An Inner Pilgrimage of Faith

Beyond Religion or Creed

Through these last months, I’ve stayed close to myself—my focus has been more inward than outward. I keep reflecting on all that is changing so quickly—who and where we are as a country, who we’re becoming in the world, where I belong, what I bring to this moment in our collective story. And somehow the idea of faith keeps hovering just under the surface of my awareness. I notice myself wondering about it, questioning it, resting in it, arguing with it….

I wrote about faith back in February and, before that in March 2024. I guess I’ve been sorting out what faith is to me since I was a child. Already then, growing up in the church, I had a sense that, at least for me, faith was not about religious doctrine or theology or creed. It felt deeply personal, then and now. And somehow mystical, even though as a child, I didn’t yet really know what that word meant. It was just a feeling.

Across the decades of my life, faith has become more familiar if not more explainable. I don’t doubt its existence. Yet still, in times like these, I find myself questioning again: What is it? What does it mean to me? What does it mean to live faithfully?

Ancient Stone Circle in the south of Sweden (Photo: Alan Seale)

These words from David Whyte’s poem “The Well of Stars” recently found me again:

Excerpt from “The Well of Stars”
by David Whyte

I have a few griefs and joys
I can call my own
and through accident it seems,
a steadfast faith in each of them
and that’s what I will say
matters when the story ends.

But it takes a little while to get there,
all the unburdening
and the laying down
and the willingness
to really tire of yourself,
and then step by step
the ways
the poets through time
generously gave themselves
to us,
walking like pilgrims
through doubt,
combining their fear
their fierceness and their faith.

(from his collection The House of Belonging)

Steadfast faith in griefs and joys. His first few lines speak to me not so specifically as faith in my own experiences of grief and joy, but rather as steadfast faith in what I feel in the moment. Steadfast faith in the honesty and integrity I find within myself when I am willing to feel whatever I feel without apology or abandonment. To just be present with whatever is happening inside me as life unfolds around me, and not try to change it or fix it or heal it or….

And at the same time, to not get lost in it. To just let it be. To just trust and accept that what I feel is what’s real inside me right now. It may or may not be what is real for anyone else, but it’s real for me.

For sure,

it takes a little while to get there,
all the unburdening
and the laying down
and the willingness
to really tire of yourself...

And although I might not have named it as such until now, it is in its own way a pilgrimage—

walking like pilgrims
through doubt,
combining their fear
their fierceness and their faith.

Yes, it asks me to become a pilgrim to faith, a pilgrim of faith—to be on a pilgrimage deeper and deeper into the whole of my life experience. To walk through my doubt and hesitation and resistance and inner conflict, letting my fear, my fierceness, and my faith walk together, dance together, and argue with each other in their fierce love for one another. Even when it doesn’t always look or feel like love.

Faith, to me, is not about religion or dogma. It’s not a thing we do or something we believe. It’s so much deeper. It’s a way of living, a way of walking in the world, a lived presence through the ups and downs of life. It’s what carries us when the ground beneath our feet is shaking or when the road just disappears. It’s a deep trust that there is indeed a greater wisdom and intelligence present deep inside the unfolding of life. An intelligence that is both within us and around us.

Faith is something we inhabit and experience and live from the inside out. It’s alive, and it’s bigger than we are, yet incredibly intimate. It grows in us through our quiet listening presence as we pay attention for what is trying to happen next through us, both in the moment and within the bigger context of our lives.

We will never have all the answers; we’ll never have everything figured out. That’s just not how life works. And so, we keep listening, trusting that we’re part of a much bigger picture, not separate from it. Trusting that the bigger picture is in some way alive within us.

Faith is not something we go out and find; it’s something we learn and develop within ourselves. Moment by moment. Breath by breath. Showing up again and again to life, even when it doesn’t make sense. Faith is a presence we learn to lean into and trust. It’s what steadies us when we’re standing on the edge, staring out into an unknown future.

At this point in my life, living faithfully means listening deeply to what life is asking of me and staying in dialogue with everything that is happening. It means showing up fully, whether or not I feel like I know what I’m doing or where I’m going, and remaining engaged without getting entangled or lost in what is happening.

I’ve described Transformational Presence as “a compass for our times.” I might describe faith in the same way—an inner compass, an inner knowing—a voice from deep within that guides us from the inside out. A sense of ourselves as part of a greater intelligence. Faith then becomes the courage to stay present, to keep listening, and to trust that voice, even when uncertainty abounds. What is happening in our personal lives and in our world today is an ever-unfolding story. It’s being written in real time. And often, all we can sense is the next step.

There certainly are times when fear, doubt, and anxiety take over my psyche, and faith can get pushed aside without me realizing it. Eventually though, I remember it’s there. And once I remember, it’s up to me to breathe into my bones, get centered and grounded again, and invite faith back in. Sometimes it happens quickly; other times, as David Whyte wrote, it takes a little while to get there. It’s up to me to remain both diligent and patient.

A couple of weeks ago, I came across another David Whyte poem that speaks of exactly this. It’s a new poem to me—simple and clear—a gentle reminder that I can invite faith back into my life.

Faith
by David Whyte

I want to write about faith,
about the way the moon rises
over cold snow, night after night,

faithful even as it fades from fullness,
slowly becoming that last curving and impossible
sliver of light before the final darkness.

But I have no faith myself
I refuse it even the smallest entry.

Let this then, my small poem,
like a new moon, slender and barely open,
be the first prayer that opens me to faith.

—from David Whyte: Essentials—originally published in Where Many Rivers Meet

Faith—a way of living and breathing into the still point where my inner sensing and knowing meets whatever is unfolding within me and around me. I’ve opened myself to it, invited it in, and nurtured it over a lifetime. It’s not a promise of ease—it’s a promise of presence. It’s not about confidence in a specific outcome—it’s trust that I will be guided, and I’ll find my way. It’s nothing I need to explain or defend—it’s just for me to live. And to keep breathing when I find myself in darkness until I can sense the light again.

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