Tidbits: To know the height of a blog's fame, one must examine the cbox. If there is spam, you're famous!

I know I've been MIA for quite some time. I think people could use a break from me. I could use a break from myself =/

I am doing this just to convince myself that I've not abandoned my blog. Apparently, posting this makes not much of a difference.

I'm lost for words. The writer has a mental block.

So, ciao!

=O