Graffiti (“Who needs you?” “Not so high-and-mighty now, are you?” “Serves you right!”) cover its once-majestic walls. It used to be so beautiful, so solid, but these days it’s crumbling from neglect — gutters hanging, stained glass windows broken. No one seems to want to take responsibility for it.
Actually, I’m talking about a word here, and the word is religion (cue the boos), that ancient bastion of truth now ridiculed by believers and non-believers alike.
Well, call me passe; call me stodgy even; but I think the word is worth saving. It just needs some sprucing up.
For a few years now, more and more people have described themselves as “spiritual, but not religious,” and churches (though not all would identify themselves as such) have been quick to take up the cause. “We’re different. Whatever you think religion is, we’re not. We’re about Jesus. We’re about you.”
The truth is I understand the resistance to the word. Goodness knows religious institutions can too easily become aloof and exclusive and, even worse, in protecting their own interests, they have at times aligned themselves with evil. We have met the enemy, as Pogo would say, and too often it has been us.
So, I get it. But if you are among the growing number of people who believe you can follow Jesus without connecting with a church, then at least send a thank-you note to the institutions that, through centuries and across continents, have carried the Gospel you claim.
You can go solo because someone else didn’t. No one is an island. Whether we like it or not, we are connected, and I will even be so bold as to say we, and the world, are the better for the connection.
And if you’re one of my fellow Christians working so hard not to be religious, take a moment, step outside, and look around. Recognize that ancient, rundown, graffiti-covered building? It’s where you live.
I believe the word is worth rehabbing, though I guess it’s best to start from inside. So, what kind of place is this place called religion?
The religion I call home has as its foundation the grace of God revealed in Jesus Christ. The whole structure is shaped by his life, teachings, and salvation, and the Holy Spirit is the mortar holding it together. The religion I call home exists in and for the world God loves.
The religion I call home is remarkably spacious and gracious; it’s bigger than an individual or even a denomination. There is room for preachers in robes and preachers in jeans, for people who sing from hymnals and others who eye screens, for folks who speak in tongues and those who speak ancient creeds and liturgies.
In this word are many dwelling places … though sometimes we forget. Remember those broken windows? The rocks weren’t thrown from outside but from within, usually at a housemate’s head.
And, by the way, if we really trust our own religion, we need not fear the religions of others. The people who call other religions home are our neighbors. I believe the Bible has something to say about those.
I know, I know, it’s just a word, but I hate to see it abused, and I would really hate to lose it. It’s a good word. Truly I believe that the idea so many are fleeing isn’t the word I know. The word I know holds the truth of millennia, sure and certain, but with room enough for doubts.
It is the stuff of poetry and hymns, this word. Contained within it are the choir’s ringing hallelujah and the child’s whispered prayer. So, before you condemn the place altogether, take one more walk around in it. It might be just the word — and home — you’ve been looking for.
[The Rev. Mark Westmoreland is senior pastor of the Fayetteville (Ga.) First United Methodist Church.]
