Literally referring to a “book of sparklets,” the identification of “florilegia” is an ancient spiritual reading practice I’ve recently been exploring in my own life. Historically, this practice was performed by monks reading and praying the Psalms. Essentially, it’s a quote journal.
In this practice, as you read a sacred text, you look for sentences, phrases, or words that “sparkle” in the material. You then record those. When finished, you put all these separate quotes together to create a new text – a florilegium – that may allow the quoted material to take on new meanings, as each thought gets embedded in a different context than the original.
In engaging in this practice, it’s important to consider what text you consider sacred that you want to draw spiritual meaning from. To begin, I started my practice with Jesus’s Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5-7, but I started with 4:12 for more context). What sparkled for me recently appears below. (If I had done this practice 10 years ago, or even 10 days ago, my florilegium may be entirely different!)
“When Jesus heard that John had been put in prison, he withdrew to Galilee” (Matthew 4:12).
“From that time on, Jesus began to preach, ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near'” (Matthew 4:17).
“Jesus went throughout Galilee, teaching in their synagogues, proclaiming the good news of the kingdom, and healing every disease and sickness among the people” (Matthew 4:23).
“Now when Jesus saw the crowds… His disciples came to him, and he began to teach them (Matthew 5:1-2):
“Blessed are the poor in Spirit… Blessed are those who mourn… Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness… Blessed are the merciful… Blessed are the pure in heart… Blessed are the peacemakers” (Matthew 5:3-9).
“Love your enemies and pray for those who persectute you” (Matthew 5:44).
“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth… But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven” (Matthew 6:19).
“Do not worry about tomorrow… Each day has enough trouble of its own” (Matthew 6:34).
“In everything, do to others what you would have them do to you” (Matthew 7:12).
For me, then, at least in this most recent reading, this florilegium summarizes what sparkled for me in Jesus’s Sermon on the Mount. To take this a step deeper, I could consider this and reflect on what individual sparklets or the overall message may mean for me and what actions I feel called toward.
In the 2023 song “God must hate me,” Catie Turner writes:
“Do you ever see someone and think ‘Wow, God must hate me’ ‘Cause He spent so much time on them and for me, He got lazy Got ample mental illness personality flaws While their only flaw seems to be is that they have none at all… I don’t know what I believe But it’s easier to think He made a mistake with me.”
Have you ever felt anything like this? Although religion and spirituality can be helpful to people, they also can be sources of stress or even trauma. These lyrics demonstrate the emotional power of what psychologists often term “religious and spiritual struggles.”
What is a Religious or Spiritual Struggle?
A religious or spiritual struggle involves a tension or conflict an individual may experience in relation to what they consider sacred. For instance, like in the song lyrics above, a person may feel angry, disappointed, abandoned, or rejected by God. Someone may wrestle with their beliefs or the ultimate meaning of their lives. An individual also may be upset by interactions they’ve had with others within religious or spiritual communities or feel hurt or offended by the teachings of a faith.
The Effects of Struggling with Religion and Spirituality
Research conducted across a variety of contexts and groups consistently reveals how religious and spiritual struggles predict poorer mental and physical health. For instance, individuals who report more religious and spiritual struggles also tend to report more anxiety, depression, and suicidality as well as lower satisfaction with life and overall happiness.
Experiencing religious and spiritual struggles may also underlie why many people disengage from a religion, an increasingly common occurrence. For example, people may withdraw from a religion when they feel negative emotions toward God, such as in the lyrics that opened this article. As another example, individuals may pull back from religion if they experience judgment from others or disagreement about political issues in their religious community as well as when they feel dissonance about belonging to a group they feel has perpetrated prejudice or violence.
Given all this, what could help people wrestling with stress and trauma associated with religion and spirituality? Below are six suggestions informed by the research on this topic.
6 Ways of Coping with Religious and Spiritual Struggles
1. Realize you’re not alone. Experiencing religious and spiritual struggles appears fairly common. In one study, for example, when a national sample of adults were asked to name a specific religious or spiritual struggle they experienced in the past few months, about 40% could do so. Furthermore, many of the heroes of religious faith – from Job to Jesus to Mother Teresa, in the Judeo-Christian faith, for instance – also struggled with matters of the sacred. Realizing this may help decrease the sense of guilt, shame, or moral unacceptability you may feel.
In recent years, many of us shifted our approach to religion and spirituality. Particularly in places with more resources, such as certain regions of the United States and Europe, religion generally became less popular.
As a team of psychologists of religion led by Julie Exline recently noted, shifts away from religion occur in at least three forms. First, an individual may be “done” with religion entirely. That is, they may no longer consider themselves religious and may no longer affiliate with a religious community at all. Second, a person may continue to identify as religious, but may pull back their involvement. For instance, someone may decrease attendance at religious services or spend less time reading religious texts. Third, an individual may disengage from their religious identity and religious participation and instead focus on spirituality.
New Ways to Meet Ancient Needs
In his book, “The Power of Ritual,” Casper Ter Kuile explores and advises on this third possibility. He argues that, though many people in the developed world became less religious in recent years, the underlying human needs that religion addresses continue to be vital for human flourishing. Ter Kuile writes:
“It may be helpful to think of the human longing that leads to religious culture as akin to music and the music industry, which has struggled mightily over the last twenty years, with CD sales in free fall for much of the 2000s and 2010s. But our love for music still endures… The same thing is happening in our spiritual lives… Attendance at congregations is down, but our hunger for community and meaning remains.”
In light of this, Ter Kuile puts a spotlight on something many of us may not have noticed: the creation and surge of engagement in what could be called spiritual “replacements” for religion. He continues:
“Formal affiliation is declining, but millions are downloading meditation apps and attending weekend retreats. Moreover, they find spiritual lessons and joys in completely ‘nonreligious’ places like yoga classes, Cleo Wade and Rupi Kaur poetry, and accompaniment groups like Alcoholic Anonymous and the Dinner Party… Stadium concerts and karaoke replace congregational singing, and podcasts and tarot decks replace sermons or wisdom teachings.”
Ter Kuile then notes some of the possibilities in this new era. Individuals can “unbundle traditions” and “remix them” with sacred rituals that build community and create meaning. In line with this, along with Vanessa Zoltan, Ter Kuile created the popular podcast “Harry Potter and the Sacred Text” as a way for individuals to virtually gather and ritually share a close reading of a beloved book series.
As another example, I recently went for a hike in my local state park in Afton, Minnesota. Following Ter Kuile, as I left my car, I powered down my phone to more intentionally connect with the natural beauty I encountered. I then made a point to look for a tree in the park to connect with, a tree I decided would be old and gnarly, one that stood out from the rest. I found one matching these criteria overlooking the St. Croix River, and I mindfully walked around it three times in a kind of sacred gesture to both appreciate the tree and ritualize its significance. Next time I hike at this park, that tree will surely have added meaning for me.
Questions about Spiritual “Replacements”
There’s plenty of research evidence to show that increasing community and meaning contribute to positive life outcomes such as enhanced well-being. I do wonder, though, whether these spiritual “replacements” could start generating their own doubts and questions for people. For example, what really constitutes a “sacred” text? Is Harry Potter sufficient? Would Mary Oliver’s poetry or some other text be better?
On February 1, 2012, American Indian Studies Professor, David Mathieu, received the call that is every parent’s worst nightmare. David’s beloved daughter, Felicity, had suddenly died when her car collided with a semi-truck on an icy, two-lane, highway in rural southern Minnesota. She was only 27 years old.
Like anyone who has lost a loved one like this, David struggled mightily with grief. He wrested with questions such as:
“Should we have done something different that would have avoided this accident? Who was at fault? What did we do wrong? Why did she choose to live in a rural area with dangerous roads? How could this happen? Was she or were we being punished? What was the role of God in this tragedy?”
In the aftermath of this horrific event, David’s long-time study of Lakota spirituality – particularly conversations at the Cheyenne River Reservation in South Dakota with medicine men Sidney Keith and Martin High Bear – took on new significance.
“Wakan is, at its core, an ambiguous, yet very honest, explanation of why we cannot understand a reality we desperately wish we could. Wakan, then, is a spiritual ‘position’ on which to base an understanding of one’s spiritual and physical world as well as the relationship between the two.”
Acknowledging the Mystery of the situation helped David with his initial questions and urge to blame someone or something for his daughter’s death. He elaborates:
“Everyone from the driver of the semi-truck, to inadequate roads in southern Minnesota, to the whole area where she lived, and even to Felicity herself for not paying attention to her driving, not taking precautions, seemingly not caring… Blame has no place when all is Wakan and unknowable.”
What seems uniquely powerful about this reliance on Wakan is the humble recognition that some things are simply unknowable to us humans. To suggest anything otherwise would, in fact, be considered presumptuous. Some things just happen, and desperate as we are to find answers, we can’t really know why. This isn’t just a practical perspective in Lakota spirituality; the lack of knowing itself is deemed Sacred. As David writes:
In a review of everything currently known about the topic, researchers recently developed a scientific model of how contemplative practices of various kinds may encourage better physical and psychological health. Published in Psychological Review, one of the flagship academic journals of the American Psychological Association, this new model advances our understanding of the adverse effects of stress and what can be done to combat it.
The researchers note there are four primary stress-related states we all experience: (1) acute stress (example: arguing with a spouse), (2) moderate threat (example: working), (3) rest (example: watching TV), and (4) deep rest (the least studied of the four, but most beneficial). Although many believe that rest is our baseline, default state, the scientists in this article suggest that, in the United States (and, by extension, in other developed countries), most adults now spend most of their daytime hours in moderate threat arousal, which drains of us of the restorative energy we need to function at our best. In fact, considerable research conducted over many decades demonstrates that this level of chronic stress contributes to various physical and psychological health problems ranging from heart disease to immune suppression, from chronic pain to depression. Individuals from marginalized groups seem particularly likely to experience this degree of toxic stress, helping to explain some of the health inequities we observe in certain groups such as people of color and individuals with poor economic resources.
Whereas acute stress and moderate threat cause sympathetic nervous system activity, deep rest is characterized by the dominance of the parasympathetic nervous system. The parasympathetic nervous system basically calms us. The researchers in the Psychological Review article further speculate that deep rest may be uniquely restorative at a cellular level. In this way – though there are surely limits – deep rest may be physically and psychologically “healing.”
Although there may be several activities that promote deep rest and enhance the body’s restorative capacity, most emphasized in the article is how contemplative practices may play a unique role. As noted by the authors, “contemplative practices are mind-body exercises that are intentionally practiced to work toward inner well-being, psychological flourishing, and deep connection with self, the world, or a higher power.” Examples of such practices include deep prayer, chanting, meditation, yoga, Tai Chi, and Qigong.
To achieve deep rest, the researchers suggest that individuals must feel safe, and that contemplative practices provide unique opportunities for doing so, for several reasons. First, contemplative practices typically are conducted in safe spaces. Examples include intentionally secluded spaces, a harmonious environment, or a natural setting. A sensory component may further cue feelings of safety, such as when essential oils or incense are used. A tactical dimension of the practices may enhance their effects as well. For instance, slowly and rhythmically advancing prayer beads through one’s fingers may promote a sense of absorption through sensations of touch. Second, contemplative practices can be performed in a socially safe environment, including trusted teachers and fellow practitioners. Engaging in a practice in unison with others may evoke a sense of group belonging and sense of awe, adding to the benefits. Finally, contemplative practices may work to create a sense of safety through reduction of distressing thoughts, increase of bodily awareness, improved attentional capacity, and strengthened skills of emotional regulation. In these ways, contemplative practices may be particularly meaningful for those who often lack safety, especially those on the margins of society.
Pexels | Thirdman
Most contemplative practices also encourage slowed and/or regulated breathing, either intentionally or as a result of the calming practice, providing another mechanism for achieving deep rest. In one study, for example, participants told to repeat prayers of either Ave Maria or a yoga mantra slowed their breathing rate to 6 breaths per minute, a rate other research has found to be linked with positive health outcomes. In fact, there is growing research evidence that long-term contemplative practice may change our baseline stress state and make it easier to slip into deep rest as well as deep, nonrapid, eye movement sleep, the stage of sleep that most restores us physically and psychologically.
In many locations in the world where chronic stress is highest, religious involvement is dropping, perhaps contributing to the increase in disorders we’re also observing in those places. Perhaps as a result, many individuals are trying contemplative practices on their own, implementing practices into their lives with the hope they will nurture higher well-being. This new model integrating what is known about contemplative practices, stress, and the body’s restorative capacity further validates the benefits of such practices, whether they occur within a community or whether they are practiced individually. For the average person, all of this may serve as a reminder that taking time to intentionally and deeply connect with one’s self, the world, or a higher power may be one of the most powerful things we can do to manage stress and attain holistic health.
Reference:
Crosswell, A. D., Mayer, S. E., Whitehurst, L. N., Picard, M., Zebarjadian, S., & Epel, E. S. (2023, December 25). Deep rest: An integrative model of how contemplative practices combat stress and enhance the body’s restorative capacity. Psychological Review, Advance online publication.
Many of us are frustrated by religion. According to the General Social Survey – a large, representative survey done every few years for the past several decades – the number of Americans who say they have no religion increased from 5% in 1972 to 29% last year, for example. The COVID-19 pandemic also provided a pause from religious attendance that allowed many of us to take a step back and reconsider how we really feel about our religious beliefs, practices, and commitments.
Why are so many people “done” with religion? Researchers in one study asked individuals who said they were once – but no longer – religious to write about their primary reason for the change. By far the most common reason (52%) was intellectual, such as when a person felt their previous religious beliefs conflicted with science or logic, or when they felt they simply “outgrew” their old beliefs. Another common reason (22%) was because individuals said they didn’t feel they could be a part of an institution they felt caused trauma to themselves or others or that they believed perpetrated hatred toward certain groups, such as members of the LGBTQ population. A third reason (15%) was because people experienced personal adversity they couldn’t reconcile with their religious beliefs. Finally, some (11%) noted social reasons, such as feeling like they didn’t “fit in” with a religious community.
Research suggests “religious dones” tend to have a history of religious and spiritual struggles but that these struggles often lift when they form a non-religious identity. On the other hand, studies show how, in religious settings and groups, formerly religious people often hide their newfound beliefs and values, again feeling a lack of belonging. In addition, a good deal of research points to the significant positive resources provided by religion and spirituality. Relinquishing these resources may come with some long-term costs. For instance, doing away with all of our religious and spiritual customs may mean our children do not experience several significant rituals or rites of passage that aid in their development.
It’s not healthy to suppress our struggles with religion. Are there ways to be honest with our frustrations while still pursuing a religious or spiritual dimension to our lives? Below are five ideas for how we might do so.
1. Go deeper into religion.
Sometimes, there are resources in our religious traditions that can help us work through our frustrations. For example, many religions have insightful analyses of how faith and science can be integrated. Traditions frequently have resources for helping us reconcile the suffering we’ve experienced with our religious beliefs. A deeper exploration often points to how our religious frustrations are rooted in how religious teachings are commonly interpreted and practiced – frequently by people less informed – instead of the best a religion has to offer. In this way, digging further into religion can be the spark for personal growth and deeper understanding.
I’ve taught a course in the Psychology of Religion and Spirituality for about 20 years. As part of this course, I often invite speakers to share their religious and spiritual life stories and insights with the class. One of the most provocative perspectives ever shared came from a Jewish speaker. To paraphrase, he would say:
I know many of you consider yourselves more spiritual than religious, and I know there are many benefits to personal spirituality. However, I have a different take on this. I believe religion is better than spirituality. And I believe this is increasingly so.
The Meaning of “Religion” and “Spirituality”
Although these concepts prove extraordinarily difficult – if not impossible – to adequately define, let me clarify terms as much as possible. In general, religiousness entails behavior concerning the Sacred consistent with what an institution prescribes. Spirituality, in contrast, involves an autonomous question for what is true and meaningful regarding the Sacred, whether inside or outside an institutional context.
Thus, religiousness and spirituality are different but overlapping constructs. Religiousness involves action that harmonizes with a group’s teachings and customs to a greater extent. Spirituality focuses more on an individual’s personal and experiential quest. Common to both religiousness and spirituality is the Sacred: something that lasts forever or that evokes awe or reverence.
The Trend Toward Spirituality
Various surveys in the United States regularly ask respondents to select which of four options best describes them: (1) both religious and spiritual, (2) spiritual but not religious, (3) religious but not spiritual, and (4) neither religious nor spiritual. Results consistently show how respondents are most likely think of themselves as “both religious and spiritual.” However, individuals in these studies increasingly identify as “spiritual but not religious.” For instance, in nationally representative surveys of American adults from the Fetzer Institute, those indicating they were more spiritual than religious rose from 18.5% in 1998 to 33.6% in 2020.
Kevin Bluer | Unsplash
Five Unique Benefits of Religion
Some might consider the notion that religion has unique psychosocial benefits – compared with personal spirituality – offensive or, maybe ironically, “sacrilegious.” However, particularly at this moment in time, in our culture, consider the following:
When I imagine Jesus – similar to when I imagine the Buddha – what initially comes to mind is someone who was pretty emotionally flat or emotionally neutral. If there’s an emotion I associate with Jesus, it’s one of serenity. Maybe this is because, when I consider Jesus, my mind’s eye turns to paintings and statues I’ve seen throughout my lifetime, such as the one my mom hung in our living room when I was a boy. In these, Jesus seemed to be beyond human emotion.
Heinrich Hofmann’s 1894 Painting | Wikimedia Commons
I’ve long been fascinated by emotion. Part of what inspired my calling to Psychology as an undergraduate were experiences at the University of Wisconsin helping to do research in influential emotion labs exploring embarrassment (with Dacher Keltner) and interest (with Judy Harackiewicz). In graduate school, at the University of Minnesota, I conducted research investigating correlates of emotional well-being, including anxiety, depression, hostility, and happiness (with Pat Frazier). I’m generally curious about how individuals feel, and I watch for non-verbal indications of how people react to life. It seems to me that someone’s emotional life reveals something deeply important about who they are.
I’ve also long been a follower of Jesus. Surely, a lot of this has to do with being raised in a Christian family in an often times Christian-dominant culture. But, there’s also something about the stories of Jesus that intrigue me. There’s something about who Jesus was that seems different, countercultural, and stunning.
It wasn’t until recently that I started to seriously explore the intersection of these two parts of myself. That is, I’ve started to wonder about the actual – not the imagined – emotional life of Jesus. In contrast to the sense I’ve received in some parts of Christianity to which I’ve been exposed, as I read it now, Jesus was a person of deep, passionate emotional intensity.
To explore Jesus’s emotional life, I did a focused study of the Gospel of Mark. This Gospel generally is considered by Bible scholars to be the earliest Gospel – written about 40 years after Jesus’s death. As the progressive Bible scholar, Marcus Borg argued, this account of Jesus’s life likely includes elements of both metaphor and remembered history, but the emotions attributed to Jesus, as discussed below, seem most likely to be traceable to the historical Jesus. As one reads this Gospel, there’s also an evident sense of immediacy to it, which lends itself to an investigation of Jesus’s emotional life.
To better understand context, as I read through Mark, I noted passages that described where Jesus chose to spend his time. He seemed to spend a lot of his days by the water (1:16; 2:13; 3:7; 4:1; 5:1), in the mountains (3:13; 6:46), in Synagogue (1:21; 3:1; 6:2) and, maybe not surprising for someone who didn’t seem to have a home of his own, in other people’s homes (1:29; 2:15; 3:20; 14:3). He seemed to frequently withdraw into nature to get away from the demands of the crowds, and to pray (e.g., 1:35; 6:46). This begins to give an indirect glimpse into Jesus’s emotional life.
In looking for more direct descriptions, what most surprised me in studying the Gospel of Mark was how often Jesus seemed to experience great irritation, sometimes to the point of almost seeming impatient. Jesus was said to speak “sternly” (1:25). On several occasions, he was described as being “indignant” (1:41; 10:14). At one point, Jesus looked at his skeptics “in anger… deeply distressed at their stubborn hearts” (3:5). When he finds people selling in the temple courts, he drives them out, overturning tables in anger (11:15-17).
Intermixed with much of the worst of human history is a religious motivation. This can be seen in the involvement of a religious motivation in the genocide committed against American Indians and the Holocaust. More recently, this can be seen in the motivation behind tragedies such as the 9/11 terrorist attacks and the January 6 attack on the United States Capital. Other examples include the involvement of religion in motivating prejudice and violence directed toward members of the LGBTQ population and various cases of religious persecution.
Hooded Members of the Ku Klux Klan Displaying Christian Imagery, 1935.
As Blaise Pascal once reflected: “human beings never do evil so completely and so joyously as when they do it from a religious motivation.”
How can great world religions – which generally teach love, compassion, and justice – become powerful instruments of prejudice and violence?
Although acts of religiously-inspired hatred are complex and caused by many variables, one common factor concerns religious fundamentalism.
Religious fundamentalism involves a rigid kind of certainty in the possession of the “one truth” and the “one way” to live. It typically relies on a literal interpretation of a sacred text and an absolute reliance on that text. Other sources of knowing what’s true or other ways of determining what’s valuable are rejected – such as when science or a different group offers an alternative perspective – in favor of what’s unquestioningly accepted within the group.
With this all comes a strong urge for fundamentalists to form a sense of who are “insiders” and who are “outsiders.” Explicitly or implicitly, it’s easy for all of us to believe members of our groups are superior, while others are inferior. One way for religious fundamentalists to address this is to develop an evangelical zeal to bring outsiders to the inside through attempts to convert them. However, when individuals reject their arguments or invitations, fundamentalists can develop even stronger attitudes against them, to the point where outsiders can become seen as less than their human equals, sometimes even leading to consciously or unconsciously dehumanizing them. At this point, prejudice and violence toward members of the outgroup become more likely.
Because fundamentalist groups also tend to draw like-minded people to their communities, individuals in these groups often decrease or completely lose contact with those different from themselves. As a result, the kinds of reality checks most people tend to naturally have happen to them when they interact with people different from them become less likely, creating the conditions for stronger stereotypes and prejudices to develop.
For many people, being religious means being a religious fundamentalist. From the media, this is the impression often given. However, decades of thinking and research in the psychology of religion suggest there are multiple ways of being religious, with distinct pros and cons.
Let me elaborate with a few personal stories.
About 20 years ago, I happened to be visiting a conservative Christian college when I was somehow invited to a retirement party for a faculty member – I believe a Theology Professor – who had worked at this college for many years. At one point, this man took center stage and spoke about his long and distinguished career. The Professor’s speech started as you might expect – with references to the meaningfulness of his work, gratitude for colleagues, etc. – until he took a surprising turn and honestly reflected on some of his struggles. The Professor started crying. He had a difficult time finding his words. Eventually, though, he explained how he called himself an “Agnostic Christian,” someone who wasn’t certain about religious and spiritual truths but still felt like he knew enough to make a commitment to Jesus and his interpretation of a Christian lifestyle. He discussed how the juxtaposition of “Agnostic” and “Christian” was sometimes not welcomed by conservatives at this college, but how this self-understanding felt so important to him and to his identity that he was moved to tears in sharing it.
For me, the Professor’s presentation felt like a revelation, for a few reasons. First, and most importantly, this was the first time I had ever heard someone openly acknowledge how they were both deeply uncertain about religious and spiritual truths while still being deeply committed to a faith. There was a raw honesty in this confession, and the juxtaposition created a new way for me to start thinking about my own religious and spiritual identification as well. Second, the Professor demonstrated to me the importance of adjectives in the religious world. Apparently, some people don’t simply identify along the lines of “Christian;” some identify as “Conservative Christian,” “Agnostic Christian,” “Social Justice Christian,” or “Mystical Christian.” In these cases, which of the two words is the adjective and which is the noun also can be enlightening to consider.
Fast forward a few weeks, when I found myself in a large group discussion about religion and spirituality at my public college. People were sharing their diverse ideas about religion and spirituality, and I thought I would “float” the above story and how it fit with my own self-understanding. A few people I didn’t know had joined us from a conservative Christian student club on campus, and after I shared, they walked over to me. I will never forget what happened next. One of them bent down and whispered into my ear: “you can’t be Christian and not know.”
Many people do not seem to recognize there are different ways you can be religious.
It’s been another year for the books. Somehow, in the midst of everything, more and more people seem to be following this blog.
As a way to review the year, below are my most-read articles that I wrote during 2021. If you haven’t had a chance to read these articles yet, you may be interested in checking them out.
I’m very excited to help host a Zoom talk by Dr. Tanya Luhrmann, Professor of Anthropology and Psychology at Stanford University, on Tuesday, October 5, from 1:00-2:15 p.m. CDT. Dr. Luhrmann is a one-of-a-kind researcher, the only scientist in the world really exploring connections among spiritual experience, psychotic experience, personality, and culture. This event is free and open to the public! Sign up at Eventbrite below to receive the Zoom link and more information.
As my wife and I walked from the front doors to the worship center of the exponentially growing church we used to attend in the mid-1990s, we often remarked how much relational tension filled the hallways. Young couples frequently walked together in silence, their faces sometimes providing brief glimpses of the irritation they felt toward each other. Moms and dads regularly yelled at kids to get them to Sunday school. Friends and acquaintances mostly kept to themselves.
People had good reason for waking up early on a Sunday morning to pack the auditorium. The young preacher challenged us with mind-stretching insights that directly applied to our lives. The band led us into worship experiences that connected us with God in ways that melted our selves into something larger.
During these times of shared praise, in particular, emotion poured out of many. I often cried during songs, for example, tears pouring down my face. Sometimes, I’d be unable to continue singing, in fact, feeling so “choked up.” There were even a few times when I felt so overwhelmed I had to physically brace myself with the chair in front of me because I was literally “weak in the knees.”
When we left the worship space, my wife and I frequently commented how those around us seemed palpably different than when they arrived. Not everything was perfect, of course, but tension had lifted. Young couples looked more in love, holding hands on their way out the door. Families played. Others welcomed conversation over coffee and donuts.
If this had been a one-time occurrence, I may not have thought much of it. But, it was so predictable, it was almost comical. Pretty much every week, the same basic story unfolded: people were being transformed.
Maybe the most notable observation we made, though, at least in retrospect, occurred when we left the church building and walked back to our car. The parking lot typically was much fuller than when we arrived, and we often were struck by the range of political bumper stickers. Frequently, we’d see people part ways in the parking lot with a handshake or hug, only to enter cars with stickers suggesting different political affiliations.
As a young Ph.D. student studying Psychology at the University of Minnesota at the time, I wondered: what might help account for the powerful positive effects we were observing? Nothing in psychological science seemed capable of providing a good explanation.
It’s been quite a year. With all the losses of 2020, one plus has been more time for me to write. Many new people started reading and following the blog this year, and for the first time, I’ve published several excellent guest blogger’s posts. Along with everyone else, the COVID pandemic was top of mind for me, and that was reflected in the themes of my writing.
As a way to review this year, below are the top posts of 2020 on this blog. If you haven’t had a chance to read these articles yet, this might be an interesting time to do so.
This is a personal confession with some of my struggles with church and religion, in light of new research published this year on people who are “done.”
This was, by far, the most popular post on the blog this year. It revisits themes of posts I wrote years ago, but seemed to find new popularity – particularly in South Africa – in light of students made to learn at home.
***
Unsplash | Immo Wegmann
Reviewing this year in writing like this makes me wonder about what themes and developments will arise in 2021. Hopefully one of hope!
In the Christian calander, Advent refers to the four Sundays and weeks leading up to the celebration of Christmas. In Latin, Advent means “coming,” and this season provides a window in time for Christians to intentionally dwell in a spirit of longing, hope, and patient waiting and anticipation. In a year of public health crisis, financial and work uncertainty, racial unrest, and political strife, this emphasis strikes a new resonance in our life experience and has the potential to impact us more powerfully than in the past.
As I seek to understand and live out my faith, I find I become consumed, from time to time, with different perspectives and voices. As I look on my bookshelves, for example, I am fondly reminded of times where I have been enamored by the insights of Frederick Buechner, Shane Claiborne, Kathleen Norris, Parker Palmer, Barbara Brown Taylor, and, of course, C. S. Lewis, among others. Recently, I have acquired a new hero: Kate Bowler.
Kate Bowler
Kate has put out a free Advent devotional, and I find I am profoundly drawn in by her thoughts, as she so beautifully and compellingly connects traditional Christian faith with the suffering of this year and this moment. Part of this ability surely stems from her own experience and struggle with as someone who suffers as a stage IV cancer patient, (which she discusses in her amazing TED talk). For example, in the “liturgy” she shared today, Kate invites us to pray:
“blessed are we with eyes open to see the suffering from pandemic danger, sickness and loneliness, the injustice of racial oppression, the unimpeded greed and misuse of power, violence, intimidation, and use of dominance for its own sake, the mockery of truth, and disdain for weakness or vulnerability, and worse, the seeming powerlessness of anyone trying to stop it.
blessed are we who despair for our democracy, and ask: what can we do to protect it?
blessed are we who ask: where are you God? and where are Your people the smart, sane, and sensible ones who fight for good?”
***
As I meditate on these words, I am stunned by the realization of how much pain this year I have consciously or unconsciously tried to suppress. I feel my perspective broadened and made more whole by inviting and welcoming “eyes to see” those who are sick, lonely, and oppressed. I recognize, afresh, the extent to which truth, weakness, and vulnerability are being mocked, and how that makes all the problems we’re facing worse. I appreciate the despairing concern for our democracy and world. And, I agonize over why “God’s people” so often are part of these problems, and why they are not more often involved in the fight for good.
This prayer validates my experience and urges me to have more empathy for those who are struggling right now and do what I can to help. As Kate concludes her “liturgy,” it builds a conviction to “take hold of hope, as protest.”
As we look toward Christmas this year, we do so with a realization that God doesn’t shy away from awfulness (like I tend to do). In fact, God enters in vulnerably – rejected, in the midst of a genocide, and in the humble form of a baby. Emmanuel remains with us, in suffering, and God calls us to be present, in suffering, as well.
As more and more people read this blog, I get increasingly asked by others if they can write a guest post. I have almost always declined, but this post below by Magdalyn Fiore really caught my eye, maybe because I’m a godparent to three wonderful boys but also because I’ve never seen anyone write anything about this topic before. Hope you enjoy!
~Andy
***
It’s Sunday morning and you’re standing at the front of the church beside the baptismal font. The air is cool and the entire building is lit by sunlight shining through stained-glass windows. Everyone in the pews is silent, smiling, and the only sounds you hear are the words coming from the Pastor and the cries of the baby in their careful arms.
“Are you ready to help the parents of this child in their duty as Christian parents?” the Pastor asks.
“We are,” you proclaim.
Congratulations! You have just become a godparent. But what does it mean to be a godparent? What role do godparents play throughout the child’s life, particularly as they grow into young adulthood, when godparents may be needed most?
***
The tradition of godparents, or sponsors, originated in Judaism through the ancient custom of brit milah, a circumcision ceremony after the birth of a baby boy, during which a sandek, or “companion” in Hebrew, would hold the baby. The ceremony of baptism incorporated a similar tradition through godparenting after Christianity emerged. A godparent pledges to act as a life-long support for the baptized infant (or adult) to help them live a Christian life and fulfill religious obligations, such as attending church services and receiving other sacraments. Across different Christian religions, godparents commit to helping raise a child in a religious context, particularly if the child’s parents neglect the responsibility. They vow to be a source of information and guidance throughout their godchild’s entire faith journey, including as the child grows into emerging adulthood.
Emerging adulthood is a period of development roughly between the ages of 18 to 25 years, during which time individuals tend to self-explore and self-reflect about many topics, including religion and spirituality. It’s a ripe time to ask questions about the faith tradition they grew up in and its relevance as they transition into adulthood. But as emerging adults begin to question and explore religion, their relationships with their godparents often don’t live up to their original promise, with godparents frequently abandoning the opportunity and responsibility to spiritually mentor their older godchild.
According to developmental scientist, Caitlin Faas, many emerging adults don’t even know who their godparents are, and the relationship is often overshadowed by other roles the godparent plays in the person’s life, such as aunt or uncle. At best, the young person might receive an extra present from a godparent at Christmas or on a birthday, but something deeper and more meaningful rarely emerges.
“Emerging adults are questioning their own religiosity more,” Faas says. In fact, according to the National Longitudinal Study of Adolescent to Adult Health, 40% of young adults experience either a definitive or temporary decline in religiosity between adolescence through young adulthood, while just 10% report an increase in their religiosity. “So as that’s happening,” Faas continues, “do they feel like it’s a safe space to talk to their godparent about that?” She adds that as godchildren grow older, godparents—and older adults in general—don’t have clear societal roles laid out for how to connect with that age group, and that we tend to think 20-year-olds don’t want to talk to their godparents. “They probably do,” she assures. “But are you going out of your way to reach out to them?”
Unsplash | Ben White
In many cases, this hesitation to reach out to godchildren as they age may reflect something about the godparents’ own religiousness and spirituality, Faas says. “Are godparents able to have those difficult conversations about spirituality with their godchildren who are 20? Will they take the time to figure out what their own spirituality means? Most adults haven’t even figured it out – if you really want to get deep into, ‘Well, why do you go to church?’ Can most adults answer that question?” To truly be prepared for deep spiritual discussions, Faas urges, godparents must be open to hard questions and dig deeper into their own religious and spiritual convictions and behaviors.
Emerging adults don’t always know where to turn for answers to their complex questions, especially when their godparents are not practicing the faith or are not involved in their life. According to a national study conducted by Springtide Research Institute (The State of Religion & Young People 2020), more than 1 in 4 individuals aged 13 to 25 know only one or fewer adults they can go to when they need to talk. Looking even closer, only 50% of those who don’t have any adult mentors say their life is meaningful and has purpose; however, when young people have just one mentor, 70% say their life has meaning and purpose. This percentage continues to increase overwhelmingly the more mentors a young person has, which reflects the importance of trusted adults in their lives, especially as they seek belonging and navigate questions regarding meaning and identity.
Last week, I stumbled upon an opportunity to join a Zoom book club in South Africa in which famed Yale theologian, Miroslav Volf, agreed to participate. I’ve admired Volf for years, beginning with this interview in which he expounds upon some of his ideas about religion, genocide, and violence. I ultimately featured many of his insights in this piece I wrote about Christianity and the Holocaust.
To my surprise and delight, there were only a handful of people in the zoom call, which gave me stunning access to Volf. My daughter joined me over lunch, and we ended up discussing themes raised related to Christianity, genocide, racism, and social justice.
Miroslav Volf
What most struck me during this discussion was a comment Volf made, in passing, which I paraphrase to the best of my memory here: “Every time I post to social media, I pray: ‘Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.‘” The thought was that, if the message to be sent didn’t line up with this prayer, Volf would change it, but if it did line up, the prayer was for the message to have this intended effect.
“The higher goal of spiritual living is not to amass a wealth of information, but to face sacred moments.” (Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel)
***
The year 2020 will go down in history as a year of public health, economic, and societal crisis. Much less acknowledged, however, is the profound emotional and spiritual malaise* many people feel. In fact, in the United States, emotional distress is three times higher than previous years and happiness is at a near 50-year low.
For many of us, something seems “off.” Perhaps this feels like a sense that something is vaguely “missing,” or maybe we “long” for something more or different. Probably many of us have grown “numb” to these feelings over the past several months – without fully realizing it. We may not understand why we’re feeling the way we do or appreciate how much our inner lives really have changed.
***
It’s with all this in mind that I’ve been reflecting on some new research published this week in the journal Psychology of Religion and Spirituality.
In this study, 2,889 participants were asked about the frequency with which they generally experience “sacred moments” in their everyday lives. Specifically, individuals were instructed to rate, on a scale of 1 (never / not at all) to 5 (very often), how often they experience:
“a moment that felt set apart from everyday life,”
“a moment… that was really real,”
“a moment in which all distractions seemed to melt away,”
“a deep sense of connection with someone or something,”
“a sense of uplift,” and
“a sacred moment.”
Results from this research show that individuals’ experiences of sacred moments predicted “higher levels of positive emotions and greater presence of meaning, as well as lower levels of perceived stress, depressed distress, and anxious distress.”
***
What is it about “sacred moments,” as defined and measured in the above study, that might be most essential, that might be most involved in predicting higher well-being? When I consider the scale items mentioned above, the one that stands out most focuses on moments of deep “connection with someone or something.” I imagine that deep experiences of connection drive the sense that moments feel “set apart from everyday life” and “really real,” for instance.
My core identity remains deeply Christian. However, after 48 years of attending church at least once per week (almost without exception, even during college), I am – at least temporarily – “done” with the local church.
Part of this stems from the era of COVID-19. At the same time my family and I try to do what we feel is responsible in preventing further spread of the virus, others in our area see no problem with in-person worship, contributing to a new sense of disconnection.
Even if COVID-19 never happened, though, I still might be “done.” For years, although I earnestly joined with others in my local church community to recite the same creed and prayers of the Christian faith and to pour my heart into collective worship and service, I often – ironically enough – had the sense we didn’t share the same worldview or many of the same values. I never felt comfortable attending the men’s Bible study because I believed my questions or divergent thoughts would not be welcome. Maybe this is an aside – or maybe not – but my kids never significantly connected with anyone in the church’s youth program either. As time passed, I realized we didn’t really have a place at that table.
I’m not happy about being “done.” I feel failure… isolation… and profound loss. I’ve described this split as being like “divorce.” And, yet, in my brokenness, I also feel some degree of new freedom.
***
The first time I heard of a religious “done” was when I was in a meeting with my colleague, Josh Packard, Sociologist at the University of Northern Colorado, Executive Director of Springtide Research Institute, and author of “Church refugees: Sociologists reveal with people are DONE with church but not their faith.” The term “done” is a play on words, referencing the more common term religious “nones,” the broader, growing group of individuals in the developed world who express no religious affiliation.
As the number of cases of COVID-19 continues to increase in our region, I continue to think of this excellent article from Christian Century. It challenges the presumption that the most productive metaphor for what we’re doing as a society is “waging war against the virus,” and instead raises some very thought-provoking questions:
Christopher Sardegna | Unsplash
“What will it mean for our country and world to live well with this pandemic?”
“Will we be patient and kind?”
Will we be able to truthfully accept and faithfully bear this tragedy, even as we try to conquer it?”
“How will we care for those who cannot be cured – a question made painfully difficult by the six or more feet of space that separates the dying from their families?”
“How well will we grieve – privately in our own homes, locally in shifts of ten, and collectively as a human race?”
The Quest for a Good Life 