I meet the born-again kind of faithful, bouncing off the walls in their ecstasy, whirling around convinced that they’ve found spiritual enlightenment. Good for them, but I don’t wear my faith that way.
Generally, I’m not a very happy man. That’s not to say I’m miserable. I’m content, grateful for my blessings. But I don’t believe the path of faith equates to the pursuit of personal happiness. We reside in a testing realm designed to sort the wheat from the chaff, so to speak.
The reality of faith isn’t that you get off your head, convinced that you’re saved. Rather, you’re called to a life of service, truthfulness, fairness, justice, kindness, charity, mercy… all of this. You have to strive towards all these things. You have to make an effort.
I’ll leave the waving and leaping around to others. Mine is a quiet, private, practical kind of faith. To pursue the truth above all else. Sometimes that means speaking the truth even against myself. Hardly an excuse for a merry jig, only sober reflection.