Feelin’ woozy lately?
These days the big, nagging, turbulent questions come far too easily for my liking:
How do you jettison religion, while holding onto your faith?
How do you uncover the precious kernel of truth hidden beneath cumbersome layers of tradition and dogma and doctrine?
How do you follow Jesus when you no longer feel like a cohesive part of His Church?
Turns out, it ain’t easy.
Over the past couple of years I’ve met more people than I can count, who say that they have a deep desire to know God, a hunger as great as ever to find a life of faith that means more than just an hour on Sunday—but that Sunday’s the very thing that’s standing in their way.
It’s like a song on the radio that you’ve heard so many times, you’ve almost lost the ability to really hear it; the strained refrain of a frustrated multitude:
“I want God, but I’ve had it with organized religion.”
Maybe it’s a song you’ve been singing. I know it’s been in heavy rotation in my heart these days too.
The problem is, once you come to terms with this reality; that the very institution of God has become a barrier to experiencing the presence of God, you realize just how much of that institution is in you.
The more you begin to try and prune away the cumbersome dead wood of history and ritual and materialism and opulence from your religion, the more of yourself you begin to lose—and much of it you’ve grown quite comfortable with.
Organized religion in America is seductive.
It offers us lots of stuff our consumeristic hearts really want in our spiritual pursuits: structure, order, consistency, reliability, security. Unfortunately, those are quite often the very things we need to let go of, if are to move closer to the wild, dangerous, unpredictable place where God is.
And so before we even attempt this letting-go and reclaiming, we have to deal with the keester-kicking truth that “Organized Religion” hasn’t done anything to us as much as it has done something with us, because we’ve been a part of it.
This crime’s been an inside job.
In fact, the only terrible thing organized religion has done to us—is to reflect us.
It’s given us exactly what we’ve wanted; a cushy, comfortable place to experience a neutered, tamed God who will let us into Heaven, and make our lives here a little easier while we’re waiting (with ample parking, a great Children’s ministry, and a coffee bar to boot). We’ve gotten everything we’ve asked for from religion in America—and now we’re angry about it.
So to somehow leave this thing behind now; to move away from the oppressive, restrictive baggage of traditional church, still feels like a loss. It’s still more like falling than flying, at first.
It’s dizzying for both individuals and communities to try to navigate a life of faith with so much feeling unstable; stuff you used to take as a sturdy, solid given. Even if in your heart, you thought the answers you’d been handed in your faith tradition were often far too easy back then; they were more comforting than nothing, so you went with them.
“Disorganized Religion” stirs-up everything…
Church.
Community.
Worship.
Tradition.
Theology.
Scripture.
Creed.
Prayer.
Everything.
It all becomes fair game once the falling-up begins. And with it, the questions come:
How much community is enough and where do I find it?
How do I teach my children about God and faith and religion?
What do I rely on to filter truth for me; if not a denomination, or a pastor, or even the Bible?
How much of the tradition is healthy and worth holding onto, and how much of it is weighing me down?
How do I find Jesus beneath all the stuff time and history have covered him in?
As all these questions begin bouncing around inside your head, it all starts to feel more than a little “disorganized”.
And as you lose some integral parts of yourself while trying to leave the unhealthy parts of organized religion behind, you end-up moving ahead as one who has sustained a traumatic brain injury, learning how to walk all over again.
Going forward now becomes as much about how you think, as it is about how you move.
There’s pain and discomfort and frustration, and there are lots and lots of missteps, but ultimately there’s beauty in the work and the journey and the small victories.
If you’re frustrated with organized religion you’re not alone. Most of us are, to one degree or another.
To everyone out there who is stumbling toward a new way to believe and be in community with other believers, be encouraged.
Disorganized Religion can be disorienting religion too, but that’s only because you’ve been upside-down for so long.
