The Faith Of My Father

(This is - for now - the last blip on my trip to the Amazon. Tomorrow we will be back with a new EP-challenge!)
 
One of the biggest challenges I faced as the son of a passionate missionary was to find my own expression of faith. I grew up in a world where Christian language became my mother tongue. It was the natural means by which I viewed and defined my world. My father's preaching had always been conservative and very orthodox in terms of doctrines. When I reached adolescence, I grew tired of this endless repetition of the same old dogmas and began to develop an interest in the great mystics of Christianity: Wasn't the Word of God - by it's very own definition - supposed to be the most exciting thing on earth? But what I was hearing in church - not only from my father, but from practically all preachers - was boring me to death. So I began to dwell and meditate on the writings of mystics like Meister Eckhart, Hildegard von Bingen, John of the Cross. My father wasn't very thrilled by my explorations into the world of the unknown, as the mystics took me to - and sometimes beyond the limits of sound doctrine.
This was a difficult process for me because, like I poet who has to find his own personal and authentic expression in his mother tongue, I too had to come to grips with the language that was closest to my heart. As I soon found out I couldn't simply switch languages (religions): Buddhism (so much en vogue in the Occident when I was in my twenties), for example, would always remain strange to me, and I would never reach a level of intimacy with its thoughts and culture that would allow me to articulate my deepest needs and desires.
My quest for an authentic faith alienated me from most members of mainstream churches. My quest and my questions caused unrest amongst them. Not wanting to cause conflict and in need of inner peace, I distanced myself from "official" Christianity. At some point, I was declared a black sheep good Christians had to stay away from.
 
What does this have to do with my father? During my stay in São Félix do Xingu, I talked with a lot of people who had worked and interacted with my Dad during his time as an active missionary. And the image that emerged was that of a sometimes hardheaded man who followed his convictions no matter what - sometimes going against the convictions or opinions of fellow missionaries. I learned that, while his preaching's main theme had always been salvation, the thread that ran and continues to run through his entire life as a Christian was compassion. It was compassion based on doctrines, yes, but compassion above everything else - I heard of many instances in which he chose to follow his heart instead of church policy. Not surprisingly, I also learned that - in spite of always trying to be a diplomat - he wasn't loved by all his fellow missionaries.
For me personally, this is the most important thing I learned during this trip. It gives me comfort and strength to follow my passion and my heart in my ongoing spiritual quest, to believe that love is Christ's biggest message and mystery.
Love, not despair nor fear, will be the motivation of my spiritual quest. Love, not doctrines, not church policy, nor a sense of duty, will determine any possible future involvement with the Kayapó-tribe.

Should I ever run the risk of forgetting it, there will always be my father's photographs to remind me of what really matters.