WILMINGTON — I am preparing to celebrate my 34th birthday in September. This year I do so with the growing realization that by this time next year I will not qualify as a “young adult” by anyone's estimation.
That is, I won't be a young adult by anyone's estimation except for in organized religion.
I sit on the cusp between two generations. Generally, those of us born in 1976 are considered part of the tail end of Generation X. But by some definitions we find ourselves at the very beginning of Generation Y.
Whichever way you look at it, though, we are members of two of the least religious generations that anyone can recall.
By some accounts, up to 20 percent of Generation X-ers and 26 percent of Generation Y-ers have no religious affiliation whatsoever.
Compare that to the “Greatest Generation.” When the same question was asked of them in their 20s, only 5 percent reported no affiliation.
Clearly, organized religion matters less and less to folks my age, which makes it odd that I have devoted my life to it. At the age of 21, I entered the seminary. At 25, I was ordained. And now, at 34, I am the pastor of two United Church of Christ congregations in Windham County.
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My friends think I am crazy. It's not that they do not believe in anything. Ask most of them about their belief system, though, and they will tell you something like, “I'm spiritual but not religious.”
They actually are spirit-filled people, but they're people who just don't see a place for themselves in a local church, synagogue, mosque or temple.
But who can blame them?
The few religious outreaches that exist for young adults, particularly beyond high-school age, are mostly focused on “Orthodox” belief or finding a spouse. There are few that welcome seekers, respect their questions, and deal with the rough edges of faith.
In general, young adults are left to journey on their own through the landscape of belief. I was one of the fortunate ones. Once I started college, I found mentors who were not only okay with me asking questions, but who encouraged it.
They taught me that religion could be a place where acceptance, intellectual freedom, and social transformation were all the norm. They journeyed with me over rocky terrain as I wrestled with faith and discerned my call to the ministry.
I know my experience is atypical for my age group, though. Most of my friends have had either negative encounters with organized religion or no encounters at all.
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I can't deny that organized religions, in many cases, do nothing to welcome younger people into their congregations, but it takes a willingness on both sides.
It always surprises me to see the hostility shown toward religion by otherwise open-minded people. I have been at civil-rights rallies and meetings where tolerance has been the order of the day, yet I have heard open hatred of churches and other religious institutions.
I cannot deny that many horrible things have been done in the name of organized religion. Clearly they have, and that cannot be forgotten.
But religion cannot be dismissed out of hand as intrinsically irrelevant or, worse, harmful.
There are several different theories on the root of the word “religion.” One is that it comes from the Latin word religare - literally, “to bind back.” In other words, to bind one not just to one's self but also to a community that believes in something greater than itself.
At its heart, when done right, this is a very good thing.
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So when I hear my friends saying “I'm spiritual, not religious,” I think about two things.
First, we are all spiritual. We were created as spiritual beings, so of course we are spiritual people. To say you are spiritual is nothing new. One can be spiritual whether or not one is religious.
But the thing that concerns me is what it means to be spiritual and to not have a spiritual community.
Religious community functions as a support system, a discernment group, and (when done well) as a vehicle for action. One may be able to live out a spiritual path without a spiritual community, but how much easier is it when surrounded by others on the same journey?
One thing I know about my generation, which I also know about myself, is that we sometimes prefer to be Lone Rangers. We trust in our own voices and our own experiences.
That is not a bad thing in itself. But it becomes questionable when we refuse to let others in as well.
I would ask this to my peers who claim the “spiritual, but not religious” label: What are you missing by journeying alone? And because you have chosen to journey alone, who is missing out on your voice? Religious communities need young voices now more than ever. Is yours missing?
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This fall, I am working with students at a local college as their spiritual life advisor. In that position I am not attempting to convert anyone to my faith, nor any other religious community.
Rather, my goal is to help them listen to their spiritual voices and find the place to which they are being called. My hope is that if they feel called to a religious community of any kind, they will not fear that call, but rather embrace it.
One of the things I love about my generation is our ability to claim our own path. I hope that my peers will be able to claim their own as well, even if it takes them to the doors of a house of worship.