In a world increasingly suspicious of institutional forms of spiritual expression, often called religion, it's easy to throw up one's hands and say, "Why bother?"

That exasperation is understandable. Many have walked away from religion, especially in Western Europe and the United States. I’m sure you’ve all read the statistics.

Despite my background as one of the original nones, I grew up with no religious background until my early 20s. I've lived and breathed church world for nearly four decades. I've seen it all: the good, the bad and the ugly. Serving as a bishop has opened my eyes to the underbelly of the church. Yet, I've also met some amazingly generous and servant-hearted people. Religion can serve the good of the planet, or it can further its demise.

The Gallup Corporation is out with some interesting new research on the benefits of spirituality, and you can read about it here. In brief, they highlight five potential benefits for people who engage in a broadly defined spirituality.

01 - Spirituality can help develop a sense of purpose and positive coping skills.

02 - Spirituality can help create social connections.

03 - Spirituality can help increase community and civic engagement.

04 - Spirituality can help foster feelings of security and stability.

05 - Spirituality can help workplaces support holistic wellbeing.

Much of what I research and write about centers around these five benefits. Focusing on the spiritual dimension of life, especially in the second half of life (post-50 years of age), enriches our sense of purpose and meaning.

The author James Hollis puts it this way.

“The act of consciousness is central; otherwise, we are overrun by the complexes. The hero in each of us is required to answer the call of individuation. We must turn away from the cacophony of the outer world to hear the inner voice. When we can dare to live its promptings, then we achieve personhood. We may become strangers to those who thought they knew us, but at least we are no longer strangers to ourselves.”
― James Hollis, The Middle Passage: From Misery to Meaning in Midlife

Recently, someone asked me if I thought one needs to be active in a religion to have a meaningful spiritual life. My short answer was no, but my longer answer is what I wish I had said to them. Since I missed my opportunity with that person, I'll let you all in on my internal dialogue with myself. A few days later, I realized my error and sought to amend my response. Here goes.

Could we revisit your question regarding religion and the spiritual life? I answered too abruptly. I said no. I didn't think one needed an active life in a religion to have a meaningful spiritual life, but here are some further thoughts.
My answer remains no if participation in a religion is solely about the mechanics of the organization. Note the word solely. In other words, if all you are doing is attending committee meetings and focusing energy on perpetuating the institution to keep it going, my answer would remain no.
But if participating in a religion relates to one or two of those five benefits listed above, that's a different story. For instance, if your church synagogue or temple has a meaningful engagement around hunger or housing issues in your community. Engagement with that service component can feed a sense of purpose, create social connections, or provide community engagement. (1, 2, or 3 above). If the rituals of your house of worship are life-giving, enriching, and intellectually engaging, that may further your sense of purpose.

If your religion does not have at least two of the five benefits listed above, it has moved toward a self-perpetuating organization. I believe much of what is happening regarding the decline of the church here in the US centers on this loss of intentionality. I've been reading several biographies of religious leaders this fall in preparation for a class I'll be teaching soon. One common theme they all mention is a point in their ministry when their church lost focus on those five benefits and shifted toward perpetuating the institution.

Eugene Peterson and Barbara Brown Tayler described when the congregations they served defaulted to the neutral gear. The energy had gone out of the community, and their ministers struggled. In some cases, the minister leaves; in other cases, there is a wilderness time followed by renewal.

In my book Weird Wisdom for the Second Half of Life, I describe a dream I had in midlife when I felt flat. While the congregation I served seemed to hum along, my internal hmm had become a harumph.

In 2007, just two years shy of my fiftieth birthday, I had the following dream during one of our congregation's service trips to a remote village in Honduras.

I have decided to enroll in a German language instruction class where Professor H.S. will be the instructor. (She is the same professor I had in waking life for my Spanish classes in preparation for this trip to Honduras.) We introduced ourselves on the final day of class, and I said I could have been better at languages. This professor agrees with me. But I am in the class because I like to learn. We seem to be waiting for something, but no one knows who or what. Finally, the former bishop from New York arrives to much fanfare, like a head of state style welcome. His wife and two daughters accompany him. He is to preach at a worship service held at an ancient coliseum. Before the worship service, I learned that the Coliseum church's pastor was involved in a scandal. The bishop allows the man to work things through instead of removing him immediately. I seem pleased with his decision and wonder if I am that pastor. After the worship, the German/Spanish professor approaches the bishop and me. She thanks the bishop, then turns to me and says, "You have a pastorate to rebuild."

This dream, along with my father's death, nudged me back into analysis with a minister who was a Jungian analyst. In addition, he had a long history of practicing Buddhist meditation. Our work over ten-plus years moved me from passively accepting the ruins of a decaying religion to something much more vital. Today, I work with a spiritual director, and dream exploration continues to be at the center of my spiritual practice. A few years ago, we worked on this dream which came to me during the Covid years.

I am on a vacation visiting a city park in Rome.

First, I see a few statues and ancient ruins in the park. They are

eroded, discolored, and partially covered in vegetation. Then, I

came across some steps that lead underground below the park. I

find a large cavern filled with hundreds and hundreds of people

gathered for a worship service. It seems I am the founder of this

new church. A man and woman walk up to welcome me, and they

say, “This is not a church with answers, though you will find

answers along the way.”

I share both dreams, knowing full well the risk Joseph took sharing his dreams. (See Genesis 37) But I wanted you to see the beginning and the ending of a time of intentional focus on the inner landscape. To quote James Hollis again, “We must turn away from the cacophony of the outer world to hear the inner voice. When we can dare to live its promptings, then we achieve personhood.”

As I am moving toward the conclusion of nearly four decades of work in the church, here’s what I have learned about the intersection of the institution of religion and the spiritual life.

1. Most people in churches are there because they are hungry for one or more of those five benefits listed above. Others are there for reasons that center around their struggles with authority, power, and recognition. But even they, in their brokenness, are yearning for something more profound, though they seem less conscious of their hunger.

2. Much energy goes into the organizational and institutional aspects of religious life in America. Looking back, I see that, in some ways, that work is connected with a gritty spiritual life. Navigating the complexities of people, programs, and buildings caused me to reflect on the places where my ego, my shadow, and my wounds were exposed. Yes, I got hurt at times, but I likely matured more in those challenges than at any time when heaps of praise fell upon me.

3. In US America, with its extroverted solid sensing function, the culture does not value the spiritual life of the inner landscape. Coming to terms with that can challenge many who love nuance, contemplation, and intuitive functioning. As an introverted intuitive, that's been a personal struggle. But I learned about the ways extroverted spirituality can be very nourishing for you outward-oriented types. Music, Habitat for Humanity, and linear step-oriented sermons are equally valuable and legitimate.

4. The church and religion are made up of flawed individuals. It could be a better place; it often fails, and people are people. But if you can accept that and hang in long enough, you'll slowly find something satisfying. The best churches comprise people who care about one another, serving their community and exploring the wonder. They may not have answers, but “you will find answers along the way.”

There’s more to write, and likely I will, but for now, I want to emphasize those five benefits cited above in the Gallup research as marks of a new religion for the 21st century. I encourage you to look them over again and ask yourself, where is my life intersecting with these benefits, and where would I like to grow?

01 - Spirituality can help develop a sense of purpose and positive coping skills.

02 - Spirituality can help create social connections.

03 - Spirituality can help increase community and civic engagement.

04 - Spirituality can help foster feelings of security and stability.

05 - Spirituality can help workplaces support holistic wellbeing.

Until next time,