Spiritual but Not Religious?

This essay was originally written for the Sacramento News and Review

It’s an odd thing being a priest. It’s pretty much a cocktail-party-conversation killer.

“So what do you do?”
“Well, I’m an Episcopal priest.”
Long pause. Then the inevitable, “I used to go to church but . . .”

I think that’s so strange. When I’m introduced to a dentist, I don’t have the urge to confess my poor flossing habits.

Besides, I think there are great reasons for not going to church. Most notably, many Christians have done such a poor job representing Jesus. Jesus’ life and teachings were intended to give us life, to connect us with God, one another and our true selves, to free us from fear, free us from judging one another and free us from oppressive social structures (including religious structures.) One could argue that Jesus came to do away with religion, insofar as religions are organizations that treat God’s love as a commodity that is controlled by the religion.

On the other hand, “religions” are necessary for two reasons. First, spirituality needs community. We need to explore our beliefs with other people. Unless one has reached enlightenment, one needs the wisdom of others. We also need others with whom to strive for justice and peace, and others to love. In church, I’m required to love a wide variety of people, some of whom drive me crazy. It’s like spiritual boot camp.

Second, humanity needs the teachings of the great spiritual traditions to be passed on. We need communities of people to record these teachings and to teach them to later generations. The Bible, the Koran, the Buddhist Sutras are religious texts. We would not know about Mohammed, Jesus or the Buddha if it wasn’t for religions.
Religions are simply communities of spiritual people who want to journey and serve together.

Yes, some religious groups are homogeneous clubs who believe they have a corner on Truth or God’s love. And yes, I think people are wise to not be “religious” in that sense.
But beware of limiting your spiritual options because of these bad examples of spiritual community.

I believe people are hungry for authentic community. People are hungry for a way to encounter
God and deepen their spiritual lives. And people are hungry for a way to make a difference in the world. I know there are many different ways to feed these hungers. For me, these deep spiritual hungers are fed by being a part of a spiritual community that has Jesus as its guide. Trinity Cathedral is a welcoming community where people are passionate about their spiritual lives and serving others. If you are interested in encountering the teachings of Jesus in such a community, please join us. If you want more information, email me. I would love to hear from you. Or if you have a different path, I would enjoy hearing about it. Blessings!

Between December 6th and 9th, Tibetan Buddhist monks will be at Trinity Cathedral to create a sand mandala of the medicine (healing) Buddha. The Cathedral will be open to see the work in progress on Thursday and Friday from noon to 8 p.m. and Saturday from 10 a.m. to 9 p.m. The monks will do a medicine Buddha healing ceremony Saturday night at 7 p.m. The monks will participate in our Sunday morning services at 9:00 and 11:15. The Dissolution Ceremony will be Sunday at 1 p.m. where the sand will be swept into a big pile and then placed in little bags that will be available for people to take.

on prayer

This essay was originally written for the Sacramento News and Review

I first learned to pray when I was 11 years old. My nonreligious, Air Force colonel father came home one day and declared that the family needed to learn to meditate. The six of us piled into the family car and drove to the Transcendental Meditation center in nearby Amherst, Massachusetts. (This was in the early 70’s.) Each member of the family received private instruction and was given a mantra. For the following two years, meditation was part of our family routine. Before dinner Mom would remind us, “Have you meditated yet?” If we hadn’t, we would trot down to the basement and sit in silence for the prescribed 20 minutes.

While the practice didn’t last longer than the two years we lived in Massachusetts, it did open a quiet place in my soul. Years later, when I entered seminary to become an Episcopal priest, I became very grateful for the gift of meditation. Seminary was hard for me. My undergraduate work at West Point focused on engineering mechanics and computer science. I then spent 5 years in the left-brained world of the Army. In seminary I was completely out of my element. My classmates had all majored in philosophy and religion. I remember trying to read a theology text and having to look up every third word in a dictionary.

Then one day, at noonday prayers, I came across this prayer: O God, you will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are fixed on you; for in returning and rest we shall be saved; in quietness and trust shall be our strength. (Isaiah 26.3 30.15) I wrote the words on a post-it and stuck it on my mirror. I returned to my practice of sitting in silence. I regained my center as I listened to the still, small voice of God.

While I have never been consistent in my spiritual disciplines, prayer has been an important part of my spiritual life. Prayer for me is much more than sharing my concerns with God. Prayer is a way of shaping the way I see the world—of being open to the way God sees the world. In addition to silent prayer, one of my favorite ways of praying is to recite words written by other, more spiritually mature people. In the Episcopal Church, much of our worship consists of reciting, as a community, beautiful enlightening prayers.

One of my favorite prayers comes from a nighttime service. Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep. Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous; and all for your love’s sake. Amen.

I have this prayer memorized and recite it as I am going to sleep. It helps me realize my deep connection with those who “work, or watch, or weep this night.” Prayer invites me into a world that is bigger and more whole than my day-to-day existence.

I’m sure I thought my father was crazy back in 1973. But he introduced me to a priceless gift. Let us pray.