Spiritual But Not Religious? Don't Challenge Me

I recently read a blog entry entitled Spiritual But Not Religious? Please, Stop Boring Me . It is written by a minister who recounts that she often hears the line "I am spiritual, but not religious" when people find out that she is a pastor. I know the feeling. I also resonate with the snarky response she exhibits in her blog. I often roll my eyes and think what a lazy response "spiritual but not religious" seems to be. So I chuckled when I read this response and shared the links through various social media. Many friends (clergy and lay) liked and re-posted. One wise parishioner responded by asking what I thought about this attitude. "Is this the only Christian response?"


First of all, I am sure that the author of the piece didn't mean to dismiss these folks. If  this pastor is anything like me and a few other ordained people I know, she is also letting fly some of the cynical frustration that bubbles under the collar. (I did say that I resonated with this, didn't I?) In fact, the piece makes us religious types laugh at the experience, and at ourselves. Laughing at ourselves or others is a good place to start when considering a more compassionate response. 


My parishioner dug deep and came back with some pointed questions. She said:


 I wonder what is your take on this? I thought the author blindly lumped the "spiritual but not religious" together without considering the variety of people who may utter this sentence. People, maybe, who have been wounded by a religious institution. It is also a zero-sum game she proposes: either the person is a cloud-gazing coward, or they are like her, bravely seeking God in humanity. Isn't it possible that they are both without being "religious"? Is this the only Christian response? One that compares and qualifies our spirituality to that of others?


With congregants like this, who needs a spiritual director? This is indeed not the only Christian response. A more pastoral response would take into account where the person was coming from and what their experience might be.  Many of those categories are noted in the comment above. Religious groups have done a great deal of damage, and the message of a grand deity watching over us doesn't always pass as positive. Of course, pain and negativity aren't always good reasons to take an easier path.  


Most religions worth anything are well aware of pain and suffering. We acknowledge, accept it, and respond to it. A spirituality of the sunset isn't invalid. I believe that we need more than this for true spiritual transformation. I have found the religious community to be a place where I can bring my sunset experiences as well as my wounds, doubts, and fears. I find the rituals and prayers of old that hold me accountable for seeing the beauty of life, and the reality of death. I find a community that challenges me and tolerates me. I am called to consider the wonder of God in nature, and to turn to my fellow humans with compassion. 


So, to that person telling me they are "spiritual but not religious" I can offer a listening ear, and share my own journey of what religion has done to hold and shape my spirituality. I can also challenge my own community to be a place that welcomes the wounded without comparing their way to ours. We can realize that some folks just can't be involved in community in the same way as those of us who feel drawn to communion, or can't imagine not having burial rites within the church walls. 


Today, I am thankful for a pastor who expressed in a humorous way what I often feel. I also give thanks for a parishioner who called me beyond a chuckle. I will take all of us this with me when I pray using forms passed to me through religious tradition. As I look to the sunset I will hold in those prayers all who find spirituality outside religious forms.