Spiritual or Religious?

“Tell me, do you consider yourself to be a spiritual person?”  That was the caption of a New Yorker cartoon, picturing a young woman casually dressed with cocktail in hand, speaking to an older gent more formally attired with clerical collar peeking out above his jacket.  Judging from his age and gravitas, he was probably a bishop or at least a very right reverend, and from the deadpan expression on his face, the man appeared to be totally baffled by the question.  I found the cartoon amusing because the humor seemed on target, reminding me of all the conversations I’ve had with people who tell me they are spiritual but not religious, a distinction that seems very important in their minds but that’s always struck me, as a religious professional, as being curiously artificial.  And the cartoon seemed accurate, moreover, as a commentary on what seems to be a generational and gender gap—the older male just “not getting” what the younger woman is trying to communicate.
 
In fact, I think I know what most people mean when they say they’re spiritual but not religious.  They mean they’re on a quest for serenity and wholeness, but don’t want to burdened with a lot of heavy-handed doctrine or empty ritual.  They want to cultivate an attitude of reverence and wonder, but haven’t any use for guilt trips or proselytizing.  They’re interested in finding a little more joy in the here and peace in the now and don’t care whether they find it in a mosque or temple or pea patch.  They tend to resist sectarian labels and denominational boundaries.  They’re the kind of people who sport bumper stickers saying “my karma ran over my dogma.”  And of course many of them are the sort of people who don’t go to church or have much use for organized religion.  Sometimes they even tell me that if they belonged to any faith community it would be a Unitarian Unviersalist congregation like this one.  So I think I understand where people are coming from when they say they are spiritual but not religious.  I empathize with their desire to be in tune with infinite, free of the encumbrances of ecclesiastical folderol, pursuing an intensely personal path.  And yet, like the man in the New Yorker cartoon, part of me is just baffled by the notion that a healthy spirituality can be divorced from the institutional expression of religion.
 
To me, they go together, like romance and marriage.  Because romance is like spirituality.  It partakes of the passions.  It has an inebriating quality.  Under its spell, colors seem more colorful.  Music sounds sweeter.  Romance can sweep us off our feet and magically transform the hum-drum of daily existence, so that when we’re falling in love the world takes on an aspect of enchantment.  Romance is dazzle and drama.  And a marriage totally devoid of romance would be poor indeed, more a business transaction than a loving union.  And yet marriage is an institution that’s bigger than romance, and hopefully more lasting, too.  It has less to do with the intoxication of passion than with the sobriety or commitment.  Marriage is about getting dinner on the table and paying the mortgage and trying to be pleasant even when your partner’s nose is runny and your own feet are sore.  Romance involves just us two, but marriage includes the in-laws and cousins and (whether you like it or not) what the neighbors think.  Romance might last a summer or a sunny afternoon, but marriage is about the long haul.  And without the traditions and legal structures of marriage to contain it and sustain it, romance is always in danger of flaming out, extinguished as quickly as it appeared.  Romance and marriage are like spirituality and religion.  What starts out as a totally private affair has to take on an organized, cultural embodiment, or else it remains inchoate and incomplete.
 
Or you might compare spirituality and religion to a young child and the network of care providers that keep that child bathed and educated.  Youngsters are extremely spiritual beings, after all.  For a child, everything is at least potentially a miracle, a source of awe and fascination, and this is part of what makes having children one of life’s great blessings.  When people say they want more spirituality in their lives, I think they often mean they like to nurture their own childlike qualities, to be less cynical and more trusting, simpler and more spontaneous in their approach to life.  But of course children can be gloriously carefree precisely because grown-ups are taking responsibility for them.  They can afford to live in the moment because somebody else is busy providing for their future.  They have parents and pediatricians and Girl Scout leaders and Sunday School teachers tending to the lesson plans and immunizations and other practical worries of growing up.  And religion is part of the infrastructure that makes childhood possible.  Without a whole network of caring adults to wipe up the juice spills and messes, infancy quickly becomes a very sticky proposition.
 
So spirituality and religion belong together in my mind. They ought to be as inseparable as romance and marriage, or parent and child.  Spirituality is the sense of being connected to something larger than oneself, and like any feeling, it comes and goes.  It can’t last long in isolation but needs to be grounded in a religious community that helps us understand that we actually are larger, more powerful, more generous than we realize.  A multifarious faith like ours tends to stretch and enlarge us, precisely because it challenges us to practice the art of getting along with such a varied assortment of perspectives and opinions.  So being a Unitarian Universalist is a spiritual discipline, but not a discipline that can be practiced solo.  Because tolerance can’t be done in solitude.  Diversity takes two or more.  Dialogue requires partners.  Pluralism has to be exercised in the plural.  Citzenship and the arts of self-government can only be practiced in public channels.  The virtues of our tradition are all communal virtues.  They demand participation in a congregation to be made real.
 
And what does it mean to participate in a congregation like this one?  Really, it means three things.  First of all, being a good Unitarian Universalist means loving yourself and nourishing your own well-being.   Soul work starts at home.  So this is the place to join a women’s group, or   Sing in the choir.  Come to Sunday worship, or don’t.  Spend a morning on the slopes if that’s what lifts you above the ordinary.  Remember that you’re not here to live up to other people’s expectations.  You’re here to stay curious, expand your horizons and find strength to deal with all of life’s little learning experiences.  There’s a wonderful quote from Howard Thurman, who said, “Don’t ask what it is the world needs.  Instead, ask yourself what makes you come alive and then go do it.  Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”  Your first job is to find whatever spark ignites your spirit, and then let your light shine.
 
Secondly, being a part of this community means doing something to support the household of faith, and every household has its chores.  And as a lay led congregation, you know the tasks by heart.  So you need to take a turn pouring coffee, or sign up to bring snacks or flowers.  As Linda about our inreach team, making a hospital visit or offering a ride to church.  This is a cooperative effort, which means that everyone is asked to do their share financially, as well. Ours is a shared ministry, not a money-making venture.  But as our treasurer Bette will tell you, your pledge is what keeps the roof over our heads and microphone on.  Thank Martha for the fa-so-la, but  you provide the do-re-mi.
 
Third, being a member of our congregation means carrying the principles that are preached and practiced here out into the rest of society.  Maybe you can’t change the world, but I guarantee you can change a little part of it, and that when lots of us work together we have an impact, whether it’s helping at the men’s shelter, or supporting Non-Violence Works, or volunteering with our four-legged friends at Stray Hearts.  And maybe this is another way to think about the connection between religion and spirituality.  Religion is the social dimension of spirituality, as justice is the social expression of love. 
 
Justice-seeking congregations like this one are what love looks like in its institutional form, where you’ll find forums on women’s rights and folks doing multicultural outreach, where people are discussing real-world strategies to combat homophobia and racism and put a lid on global warming.  Because you can’t love everyone, not all seven billion of them.  But you can work for justice, laws that treat people equally, policies that defend the defenseless and preserve the earth for people you’ll never meet.  Spirituality and religion are like the right brain and the left.  One imagines a world more fair; the other puts foundations under that vision. 
 
And thank goodness for both, the imagineers and the engineers.  Thank goodness for this institution and the liberal tradition behind it.  And thank you for the cranky idealism, the humanity and humor that put the pizzazz in our principles and bring the sparkle to our Sunday mornings.  We are spiritual seekers and serious in our religious commitments, wise as serpents and gentle as doves, embracing the contradictions of a complex  faith to engage more deeply in a complicated world.  For Unitarian Universalists are at bottom a both/and people, not an either/or.  Practical dreamers.  Visionary realists.  Down-to-earth mystics.  Not bad at balancing a budget and pretty good dancers, too.  Spiritual and religious.  That’s what makes us so cool!

 

Another year has come and gone
Another circuit round the sun
Another ring on the ancient tree
A page on the calendar has turned once more
And so little has changed
The millennium has not come
The prayers for peace go unanswered
And all remains bleared, seared with toil
The problems never end

And yet a new day is always dawning
Every moment bringing a new bestowal
The gift of fresh possibility
In how we choose to be with one another

To share our humanity in mutual care
In common struggle
In compassion and tenderness holding one another

Believing that love is the most profound of all realities
In this world where interdependence is a fact of life
While separateness is the illusion

For whether we know it or not,
Whether we believe it or not,
We are all sisters and we are all brothers
Kin to each other and to the earth

Which every morning lavishes its beauty
Indiscriminately
Abundantly
Amazingly
On all