Although I myself confess to the title of "cleric," I recognize in these definitions--even the rather odd third item--the dualism so prevalent in our society, which suggests that "spirituality" is something separate from the material world around us. My life-experience, as well as my work in the realm of "spirituality," has taught me quite otherwise. It has taught me, for one thing, that everybody has a "spirituality," and, secondly, that the "church" often has little to do with it.
If I were asked to define "spirituality," I would do it through metaphor, since the very word itself contains a metaphor: "spirituality" derives from the Latin word spiritus which means "life." Spirituality, then, has to do with what gives life to our lives. What gives you energy? What provides meaning to life? What is the framework that helps you make decisions? Spirituality is the connecting thread in the tapestry, the glue that holds together the collage, the breath that brings an inert body to life. If you were a "spirituality detective," your best clues to people's "spiritualities" would be gathered by watching behavior. How do people use their time? How do they decide ethical issues? What excites them?
These clues can provide some surprising answers, ranging from money, power, and fame to compassion, creativity, and connection. The people concerned may not even be aware of their true "spiritualities", since we human beings are complicated creatures. Wealthy TV evangelists in a luxurious stage-setting preach the message that to follow Jesus (who actually held the poor and the outcast in highest esteem) will bring them worldly success. C.E.O.s who would insist that their family comes first spend little time at home. Politicians who label themselves "compassionate" propose policies that destroy the well-being of women and the environment. We are all flawed when it comes to self-knowledge.
Our spiritualities are motivated by our vision of who we are as individual human beings, and who we are in relation to what is beyond us, both the earthly "beyond", and the divine. The great world religions give us some help in thinking about these things, but even if we are disciples of a particular faith, our spirituality itself is formed in dialogue with it.
I, for example, was raised in the Episcopal Church from the time I was taken to Sunday School at the age of five. But even before that, I was influenced by parents who gave their children abundant love and extended that love to the natural world. I found great joy in being outdoors, climbing trees, and exploring the meadows and woodlands that were close at hand. As I grew older, I also found increasing satisfaction in the arts: in playing the piano, dancing, drawing, and writing. In my twenties, I began reading the mystics both of Christianity and of other religions. I recognized in them soul-friends who, like me, saw the "beyondness" in everything. Our two children, as I watched them grow (and later, the young children I taught), reminded me of the freshness of childhood and the necessity of continuing to see the world and its creatures with wonder.
In my forties, I was already beginning to struggle intellectually with the institutional church, which seemed to me to be stuck in an outmoded theology which did not include the larger world. So it was a tremendous surprise when, at the very center of my being, I discerned a "pull" to ordained ministry in the Episcopal Church. In the midst of my frustration with the church, I was presented with two paths: one took me out of institutional religion entirely, and one led me both into its heart and also to its farthest boundaries, in order to become an agent of change.
It is a divine irony--or perhaps divine justice--that one so initially critical of Christian spirituality is now identified, through my books and retreat work, with Christian spirituality! In this threshold time for the human race and the planet, I continue to hope that my work both within the church and outside it will contribute something to people's understanding of themselves and the world.
Paradoxically, the Christian spiritual tradition contains within itself not only what I consider to be misconceptions about human nature and the natural environment, but also a theology which can dispel those misconceptions. In my work, I have tried to express--in language that church people will understand but which can also be relevant to all seekers--a way of looking at the world that will contribute to the planet's future health: in other words, a "sustainable spirituality." Hebrew and Christian scriptures alike provide ways to speak about what is, in the end, inexpressible.
For example, in the earliest Hebrew creation story, God is pictured as a sculptor, taking earth (adamah), making a human form, and breathing ruach (the divine breath) into it. The result is adam--literally "earthling!" We ourselves are earth, animated by the divine life-breath. This creature, the human being, is a unity, a "bodyspirit." Lest this go to our heads, the metaphor reminds us that we a part of the earth, not "apart from" it, and that God looked upon all creation, not just ourselves, as "good." The experience of our bodies and the experience of our spirits is one experience, as most of us know, and can never be separated.
In these early Hebrew stories, God gives the human being "dominion over" nature. Because God did not speak the language of the King James Bible, environmentally concerned translators have been swift to offer substitutes for that annoying concept--stewardship, shepherding, caring for. We need, however, to accept the fact that the early nomadic storytellers were, for the most part, unable to conceive of the damage that our "dominion" would ultimately cause. The story of Adam and Eve and the apple can help us here, as surely the "original sin" in question is our innate self-centeredness and consequent refusal to be obedient to the patterns of creation.
The rest of the Bible is the continuing story of the tension between human self-centeredness and obedience to what was understood as the voice of God. The latter varies according to its historical context. Sometimes, chillingly, it has to do with the Hebrew tribes' refusal to kill every man, woman, and child in a city they have captured. Sometimes it has to do with disobeying the ritual laws of purity, many of which seem ridiculous to the modern mind. We can better relate to the prophets, angry at political corruption and social cruelty, who continue to remind the people that obedience has to do with the heart "in tune with" the divine will for justice and the well-being of human society.
With Jesus, an even stronger voice is heard on behalf of justice and love. His life seemed to his followers to be an expression of God's healing love, so that Christians have seen him ever since as an embodiment (or "Incarnation") of God. This belief, at its best, provides a convincing rationale for the idea that God cares about the world--and that we should, as well.
Jesus' subsequent followers, from Crusaders to Inquisitors to the misnamed "Religious Right," have often misinterpreted what caring about the world meant, but, for those who consider his message thoughtfully, the challenge to embody our own spirituality in action is undeniable.
The great spiritual teachers of all eras have always insisted that our spirituality can never be merely a private experience, but that it inevitably affects how we live in the world. If that is so, it is obvious that our present environmental crisis may be mislabeled. As we do the detective work on the "spiritualities" behind those life-styles and decisions that damage our planet, we will realize that it is ideas--and hearts--that need to be changed, before behavior can change. It is not, first of all, an environmental crisis: it is a spiritual one.
Nancy Roth has been an Episcopal priest for almost twenty years, a writer since first grade, and a lover of the environment since she was a toddler.
©2001 Talking Leaves
Summer/Fall 2001
Volume 11, Number 2
Spirituality, Religion, and Ritual