The past few years, especially this one, I’ve been taking apologetics very, very seriously. I’m writing this allegory to describe what it feels like to constantly question your faith.
Suppose you had a dream. In your dream everything is very clear and yet very vague. You know what is happening and you have the answers to everything, yet nothing really makes sense.
Then someday someone wakes you up and screams at you about how you’ve been sleeping in a dark, cold, desolate, abandoned hospital room. You are shocked. You suddenly feel the stark reality of it all. As you look around you see two things: a small candle burning and next to it a packet of matches tied to more candles.
As you venture out into the dark, you feel very afraid that there might be some monster or spirit or demon or killer or whatever in the dark. You do not want to look deeper, yet you head onward. As you cross the first corner and look into a hallway, you realise there’s nothing there. Yet out of fear you do not go deeper (yet). For a while you only stay in your room while only going so far as that hall. In time you grow accustomed to the hall. You consider the walls and the roof and some peculiar marks on them. After a while you light a candle there and feel no fear at all.
Then you head past the next corner; still afraid (always afraid of the unknown which might just overturn your whole life)… only to find another empty hall. Here too you spend a while learning the outline of the hall, living there a while and eventually lighting a candle. And this you do until your last breath.
There are always fears and doubts – you are always aware that someday you will meet someone or read something which will turn your life around and make you deny God, yet the amazing thing is how you always find that what bothers you is without substance: nothing more than the lack of light.