Faith

I don’t know about you, but from time to time memories flash back to me that make me groan. Some of them are really old, like first grade. Some are very recent. And there is an ever-growing cache in between. The very nature of them is somewhat interesting to me, although part of that may just be a resignation to take interest in something that won’t seem to leave me alone if I ignore it. I have some theories about memories. One of the theories is that a new memory can modify an old one in a way that makes the old one dim if not fade away almost entirely. Related to that, is a theory that old pains stick around until they are healed. The mystery lies in just how to do that.

Some hope lies in the occasional opportunity to revisit an old situation, learn something new, and replace the old pain with a modified memory. I have learned this true gift that reunions present, despite all of my old objections to them.

Likewise, some despair surrounds the memories that seem to present no such opportunity. The saying “You can’t go back” is true until we figure out a way to do it. For many, I have discovered no such path. Many.

Something happened at work one day. Now, it seems to have taken on a level of permanence in my memories. It really was a work-related situation, so it may seem less interesting to anyone reading this. The work at hand was manufacturing. Assembly lines make it really easy to forget that nothing is free. When we make hundreds of something, work at it, labor through it, grind them out, the finished product loses its unique luster. Not to the customer, though. And that customer is paying for that product with their own money. So, when a defect showed up, we had a choice. Really, there should be no choice, maybe we created it in our minds. The problem was, fixing the problem the best way meant we would have to un-do a bunch of work and then re-do it with the replacement part. That would involve more than just time (which we really did not have—efficiency demands that products are built on schedule in the minimal time, and the price the customer pays for the product demands that efficiency) replacing the part would also require physical labor… at the end of the day… done quickly because we had no allotted time. So, we tried to get out of it. We convinced ourselves that a touch of paint would be good enough. I was not really convinced, and I’m not saying that out of some moral positioning. But, I was the new guy, so I stifled my judgment in favor of those with more experience. That is not often a great strategy, which I knew. Better to defer judgment to a true superior, someone with more responsibility, and/or someone with a more objective position. “Seniority” that is nothing more than time on the job brings out bad habits—short cuts.

However, the defect was noticed at final inspection. In that process, then, we had the Inspector at the scene, who called in the Supervisor, who called in the Line Engineer. This was not so much policy as it was them wrestling with the same issue we did: yes, but what should we DO about it? Can we fix it here somehow? Do we have to take it apart? But, along that way, they called the two of us to the scene. But, not together. I don’t know what I was doing, but, I was unaware of the crowd until they called me over. By that time, my coworker was already there… and she already told her version. Her version was, “Oh, really? I’ve never seen that before. Sorry, we missed it.” The motives are sketchy, but not hard to understand: First, it meant we could go home at the end of the day, which was in a few minutes, rather than fix it now. Second, it means we are not guilty of conspiracy, only complacency—or blindness. Simple goof. Oh, well.

When I got there, the question that met me was, “Did you see this scratch?” I could tell from the phrasing of the question and the look on her face what my co-worker had said. What happened next happened much quicker in real time than my thoughts or ability to express here. First, I shot her a look. I’m not sure what it looked like, but what I was thinking was disappointment. I think the next thing I did was look away and kind of sighed, or a grunt of disgust directed at the scratch and… well, I walked away, but I can’t remember if I said, “No” or some such lie. Either way, I didn’t fool anybody, nor did I want to. The engineer followed right behind me and offered an olive branch (I’ve noticed since that he has done that on multiple occasions, but I don’t know if just for me or if he does that habitually.) He was saying something like, “It’s OK either way, we’ll fix it on the next shift, I’m just trying to understand what went wrong.” I jumped at the opportunity, especially since I had managed to reduce the number of eyeballs on me to two.

“No, we saw it. But, we decided that touch-up paint would be enough for it. We thought it was a judgment call. Obviously, we were wrong.”

Now, I don’t know what you are thinking as you read through all that. But, what I was thinking was: I want to tell the truth here. I want to handle this the right way—right for the customer (it really should be fixed correctly) and right in the way that I want them to know that they can trust me to live by the truth, and not try to lie my way out of things. My co-worker had decided to try to lie out of it. I have seen her take that road before, too. Many people do. And I don’t say that to disparage her. People have very sane reasons for lying. It really is understandable.

Now, just because I very deliberately chose another road does not mean I am any different, actually. Let me explain it this way:
The commandment reads like this, “Thou shalt not bear false witness…” which means don’t lie. But, that is not why I did it. If I put it in outline form, it looks like this:
I. Thou shalt not bear false witness is a commandment from God in The Bible.
A) One reason people don’t follow it is self-preservation
B) Another reason people don’t follow it is simplicity
C) Another reason is…
II. No one is perfect enough to never lie, in fact.
So, I know about I. I also know all about A through Z or however far it goes. And, I’m not claiming the perfection in II., either.

The difference is actually something else: Faith. Some people think Faith is all about point I. and is some sort of robotic, habitual, or ritualistic set of braces we artificially strap onto our free will in order to follow a pre-set path, unnaturally. Others think Faith is about point II. and some claim to be able to choose a “correct” path at every opportunity because of some maturity or self discipline or outright gift that makes that choice easier for them than “normal” people who fail consistently.

But that’s not it. My faith in the matter is in being fully aware of all the consequences that have created objections A through Z, but to face them directly and to leave the outcome in the hands of a power greater than myself to control, which I cannot.

And that is my contribution, here, in writing this.

My hope is that it would shed some light in the darkness, or clarify the muddy waters—the gray where we seek black or white. Because I can jump across to either side of the river. I can nod appreciatively to the Christians as they treasure the teaching of The Bible, but I can also understand the atheist and the agnostic or the whatever when they cast their doubt. I can understand what they mean when they think that I don’t know what I’m talking about.

I was at the hardware store yesterday asking for a specific tool thing. Actually, it was the bracket that is used to secure the leg of an oven to the floor so that it does not tip over when handling things through the door. Yes, it comes with the oven. But, I don’t need an oven. I just need the bracket. What if the bracket got lost in a move? What if the bracket becomes damaged? Why would replacements not exist? Whatever the reason, they did not have one. So, the guy “helping” me offered his alternatives. The problem was, I did not want it for the intended purpose. I had another use in mind. This led to me explaining what I did need it for. And that led him to explaining his solutions to that problem rather than my own. His solution, however, included the claims that the thing I was trying to secure would not move, that the new designs do not vibrate like the old versions because they operate entirely differently.

And my reaction was just like a “non-believer” listening to a Christian. IF THAT WERE TRUE, then I would not be here, would I? I watched the thing vibrate with my own eyes. I saw it moving. It will get damaged if I listen to you. YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT. And when I told him that I watched it happening, he seemed surprised. He gave up his argument. He offered what he considered to be the best substitute for what I really wanted and walked away.

But I have been on both sides of the believer’s position. I like the river metaphor. I have jumped to the other side. I know how it looks from their side. Now that I’ve been on the other side, I understand the difference in perspective. And I can leap back and see what they are seeing. But, mentally, I understand the difference. It is not the obstacle they think they are looking at. And yet… There is a good reason that the situation is referred to as a leap of faith. Standing on their side, they see a river and no bridge, no raft, no way to cross. And if they step lightly, they get caught in the current and swept off to the unknown. The only way across is to leap, and that means letting go of their current patch of solid ground.

I took that leap, eventually. Everyone that has done so has the story that goes with it. I believe there is a story for everyone standing there, too. What set of circumstance would cause them to abandon their ground and go for the other side? It is different for everyone, in a way. It certainly feels unique. It should. It is the very definition of “personal.” But, the stories also have a familiarity after you hear some of them: a family crisis, an addiction or psychological battle, a relationship, death of a loved one… there are many. So, I know what happens when you land on the other side. I know how it modifies the memory of the other shore. I know how it replaces what used to be there. I know what I’m talking about.

And yet, I can’t build a bridge. I can’t tell you where one is hidden out of sight. I can’t advise you just to walk into the water either. The current is swift and strong and will likely take you someplace neither of us wants. It is real.

All I know is that you will survive the leap, and be glad you jumped. I know what it means to not know how it will all turn out or what will happen along the way, but to trust in the Authority that does know and can control the outcome—and wants nothing else except what is truthfully the best for you.