I started reading a book on major themes in literary theory this evening, and (naturally) the first chapter detailed the topic of “beginning” in literary criticism. The opening lines of Dante’s The Divine Comedy were among the examples treated in the chapter. These lines read: “Midway in the journey of our life I find myself in a dark wood, for the straight way was lost.”  The book’s commentary describes this beginning as a “middling”–a beginning in the middle of life, in the middle of a dark wood–suggesting that Dante’s opening communicates that, “there are no absolute beginnings–only strange original middles.  No journey, no life ever really begins: all have in some sense already begun before they begin” (3).

I thought of my faith when I read these lines. I think the beginning of my faith was a middling.

Some people teach that Christian faith begins in baptism.  (This idea of beginning seems particularly fitting for consideration, as it is the Feast of the Baptism of the Lord today!)  They might say that when I was baptized a Catholic by my parents as an infant, something about my existence changed in that moment.  I became a Christian.  Or, they might say that in baptism my parents established the context that would determine my faith in the the future.  Baptism was the beginning of what would unfold in me later in life.

Others cite a one-time proclamation of Christian faith as the definitive beginning.  When one accepts Christ as his/her Lord and Savior from sin, he/she becomes a Christian. Many people tells stories of this moment when they knew something in them changed.  They became Christians.

But I think my faith began with a middling more like the one described in this textbook of mine: “There are no absolute beginnings–only strange original middles.  No journey, no life ever really begins: all have in some sense already begun before they begin.”  I cannot tell the story of how my Catholic faith began, so much as I can look back at the story of my faith and realize that it began before the moment that I recognized it.  When I try to pin down a moment, I always identity some precursor–some prior person or event or moment or memory full of grace and faith and god–one that complicates any notion I have of “beginning.”  Every “beginning” I consider becomes more like a “middling.”

I cannot tell of my faith’s beginning, only that it began.  And the story continues.

[This entry is cross-posted on CTA's Young Adult Catholic Blog]

Image from http://www.flickr.com/photos/traerscott/3167629678/

What are unnerving, however, are the lingering questions of simple, ethical living that take the forefront of my mind whenever I find myself on the living room floor folding t-shirts and stuffing shoes into empty suitcase corners again: “How in the world did I acquire so many things?  I had completely forgotten about that pair of sandals–why am I packing them? And why did I buy them in the first place?  Why didn’t I use that money for other things–for other people? People with greater needs?”

It’s not just when I’m packing that I am confronted with these doubting questions.  They merely sound louder in my mind when I have to pack, and subsequently face all my stuff at once. These questions sound when I spend time with the poor, when I buy my $3 latte, when I read the gospels, when I talk with the “Save the Children” rep outside the bookstore, when I pay my monthly credit card bill….  These are the tense questions that every mindful member of the Economically Privileged must grapple with at one point or another.

Burdened by the guilt that so easily creeps into these honest inquiries, I used to seek a clear-cut prescriptive for simplicity. I wanted to pick up a book, or listen to a sermon,or happen upon some conversation that would reveal exactly how to give, spend, and save my money and belongings in an ethical way. I keep reading, listening, and sharing, but I have come to the conclusion that I will not find the formulaic life-style prescription that I once sought. The tension that accompanies simple living in a privileged society simply is not that simple!  This realization has helped to free me from the unhelpful guilt I often face.  I am able to give myself a bit more grace, knowing that this is complicated to workout, even as I continue to recognize that it is an important tension to address and react to.

Community has been a great, productive aid in seeking simplicity. Just the other day, Kristy Calaway, a blogger at CTA’s Young Adult Catholics blog, wrote about the difficulty of simplicity as she packed up her belongings for a cross-country move like mine. It was encouraging, challenging, and inspiring to read a peer’s reflection on our common, complicated pursuit of simple living. When I share a meal, pick out an outfit for the day, or wander through the shopping mall alongside people who are also voicing questions about  ethical purchasing, excessive materialism, and common good, I am more honest with myself about how my relationship to money and things impacts who I am and the greater world around me.

So, from one inquirer to another, I would challenge you to take some time to grapple with the questions that arise from the complex tensions of simple living in our modern world. Your reflection, and your lives, will encourage me as I try to go on living a better, more ethical existence each day.