In a religion with a Holy Book, it’s a given that adherents to the religion should study the book, in order to know what they claim to believe. Sort of like clicking “I accept,” or signing off on a medical form … you (hopefully) want to know what you’re accepting, signing, taking a stand for. But even with that- a handy book or set of instructions - there’s room for interpretation and personal identification and understanding. 
When you read, you bring all of yourself, your experiences, your wonderings and needs along with you, as I do, and this causes us to read it, in a sense differently from the person next to us on the train or our mother or best friend. I’ve always thought it amazingly risky – and incredibly open-minded – to trust (both on the Deity's part and the seeker or believer) to an ancient book full of tales which first were passed along orally before they could be written down. Nonetheless, study I did, and hard and for hours on end, in an effort to understand. 
Years later, I met a whole crop of folks who had no interest in studying at all, or even reading … so what was it they adhered to? Possibly their own oral traditions – things their grandfather said or their mother or that old wise woman down the road … But the thing I started out to talk about with you, Faith’s Journey, which I now rather wish I’d called A Journey of Faith, instead, is suddenly less a narrow road than a wide confluence of intersecting pathways, lanes and copses that may share quite little in common. The troubles of faith only grew for me when I found myself in the company of a very loud little man in a sandwich board sporting a megaphone and shouting, “Here is THE way! Pay your dues and join our club and follow our rules … and we’ll get you on the Right Path! No other way will take you there – no matter how tried and true – we assure you, ours is THE ONE AND ONLY WAY, no question. What? How do I know? Because God told me, that’s why!” – or something along those lines - and I watched lots of people shake their heads and walk away, but many others ran to get on the path he shouted over. As I watched in fascinated horror, I saw more and more people jump up by pathways and begin to shout and soon the cacophony of calling caused me to back away for a bit of quiet, in order to hear myself think for awhile. Looking back, I saw some open fire on other path-guarders and walkers, while others hoisted national flags and some chanted threats of attacking and bombing and I? … I ran for my life. ![]()
Grief, such grief, all of life seemed grief in that place. Where was the organic oasis now? How desperately I sought my friend’s cool peace, but she’d gone far away …
