The Quiet Light of Being Spiritual

More and more these days, I hear from friends and family that they are spiritual, but not religious. What they mean is that they no longer attend churches or synagogues. Whether Catholic, Protestant, Reform or Conservative, Orthodox or Reconstructionist, they’ve stepped away from the walls and rituals of organized religion. But they haven’t stepped away from belief. They still feel something inside, a quiet knowing that there is more to life than meets the eye. They believe in something, though they aren’t always sure what to call it.

Some of them say they are agnostic. They believe there may be a guiding force in the universe, but they don’t claim to know what it is. Others say they are atheists. They are certain there is no God, no divine presence, no spiritual force. They see the universe as simply existing on its own, governed by natural laws and nothing more.

As for me, I call myself agnostic. I don’t know. My childhood whispers to me that there is a God. I was raised to believe in the God of the Bible. For some, that’s the King James Bible. For others, it’s the Old Testament, the Koran, or the sacred texts of other traditions. And in all of these, there is a deep belief in something real and spiritual. Something that gives life meaning.

I think of Rabbi Harold Kushner's book When Bad Things Happen to Good People. It’s a book I’ve read and thought about many times. He lost his son to a terrible illness, and the grief nearly broke him. But in that loss, he did not turn away from God. Instead, he came to understand God differently. Rabbi Kushner suggests that God does not intervene to prevent tragedy, nor does He punish or reward people based on their actions. Instead, He values human free will over divine interference. Thus, as the book's title suggests, bad things can indeed happen to good people. Rather, God is presence. God is love. God is strength in our time of sorrow. And God does not take our loved ones from us.

That makes sense to me. When I lost my wife to pancreatic cancer, I could not believe that God reached down and chose her to die. I could not believe in a God who would do that. I know that terrible things happen. I believe in fate and chance. We make choices. And I know that we can find strength in our grief and our living in kindness and purpose.

We do not need to be religious to live a good life. We do not need to act kindly in order to be judged favorably when we die. We can simply be kind because it is right. We can choose to help others because we care, not because we hope for a reward.

I have friends who live this way. One couple I know had a neighbor who once made their little boy cry with harsh and unkind words. It hurt deeply. But later, that neighbor’s house caught fire and was destroyed. And my friends, without hesitation and without bitterness, opened their home to that family. They moved into a hotel and gave the family a place to stay while they rebuilt their lives. Why? Because it was the right thing to do. They did it not for credit, not for glory, not even for forgiveness. They did it because they are spiritual. They believe in kindness. They believe in helping others. That is what spirituality means.

It means loving your neighbor. It means accepting others. It means giving, even when it is hard. It means practicing what the Buddhists call lovingkindness. It is not about rituals or sermons or belief in heaven or hell. It is about presence. It is about human goodness.

You can be spiritual and not know what God is. You can believe in mystery, and still believe in love. You can be unsure of what guides the stars and still choose to help a stranger. That is what matters.

We are not here to judge. We are here to care. And if we do that, I believe we are living a spiritual life.

That is what I believe. And that is what I hope will live on in this memoir. A message of kindness. A message of care. A message of the quiet light that shines through each of us when we choose to be human.