One of the things we don't want to miss here is the notion of authority. For if it is nothing else, spiritual-but-not-religious is surely a question of power and who has it: who gets to say what, who makes the calls. When expressing a set of opinions that run along these lines, those who adhere to this way of thinking are in effect saying, This is my deal. These are my assumptions. I came to them honestly. No one - not even a powerful church - can take them from me. From here it's only a hop, skip, and a jump to the removal and application of labels: I used to be Presbyterian; now I'm a former Presbyterian, but I still find God in a sunset or reading the Sunday New York Times. In other words, I have found myself, and no religion can take that from me. Perhaps we sell ourselves short - stereotype ourselves - in the act.

Although ... I'd be protective of that label, too, if I'd ended up wearing it. Sitting across from the new rector of the local Episcopal church (who, don'tcha know, is trying to meet up with everyone in the directory by the end of summer), I'd wear that label with not a little pride.

See, when I used to have these conversations - and don't get me wrong, because as a collar-wearer I still do - I thought it was all a way for people to explain why they hadn't been in church for the last ten years. And I suppose some of the time that was true. But more than that - probably way more - I was holding that opinion up against people before I even bothered to get to know them. I thought they wanted absolution for their absence.

There's a hideous t-shirt you can buy online that says "Stereotypes are a Real Time-Saver." And it may be that that's what's happening in those coffee-shop conversations: I'm listening to your diatribe imagining that you just want to make excuses for not being in church, and you're listening to my diatribe imagining that I'm just here to pull you back in to the nonsense, the religion of the book, the every-Sunday stand-sit-kneel routine where I come out and say that your sins are forgiven you and you're blessed by God, when you already know that good and well for yourself because you saw it in a sunset and suddenly everything came clear and you didn't need the explication, the obfuscation, or the weekly hassle.

But because I'm stereotyping you, I'm too busy to really hear you. My wheels are spinning, and I'm concocting a story to tell myself about you, and I don't bother to learn what the real story was - what the real glimmering truth of that sunset was. And maybe you looked at me and thought, Well, another stiff in a black shirt and white collar. And what we lost in the bargain was each other. Which is the definition of a low-down stupid shame, considering how we sat and talked for forty-five minutes.

The second we stop listening to one another, the deal is done. It's a hard thing to do, too, since I would rather run to my stereotypes and assumptions and all the volumes of story I tell myself about you. But there's just no replacement for staying at the table and listening.

If we can stay and sit and listen and keep asking real questions and not worry about staying "in character" on behalf of the Church ... if we can do that, my suspicion is that that kind of honesty will become precisely the seedbed for genuine Christian community. And genuine community is what a generation of spiritual-but-not-religious folks so desperately need right now.

Torey Lightcap

Those are really good observations Torey!

I just answer, "Me too." That usually opens things up.

For the "I don't believe in God" crowd, it's: "I probably don't believe in that God either. Say more."

As for "I don't believe in organized religion"? Well, heck, I'm an Episcopalian, ain't I?

as Rev. Daniel said, the spiritual not religious viewpoint is "now comfortably in the norm for self-centered American culture."

I probably wouldn't do it, but I'd be tempted (esp. if I were a collar-wearer) to respond to "S-not-R" with---

"Yes, most people are. But a few bold, daring innovators aren't afraid to bring their spiritualities together w/ each other. These creative trendsetters are meeting weekly in the stone building w/ the colored windows . . . but, if you're like most people, you probably couldn't handle it."

Nah, I wouldn't actually say it. ;-/

JC Fisher

I can understand those who are Spiritual but not Religious. The church can be a bruising place to attend. From the lack of welcome in most Episcopal Churches (can't count the number of times I have stood ungreeted at coffee hour - where a minute seems like an hour) or the brutalizing that goes on by the priest and an "in" group - for those who dare speak out. People come looking for a spiritual and religious experience but end up fleeing for their lives. And who says these spiritual people don't have communities of accountability. This item says more about the author's fears than anything else.
How about we listen to those who claim S but not R and try to learn their language? Find out where they experience the Holy? Not shut them out with holier than thou words and actions.

While the author at this post made a small attempt to see from the "other's" point of view, the whole article yells "If you are spiritual but not religious, there is something wrong with you. Elite people are religious." Not that they are two different paths for different people. Not even an attempt to reconcile the two, to show how the two can exist in harmony and to the other's benefit. I've always thought Episcopal Church to be very good at that but this article did not reflect that at all.

Jack M.

Hi Jack. Thank you for your comments.

I'm sorry that you concluded from my post that I believe "If you are spiritual but not religious, there is something wrong with you." That is not my understanding nor my intent with this piece.

I addressed this in the framework set by Rev. Daniels. That scenario says that the telling of "spiritual but not religious" happens because the person realizes they have a clergy person sitting next to them. I have found that people enter these type of conversations with me in this way when they find out I'm clergy, and usually not before. I think that my angle on this assumes that one has to respond in context to being clergy (or identifying as rather religious) and not just what two people who know nothing about each other talk about in a conversation. Then having said that, I think the "religiously identified person" (in my case, as clergy) has the opportunity to engage the other as a fellow questioner, and not as someone with all the answers.

Of course what you say is true: there are many different paths, and different paths can (and should) exist in harmony and to the other's benefit. That doesn't mean that the conversations that people have won't include reasons why one is religious.

But in having those conversations, I would additionally suggest that it is the responsibility of the clergy-type to make clear that the way they "see things" comes from being in community and struggling with the questions together, and not by learning the right answers at seminary (or by having the authority of church).

(And there are many, many viewpoints in the Episcopal Church: I hope you will not change your thoughts of the Episcopal Church being "good" just from my article.)

Thanks again,

Kurt Wiesner

I don't think it's this complicated. Most people these days just aren't joiners. That's it. In a way, the Roman model of a parish church being a place where you go get your sacraments rather than a place of community first and foremost seems almost more useful these days. Evangelical churches operate much the same way if you think about it, except instead of sacraments, you go get your "inspiring message" or "spirit led worship" or whatever they're peddling to get people in the door. Then you either form smaller group communities or you just go home. Mainliners, incl. Episcopalians, aren't wired this way.

Here is a lot more from Lillian on this topic. The tone is much different.

http://christiancentury.org/article/2011-08/you-can-t-make

Initially I saw something valuable in Lillian Daniels' piece and posted a link to my Facebook page. What I saw in the piece was refreshing frankness: an acknowledgement that church wasn't always as nice as other ways to refresh and replenish, but that it offers us a way to be challenged and grow. The reactions were (in retrospect) predictable. My churchgoing friends liked it. My "seeker," non-Christian, and atheist friends said that the attitude revealed by the writer confirmed their worst fears about how clergy see lay people. One friend in particular (a man who has sincerely tried to engage with various worshipping communities and who has a heart for social justice) was deeply hurt and angered by the piece.

It took me a few days to let go of my own lens, but as I read both the short and long articles again, I am aware of a disturbing attitude that I have trained myself to filter out. Torey's and Ann's responses here give me some hope - but for all of the concern I see about becoming a new and welcoming church, the dominant attitude is still thinly veiled contempt by the insiders for the outsiders. Until we address that, we can hold all the seekers' groups and pub nights we want, but we still won't be an accepting community.

For anyone who has made a commitment to a worshiping community, parish life is difficult and complicated. Those of us who are in this world have been socialized to accept its shortcomings, but that hasn't helped us grow very much.

The longer version Lillian Daniels' article that appeared in Christian Century has some wonderful and important things to say, but my friends were still put off by the combative tone of the first couple of paragraphs. I have to wonder who intended audience was. If she was addressing other church folk, great. We can all feel better about who we are and what we do. But if not, the article has driven a curious and sincere person even farther from the mainline church.

Mary.

I don't know if your comment will be the last one posted on this particular forum, but if it is, it's an insightful one. Thank you.

Kurt