Time, the malevolent constant, always measuring our suffering in painful slowness, every moment we inquire of it, "is this the last of you?". Or it is rushing us through our joys in its relentless passage, refusing to acknowledge our need to stay.
Faith, whether we know it already, or hope to know it, is the belief that there is indeed something greater than our finite existence. It is not the faith that can save us. It is the object of our faith that may or may not have the power to lift us out of darkness. If the object of our faith refuses to bring us into the light, then we need to search for something better, for something real, for something alive.