By: Jordan Koehnke

Faith confuses me. I know the declaration of said statement defeats the entire premise of the meaning of faith, however, the intermingling of the ideas of faith, of practiced religion, of spirituality - I deem confusing, all of it. To be frank, I wish more than anything I could exist in my body and not for a single second question the foundation of my faith, religion, or spirituality. To my dismay, I can’t quite seem to shake my hesitation on the matter, and for that, I apologize if you are reading this family. Just to be clear, I hold faith and spirituality in the utmost regard and find it highly admirable when other people can execute so effortlessly.

Before I get any further, I want to preemptively apologize for this segue I am about to embark on, however, I have been to a total of two psychic readings in my lifetime. Believe me, when I previously mentioned my hesitations with faith, you better believe I also possess similar hesitations with psychics and each of their respective domains. Despite said hesitations, I do have a steadfast belief in consistency . The consistency in this context was the fact that both psychics I visited - over two different years - stated that I am a spiritual person in nature. As a human who does not actively participate in organized religion, it got me thinking - why is it that faith, religion, and spirituality are funneled through such a narrow lens?

Growing up, I was always told that religion is faith practiced, and spirituality comes as a result of such a practice. Regardless of the accuracy of that statement, my specific upbringing segmented faith, religion, and spirituality - words that blatantly differ in definition - within the same umbrella category. How could spirituality exist in a person that does not actively participate in the practices that the constructs of faith have so nobly painted for me?

My good friend and I have fairly consistent conversations regarding the subject matter of faith. These conversations typically involve some sort of interlude notioning the perceived “correct” methods to practice faith, and what it has consistently looked like over time. Faith is typically only admired if practiced, and once practiced, it becomes rehearsed. This is not to diminish the nature of rehearsal, for with rehearsal, becomes an excellently tailored performance. With that, I plead the question - can the nature of faith, or rather anything at all, become selfless to practice?

I have been thinking about windows a lot lately. An interesting segue, I know, however, this is not in a weird, existential way to bring attention to myself in an effort to come across as boastfully intellectual - I have simply been thinking about them. In my defense, I don’t have much of a choice given that windows encompass much of my surroundings in various contexts. I have recently decided to start looking at them - how I believe to be the way they wish to be viewed, as well as in a way, to make sense of the idea of faith.

“Can the nature of faith, or rather anything at all, become selfless to practice?”

I recently went to an art museum that held an entire exhibit dedicated to frames. Amongst the rows of Monet and Renoir lining the walls of the second floor, I reluctantly traipsed my way to this frames exhibit tucked away in the corner. Yes, I’m aware of the absurdity of my next comment, however, I quickly found myself motivated by the meanings of frames - what they can do for a piece of art. The exhibit clarified that frames are strategically utilized - in a way to pay homage to specific pieces, or in a way to further amplify certain period works appropriately.

Anecdote aside, the usage of frames reminded me that a window is a frame - for their existence is often contingent upon having one. They possess little expectations themselves, yet provide others with the basis of their own. A window formulates a new perspective from the inside out - or rather vice versa. The very premise of their name lies in the assurance of their transparency - regardless of their full clarity.

The window I am currently looking through is dancing along the embodiment of stillness. The inanimate nature of this window, and many windows alike, illuminate the incredibly animate life often living outside within eye reach. For it is with this window - the focal point of my current inhabitants - I am reminded of an unrequited stillness. A stillness that haunts - yet a stillness that is finally, most imminently, within reach. The nature of my controlled state, gazing through the window - in correlation to the vastly uncontrollable nature of what I see painted outside of my window. How absurd that something made as fragile as glass can segment a shattering frequency from a deafening stillness.

“Much like a frame or a window, I wonder - why can’t we have faith with the hopes of gaining nothing in return?”

I have been thinking about windows coinciding with faith because they have the power to frame - to frame the very nature in which we perceive. Yes, perhaps all of these words have quickly become an unintelligible series of thoughts and symbolic undertones that make all but parcels of sense. However, I deem all frames and windows alike, to be doing such incredibly selfless acts to allow others the ability to look right through them, to something far more illustrious. That is quite an act of love if you ask me.

Faith is an act of selflessness - of devoted, unhesitant belief in something we cannot see. It is safe to say one can have faith in far more than just a religious context, but rather the context of faith in humanity, a faith in perseverance, or even a faith in love. Faith does not ask for anything in return until that faith coincides with that of practice - a religious practice that oftentimes requests those, who do not have a similar religious practice, to change theirs. The contingency of practicing religion is the contingency that you will have faith in whatever that practice is. Much like a frame or a window, I wonder - why can’t we have faith with the hopes of gaining nothing in return? The true testament I find is those who have unwavering faith, yet simultaneously live a life that matches the teachings of their practice.

I look at faith and see so much room for interpretation, and even more room to define what faith looks like through one's individual lens. Who am I to tell another that my version of faith is much larger than their own? The lens of faith, of religion, of spirituality - all an intention to remain a lens. A lens has the innate, predestined fate to be changed depending on the context it is in. I have full faith in the fact that faith works the same way, and believe me, I don’t say that with a single ounce of confusion.