During my lunch with the Root and Branch Church in Chicago, a question came up from one of the members: Why do we (the Root and Branch Church) read these Christian stories instead of, say, Jewish stories, or Greek stories by Homer? If we are indeed a twenty-first century, progressive, secularly open-minded, group, what reason is there (could there possibly be) to choose one tradition’s texts over another's? To distill this question down a bit and turn just slightly around, the query becomes: if we accept that simply being born into a particular religion is not, in this day and age, reason enough to practice that religion, then why be Christian instead of something else? (Back at the beginning of October, Rachael Cohen explicitly asked the same question when discussing her dissatisfaction with aspects of the Jewish community: why be Jewish?)
“There are so many different ways I’ve tried to answer this question in my mind,” says Neil, co-pastor of Root and Branch, “One is the hermeneutical [way] of, ‘well you have to start somewhere, you can’t just start from nowhere.’ But then it’s like, well why here?” He adds, “There’s also a pragmatist way [of]: you find things that work. ‘I think this works, it works for me.’” He stops and thinks for a moment, “But I don’t even have one consistent answer. I have constant doubts like ‘is this totally insane, should I be a Western Buddhist?’”
It’s a question that simmers under the surface in a lot of the communities I’ve been visiting. In some places (as just related), it comes up explicitly. This is especially true amongst the Millennial crowd who’ve been exposed for most of our lives to a progressive culture that celebrates secularism and pluralism. Occasionally this simmering sentiment erupts, and becomes a part of the reasoning that leads many to leave the religious institutions of youth to explore spirituality in other arenas (like out here on the fringe).
Spoiler alert: I don't intend to try to answer this question in this blog post. Just meditate on it out loud for a moment or two.
The Question, More Thoughts
I think, when it comes to this question, it’s worth appreciating for a second how successful pluralistic ideals have been at pervading the modern mind, which is maybe to say: how beautifully contemporary it is. For the majority of history, nobody would ask such a question. You were the religion you were born into. You fought wars for it. This was only something questioned by the most radical minds. And if you were asked, "well, why are you a Protestant?" the answer would most likely be: "because Protestantism is right." These days, in the age of exposure to so many different ways of approaching spirituality, to ask: why be one religion over another is often to imply that actually no religion is more “right” or “correct” than another. The beauty of this is that it acknowledges the truth of pluralism, as I've written about it in this blog: that all the stories are equally lies, or at least not literally true. At its most useful, the confusion that arises from asking the question of "why be [insert religion]?" can lead to a more open, and really vulnerable, engagement between people of different religions, which can deepen the search for meaning across faiths. At its least useful, it can cause endless existential confusion.
Resonance vs. Continuity
Much of the investigatory aspect of this trip to Communities around the country might be called a confrontation with the myriad tensions of finding spiritual meaning in the contemporary world. The question of why be etc. has brought me to a new one (new to me, I should say).
“The religion and service weren’t resonant for me,” is one of the most common things I’ve heard on the road from people who’ve left mainstream religious traditions. And “this really resonates,” is, in that same vein, a pretty ubiquitous phrase among those who’ve comfortably found their spiritual homes, especially outside mainstream traditions.
In the context of vibes, music, and telepathy, it’s a pretty interesting statement as far as reasoning for taking on certain spiritual practices goes. It steeps spiritual identity in personal experience, maybe even the old forgotten faith part of the brain, the one that hits a little deeper than words. This is (to my mind) quite the powerful place for spiritual identity to be found. To say that something resonates means being conscious and aware of oneself enough to recognize this resonance when it occurs. And this is maybe to say: if a particular set of rituals, or a certain liturgy, or a specific methodical approach to finding meaning in daily life resonates - if the sounds and vibrations of these words/practices are strumming those strings of deep feeling within - then they’ve touched on something within the self that hasn’t been numbed or turned cynical by the barrage of bullshit that takes over so much of our daily language. Resonance is, in a word, what I think many of us (if not most of us) are really searching for.
And then, the thing that's so often left behind in the search for resonance? Here we come to the other half of this tension: what I’m calling the continuity of religious tradition. That is, the keeping of liturgy and practice pure and unchanged, as it's been for hundreds, and often thousands, of years.
Of course, it’s possible to find resonance in the continuity of tradition. And many do (myself included). This is because continuity can be a really powerful resonant force, humming deep and low echoes through the chambers of history. When it's not, it's usually because people are instructed - even commanded - to force themselves to find resonance in continuity (which is a pretty nonsensical demand when you think about it a minute), or told that continuity is simply more important than anything else. This may seem strikingly obvious, but I'll say it anyway: When people aren't allowed to search for resonance, they tend not to find it.
When I spent an evening at a meeting of Sufi Muslims in Louisville (which I’ll be writing about next week), a point of significance that was repeated often was the heritage of the Sufi tradition, how it’s come down unsullied over hundreds of years from the prophet Muhammed himself. This is a deeply rooting thought, and feeling rooted is, for me (and probably many others), extremely resonant. To continue in a practice whose history goes so far past one’s own life, and to think that it will continue in this same way for hundreds more years after we’re gone, is really quite comforting. And, I might posit, resonance strikes pretty gracefully in the comforted mind.
Indeed, in this age of secular pluralism, this kind of resonance might be part of what leads modern-minded folk, like the leaders and members of Root and Branch, to make the attempt to reinvigorate the religion of their upbringings, rather than hodge-podging together something completely different and brand new (remember their motto: "Old-time soul searching for open minds.") In this context, the tensions between resonance and continuity become the catalyzing force of spiritual innovation, one that pushes modern religious practice into the mysteries of both past and present, where the vast unknown exists, and the evolving quest for wonder and meaning each day unfolds.
Some Kind of Concluding Thought
Admittedly, this post might lack some narrative stream. I think this is because, despite breaking my spoiler-promise and sort of trying to answer the question in the above section, there really can't be an answer to this question. It's too fundamentally fretful. It's also both essentially youthful, and in many ways, deeply American. The tension of resonance and continuity is but one of lots and lots of answers to be hypothesized and tested over the course of a life that's spent in confrontation with received truths, which is the means of beginning the search for a personal spiritual identity. A search, I'll add, that might always be beginning. This is what makes it youthful (and that’s not to say that it’s a question only for the youth, not by any means).
As to being deeply American, it does seem to be a question in keeping with the heritage of those early American idealists who wanted to escape the pre-conceived aristocratic identities of Old Europe. “Tell me where you come from, and I’ll tell you who you are," was the formulation that Saul Bellow so intensely rejected in the spirit of American liberalism, self-discovery and developing self-definition. This is the way of the "new world." We ask these questions on the cusp of the wave of the present, and once the wave falls back into the water, we ask them again, on the next cusp.
Coming Up Next
An evening spent with a group of Sufis in a little house in Louisville, Kentucky (where else?).
“There are so many different ways I’ve tried to answer this question in my mind,” says Neil, co-pastor of Root and Branch, “One is the hermeneutical [way] of, ‘well you have to start somewhere, you can’t just start from nowhere.’ But then it’s like, well why here?” He adds, “There’s also a pragmatist way [of]: you find things that work. ‘I think this works, it works for me.’” He stops and thinks for a moment, “But I don’t even have one consistent answer. I have constant doubts like ‘is this totally insane, should I be a Western Buddhist?’”
It’s a question that simmers under the surface in a lot of the communities I’ve been visiting. In some places (as just related), it comes up explicitly. This is especially true amongst the Millennial crowd who’ve been exposed for most of our lives to a progressive culture that celebrates secularism and pluralism. Occasionally this simmering sentiment erupts, and becomes a part of the reasoning that leads many to leave the religious institutions of youth to explore spirituality in other arenas (like out here on the fringe).
Spoiler alert: I don't intend to try to answer this question in this blog post. Just meditate on it out loud for a moment or two.
The Question, More Thoughts
I think, when it comes to this question, it’s worth appreciating for a second how successful pluralistic ideals have been at pervading the modern mind, which is maybe to say: how beautifully contemporary it is. For the majority of history, nobody would ask such a question. You were the religion you were born into. You fought wars for it. This was only something questioned by the most radical minds. And if you were asked, "well, why are you a Protestant?" the answer would most likely be: "because Protestantism is right." These days, in the age of exposure to so many different ways of approaching spirituality, to ask: why be one religion over another is often to imply that actually no religion is more “right” or “correct” than another. The beauty of this is that it acknowledges the truth of pluralism, as I've written about it in this blog: that all the stories are equally lies, or at least not literally true. At its most useful, the confusion that arises from asking the question of "why be [insert religion]?" can lead to a more open, and really vulnerable, engagement between people of different religions, which can deepen the search for meaning across faiths. At its least useful, it can cause endless existential confusion.
Resonance vs. Continuity
Much of the investigatory aspect of this trip to Communities around the country might be called a confrontation with the myriad tensions of finding spiritual meaning in the contemporary world. The question of why be etc. has brought me to a new one (new to me, I should say).
“The religion and service weren’t resonant for me,” is one of the most common things I’ve heard on the road from people who’ve left mainstream religious traditions. And “this really resonates,” is, in that same vein, a pretty ubiquitous phrase among those who’ve comfortably found their spiritual homes, especially outside mainstream traditions.
In the context of vibes, music, and telepathy, it’s a pretty interesting statement as far as reasoning for taking on certain spiritual practices goes. It steeps spiritual identity in personal experience, maybe even the old forgotten faith part of the brain, the one that hits a little deeper than words. This is (to my mind) quite the powerful place for spiritual identity to be found. To say that something resonates means being conscious and aware of oneself enough to recognize this resonance when it occurs. And this is maybe to say: if a particular set of rituals, or a certain liturgy, or a specific methodical approach to finding meaning in daily life resonates - if the sounds and vibrations of these words/practices are strumming those strings of deep feeling within - then they’ve touched on something within the self that hasn’t been numbed or turned cynical by the barrage of bullshit that takes over so much of our daily language. Resonance is, in a word, what I think many of us (if not most of us) are really searching for.
And then, the thing that's so often left behind in the search for resonance? Here we come to the other half of this tension: what I’m calling the continuity of religious tradition. That is, the keeping of liturgy and practice pure and unchanged, as it's been for hundreds, and often thousands, of years.
Of course, it’s possible to find resonance in the continuity of tradition. And many do (myself included). This is because continuity can be a really powerful resonant force, humming deep and low echoes through the chambers of history. When it's not, it's usually because people are instructed - even commanded - to force themselves to find resonance in continuity (which is a pretty nonsensical demand when you think about it a minute), or told that continuity is simply more important than anything else. This may seem strikingly obvious, but I'll say it anyway: When people aren't allowed to search for resonance, they tend not to find it.
When I spent an evening at a meeting of Sufi Muslims in Louisville (which I’ll be writing about next week), a point of significance that was repeated often was the heritage of the Sufi tradition, how it’s come down unsullied over hundreds of years from the prophet Muhammed himself. This is a deeply rooting thought, and feeling rooted is, for me (and probably many others), extremely resonant. To continue in a practice whose history goes so far past one’s own life, and to think that it will continue in this same way for hundreds more years after we’re gone, is really quite comforting. And, I might posit, resonance strikes pretty gracefully in the comforted mind.
Indeed, in this age of secular pluralism, this kind of resonance might be part of what leads modern-minded folk, like the leaders and members of Root and Branch, to make the attempt to reinvigorate the religion of their upbringings, rather than hodge-podging together something completely different and brand new (remember their motto: "Old-time soul searching for open minds.") In this context, the tensions between resonance and continuity become the catalyzing force of spiritual innovation, one that pushes modern religious practice into the mysteries of both past and present, where the vast unknown exists, and the evolving quest for wonder and meaning each day unfolds.
Some Kind of Concluding Thought
Admittedly, this post might lack some narrative stream. I think this is because, despite breaking my spoiler-promise and sort of trying to answer the question in the above section, there really can't be an answer to this question. It's too fundamentally fretful. It's also both essentially youthful, and in many ways, deeply American. The tension of resonance and continuity is but one of lots and lots of answers to be hypothesized and tested over the course of a life that's spent in confrontation with received truths, which is the means of beginning the search for a personal spiritual identity. A search, I'll add, that might always be beginning. This is what makes it youthful (and that’s not to say that it’s a question only for the youth, not by any means).
As to being deeply American, it does seem to be a question in keeping with the heritage of those early American idealists who wanted to escape the pre-conceived aristocratic identities of Old Europe. “Tell me where you come from, and I’ll tell you who you are," was the formulation that Saul Bellow so intensely rejected in the spirit of American liberalism, self-discovery and developing self-definition. This is the way of the "new world." We ask these questions on the cusp of the wave of the present, and once the wave falls back into the water, we ask them again, on the next cusp.
Coming Up Next
An evening spent with a group of Sufis in a little house in Louisville, Kentucky (where else?).
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