For one to read my various observations on uncertainty and on philosophy, they might seem a contradiction to my life of faith, and to my work in the pulpit. I understand this seeming contradiction. For me, though, it is no more contradictory than my existence itself. I do believe, but I’m uncertain as to what “I” truly is. For that matter I am uncertain as to the essence of ‘is’. So what is the mark of my authenticity? My only authenticity comes from this: I am staking everything upon my convictions. I believe, in spite of my weakness.