“I find it best to use [the word ‘spirituality’] as little as possible, following the precedent of our scriptures, which have an aversion to abstractions of any kind, preferring to use stories and metaphors that keep us involved and participating in what is right before us.” —Eugene Peterson
“Spirituality” is not a word I use very often. For one thing, it’s a word that can mean whatever people want it to mean, so maybe it doesn’t mean much at all. In my experience, anybody who believes any darned thing can claim to be spiritual, even if (to me) they seem to believe only in their own importance.
I’ve also observed that people who don’t believe in anything can still claim to be spiritual. In fact, I’ve known some atheists who claimed to be spiritual people. I’m not sure why they would want to make such a claim, but they do. Don’t ask me to explain it. I suspect it has something to do with how they define the word “spiritual”. You know, that word that can mean whatever people want it to mean.
And here’s another thing: I don’t talk about spirituality much because I believe that so-called “Christian spirituality” is dirt simple to understand. It’s not rocket science. Christian spirituality goes something like this: “Jesus is Lord. I’m not.”
Simple to understand, yes. But not easy to put into practice. That’s the challenge.
Most Christians are still working on that. I mean, they have to. They believe in Jesus, yes. But that means they must now choose to make Jesus the Lord of their lives, not just in words but in the reality of living. They are engaged in a long, slow process of transformation, maturation, and learning. So it kind of makes sense that real Christians would never go around claiming to be “spiritual”. Which is why I prefer not to.
“Spirituality is not about ends or benefits or things; it’s about means. It’s about how you do this. How do you live in reality?” —Eugene Peterson
You hear some people say: “I’m spiritual, but I’m not religious.” What does that mean, exactly? When I hear people say that, I just assume they are confused. I also assume they are trying (but failing) to sound sophisticated or enlightened.
Over the years, a few people have asked me to be their “spiritual director”. I always decline. First of all, I don’t have the “training” for it. But more than that, I don’t want to have monthly meetings with people to talk about how they feel, or how they pray, or how they doubt, or how they conceive of God, or how they sin. I think such fabricated conversations are not very helpful, not very real. I have no problem with listening to people in the confessional and offering feedback and support to them. And I love to explore ideas with other people, and to even share personal stories. But I don’t want to get drawn into somebody’s self-absorption. Christian “spirituality” is all about self-forgetfulness. So I’m not a big fan of this formalized thing we call “spiritual direction”.
With that in mind, let me just say that the best so-called “spiritual director” I ever had was NOT a monk or a priest or a self-help guru. No, he was a Marine gunnery sergeant. Back in the day, when I was young and strong and maybe even handsome, I attended Naval Aviation Officer Candidate School (AOCS). Our mentors were Marine drill instructors. For fourteen weeks, they pushed us, pushed us some more, ran us, drilled us, confused us, cussed us out, called us profane names, got in our faces, humiliated us, wore us down, stressed us out, made us do nonsensical things, and forced us to keep going when we thought we were ready to quit. The result: We got stronger physically and mentally.
For heart-related medical reasons I was unable to complete the flight training that followed AOCS. Even so, I will always be grateful for experiencing AOCS itself. By the end of that initial program, I had more confidence, more drive, more clarity, and more discipline. I had learned the joy of striving to achieve a hard goal. I had learned the value of perseverance, and of raising my own standards to get it done. I had learned the importance of being passionate about life and the living of it. I had learned the importance of standing up to my fears and uncertainties. I had learned that it is better to take responsibility for my own actions and choices rather than to act like a pathetic victim. I had learned to value sacrifice, brotherhood, loyalty, and duty. And, speaking personally, the whole experience taught me a lot about faith and hope. I’m serious about that.
Maybe you’re thinking there was nothing “spiritual” about that training. Well, okay. But you might want to consider the possibility that you’re still confusing spirituality with navel-gazing.
Christians have to learn to wait. There was a time when I didn’t believe that. Years ago I was one of those Christians who insisted that God’s job was to give me “heaven on earth”. I thought my life was supposed to be filled with blessings. Right here. Right now. Name it and claim it. Health, wealth, and comfort. For me, God was something like a genie who grants wishes.
A couple of teachers taught me I was wrong about all that. The first teacher was the Bible itself. I began to notice that God’s prophets and apostles had to endure hardships. They often had to go where they didn’t want to go. They often had to do what they didn’t want to do. They were often misunderstood, mocked, and even hated. They were typically poor and tired. And they were often afraid. In other words, they had to deal with challenges of every kind. Yet they persevered because they believed God would have the last word. And, of course, the best example of perseverance was Jesus himself. Obvious, right? But it took me a long time to see it. Bottom line: No “heaven on earth”.
The second teacher was my own lived experience. Once I began to experience challenges in my young life, I had to change the way I thought about God. No longer could I view him as a kind of heavenly genie. I began to understand that he would journey with me through all of life’s challenges, but he wouldn’t make those challenges disappear. So I would have to deal with “trials”, just like everyone else. I would have to live with the consequences of my choices, just like everyone else. I wouldn’t get a “free pass” just because I happened to be a Christian. In fact, God would actually use my trials to make me tougher and stronger. That is the way of the Christian disciple, no matter what some obnoxious TV preacher might say.
Back then, the world was not enough for me. And that’s still true for me today. But I’ve learned that I will have to wait to see Paradise. In the meantime, I won’t expect my earthly journey to be without challenges. And, to tell the truth, I’m not even sure I’d want it to be that way. For the followers of Christ, challenges can actually become blessings. Usually we won’t like those challenges. Mostly, we won’t understand them. But that’s the way it works.
“When I talk with Catholics who have left the Church, the number one reason I get that they left was poor preaching. This is especially true of those who left for the Evangelical Churches. Catholic priests as a group have the reputation of being poor preachers.” —Msgr Charles Pope
“Let’s face it, we have known for decades that the average Catholic judges his or her experience of Mass by the quality of the music and the homily. So why haven’t we mastered both of these? Would we be compromising ourselves in any way if people came away from church on Sunday truly inspired by the music and the homily?” —Matthew Kelly
I suspect that some Catholic priests and deacons won’t like what I’m going to say in this essay. I also suspect that many Catholic laypeople will think: “It’s about time somebody said this.” Either way, I’m going to go ahead and say it, because I need to get it off my chest.
Let me start with a quote from Yves Congar:
“If in one country Mass were celebrated for 30 years without preaching and in another, there was preaching for 30 years without Mass, people would be more Christian in the country where there was preaching.”
Now, we can debate the truth of that statement all day long, but, to my mind, Fr Congar is saying something that is purposely provocative just to get us to take the task of preaching more seriously. He’s trying to get us to understand that preaching homilies is not just some minor inconvenience or some disposable afterthought. The opposite is true, and Congar is trying to get us to see that, to understand that.
We all know that praying at the Altar is the most important thing that a parish priest can do. But if we’re talking about growing and strengthening parishes, then preaching good Sunday homilies is the most effective thing that a parish priest can do. Sorry, but in the real world, that’s just the way it is, and quoting from some church document won’t change that. If you’re a parish priest or deacon, and you still don’t understand how important your preaching is, then you haven’t been paying attention, and you certainly haven’t been listening to what laypeople everywhere have been trying to tell us. If you’re a humdrum preacher, your parishioners may tolerate you, but that’s about the best you can hope for. They’ve already tuned you out. That’s not just the way it is, that’s the way it has always been.
So if the content of your homilies and your “preaching skills” are not up to par, then you should work hard to improve. If you regularly talk at your people rather than to them, you need to learn a new method. You need to acquire some self-awareness. If your preaching lacks passion and real-world relevance, you should put in the time and the effort necessary to become a better preacher, even if that means you’ll have less time for skipping out on your parish or running off to the next seminar or dealing with all those hellish bureaucratic tasks.
Priests and deacons, this should be our priority—yours and mine. We should make it our intention to become the best preachers we can be, even if this means we might make other clergy look mediocre by comparison. The same thing applies to all the other sacramental and liturgical tasks that Catholic clergy must do, but preaching is Job One. Preaching is that important because that’s where parish renewal can actually begin.
St John Chrysostom and St Peter Chrysologus, pray for us.
The psychologist Jordan Peterson once said: “I don’t think people believe what they say they believe. I think they believe what they act out.”
This is not a new idea. We’ve all heard the old sayings: “Talk is cheap” and “Actions speak louder than words”.
But how does all this square with our Catholic faith? Pretty well, actually. Jesus said: “A sound tree cannot bear bad fruit, nor can a bad tree bear good fruit. Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. Thus you will know them by their fruits. (Mt 7:18-20).”
I’m a big “freedom guy”. I’ve always believed that adults should make their own decisions about the trajectory of their lives. So, yes, do what you want. But let’s at least admit that what we do is the best indicator of what we actually believe. Let’s don’t fool ourselves into thinking that it works any other way. Talk is still cheap. It always was.
“You must be patient, you must wait for the eye of the soul to be formed in you. Religious truth is reached, not by reasoning, but by an inward perception. Anyone can reason; only disciplined, educated, formed minds can perceive.” — St John Henry Newman
Some Christians insist that “The Technique” is the proper way to become a Christian. These folks hold that a person simply has to say a certain prayer, usually referred to as “The Sinner’s Prayer”. Usually it’s a prayer in which converts are to “ask Jesus into their hearts” or accept Jesus as their “personal Lord and Savior”. There are some other variations too, depending on the denomination or non-denomination. So when these technical Christians ask you if you have been “saved” or if you are “born again”, they are asking if you became a Christian by reciting some version of “The Sinner’s Prayer”. In other words, by reciting the “correct” set of words.
But what if you are a Christian who came to faith in Jesus Christ through a slow and intentional process (for example, months of catechesis leading to sacraments of initiation)? Are you really a Christian, then, if you didn’t become a Christian by using The Technique?
Well, The Technique is good in one sense: It acknowledges that Christian commitment is always a choice that has a starting point in a person’s life. What’s not so good about The Technique is it requires that authentic Christian conversion must have an improvised forensic quality. It’s understandable, really. Those who insist on The Technique want exacting precision, not messiness. That way, if you claim to be a Christian, you can offer them “certifiable” evidence that proves you are “saved”.
So they have reduced the act of Christian conversion to the reciting of a certain short prayer composed by somebody or other from some denomination or other. Their approach to Christian conversion takes just a few minutes. Say what they consider to be the right prayer, and they can judge you as legit. Come to Christian faith some other way (especially a traditional, creed-based way with an age-old history), and maybe your standing as a “born again” Christian is questionable.
But here’s the problem: Human experience is always messy, and so human salvation will be messy too. Why? Simply put, because God doesn’t play by our rules, so the God-stuff is never going to be as clean and condensed as the technical Christians want it to be. That’s why the story of salvation requires a Bible, and not a pamphlet.
God is patient with all of us—painstakingly patient. And merciful too. But God will never be constrained by our preference for quick-fix salvation. He accepts us as we are, yes, but then he uses the remainder of our lives to slowly educate us and transform us—that is, if we choose to cooperate with him and persevere in faith, hope, and love. So real salvation is ongoing. It takes a lifetime.
God will always be God, which means he will insist on calling the shots, no matter how misinformed we might be. When misinformed people try to stuff God into one of their innumerable boxes, God simply ignores the boxes. In other words, God sticks to the plan. His plan. Not yours. Not mine. His.
Not convinced? Well, try reading the Gospels and the Acts of the Apostles. Only this time, pay really close attention to what’s going on there.
“You can’t go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the ending.” —CS Lewis
Do I believe that God sometimes sends us miraculous signs? Yes, absolutely. But I also believe that miraculous signs need to be verified through impartial investigations—the kind based on Occam’s Razor. That’s not a lack of faith. That’s an act of discernment. If we don’t use discernment, we could be fooled.
My earliest experience with Christianity came by way of the “Charismatic Jesus People Movement” in the early 1970s. You know, that emotional and bombastic version of Christianity that attracted a lot of hippies. However, my fascination with that movement was short-lived. I witnessed a lot of dubious claims regarding so-called “tongues” and “prophesying” and “healings”. I was just a high school student back in those days, but over time I began to get a sense that, eventually, I would have to leave those charismatic churches.
And that day did arrive. As much as I wanted to deny it, I had recognized the charismatic stuff for what it was: Good people, desperate for a sensational encounter with God, acting out their delusions. So, sadly, I had to walk away.
But here’s the interesting thing: I never abandoned my faith in Jesus Christ. Somehow, I held on to that. I wasn’t rejecting Jesus. I was rejecting the kinds of churches that I had been attending. Consequently, I became one of those “church-less” Christians.
Early on during my period of church-less wandering, it dawned on me that I didn’t know anything about real Christianity. I still wanted to believe that there might be such a thing. But I had no knowledge of Christian history. I had no concept of Christian tradition. I knew nothing of Christian theology and philosophy. I knew nothing of ecclesiology. I knew nothing about how Christian doctrine had developed over the centuries. I had no idea where the Bible came from. I had no acquaintance with modern biblical criticism. And, at that point, I was only just beginning to learn about something called “critical thinking”.
From the Gospel accounts, I knew that Jesus had founded a Church. I knew that Jesus had chosen the Apostles to be the leaders of his Church. But I had no idea what Christ’s Church actually was, or even if that Church still existed out there among all the “denominations” and “non-denominations”. I had no strategy for finding the answer, and I had no one that I could trust to guide me (at the time).
All I had was prayer and a Bible. But I wasn’t even sure I could trust my own interpretations of the Bible, because I had seen how the Bible could be twisted to say whatever a person wanted it to say. Even so, I knew instinctively that if I wanted to discover real Christianity, I would have to base my explorations on actual analysis, not emotions or impulses or personal preferences or peer pressure or wishful thinking.
So I set off in search of The Church. It seemed like a logical place to start, and I wondered why I hadn’t thought of it sooner. Little did I know that my search would last for ten years.
I was cynical about churches in general by that time. I didn’t want to be fooled by religious hucksters or deluded church leaders. Since I didn’t know what I was doing, I started with a simple approach: If God is the source of Truth, then before I could consider joining any church, I would have to test that church’s claims and doctrines to see if they had merit. And there was one more super-important thing I would have to do. I would have to examine that church’s history (When did it start? Who started it and why?). So as a young man, that’s what I decided to do. I mean, how hard could it be? Right?
This all started around the time I began studies at college. To be honest, I often had to grope through the darkness, and, above all, I had to be very patient. I floated through various churches and Bible studies during that time and even before it, but I never remained for long in any of them. I could never really claim any of them as my own. They were blessedly free of charismatic excesses, but they were lacking in something else. I wasn’t even sure what it was. I just sensed that there was something missing, some “deepness” that I could not name.
It took time to parse out the answers (and the questions), so I often had to learn to be content with waiting. For me, that was the challenging and uncomfortable part. The waiting. Looking back, I think the waiting itself was actually teaching me something. The process was leading me somewhere, yes, but the process itself was a lesson.
Okay, let’s stop there. Let’s fast-forward to today, shall we? Otherwise, this essay is going to drag on forever. As I’m writing all this, it’s been almost fifty years since I made that decision to go church-less. Was that a good move? Yes, it was. It was a move I needed to make back then—a necessary move.
I can sum it up like this: Although my quest was never easy, it did bear fruit. The more I dug into things, the more I was astonished by my own ignorance. I mean, I was so clueless back in the day. Even so, because I was playing the long game, I was able to keep slogging through. I made many surprising discoveries along the way. I learned many things. New things. I was able to find answers to many of my questions, and sometimes I was even able to figure out what the right questions were.
And then one day I finally stumbled upon a new and unexpected trajectory for my life—one that met all of my criteria. That’s another story, of course, and it’s an even longer one. Let me just say that I did find what I was looking for. And as of today I haven’t been church-less for a long, long time.
Let me repeat that in case you missed it: I did find what I was looking for. And as of today I haven’t been church-less for a long, long time.
Well, that’s all I have for now. Thinking and writing are tiring for an old man. So I’ll close by offering you a bit of take-it-or-leave-it advice: If you’re a committed Christian, keep asking questions about your faith, your church’s history, your church’s doctrines, your church’s practices, your Bible, your assumptions, your leaders and their qualifications, etc. And don’t think that God will be bothered by your questions. He won’t.
Seek truth. Get answers. Play the long game.