Revelation and modern spirituality

There is a very interesting phenomenon underway in the modern world – one very worth studying and understanding. The world of religion is, in much of the world, in an advanced state of decay, with churches reporting ever-declining membership and attendance, and more and more people self-reporting as unaffiliated with any official church or religion. Yet against this backdrop of apparent Godlessness, is a surge of interest in “spirituality” in a wide variety of forms.

I think it is safe to interpret this to mean, broadly speaking, that while the average person’s trust in old religious institutions is fading, the basic human need for spiritual meaning, context, and connection is as strong as it ever was. And it is being met, these days, by what might be termed “modern spirituality.”

Some revel in its freedom and celebrate the end of the religious institution. For the British writer William James, “the spirit of politics and the lust of dogmatic rule are apt to enter and to contaminate the originally innocent thing.” Very true. The great apostasy that drew its dark shades on European Christianity not long after the death of Jesus’ apostles is a case in point. Yet a spirituality that is nothing more than an eclectic selection of “whatever pleases me most at the moment” is hardly a serious attempt to reach, understand, and connect with the divine.

Sadly, modern spirituality fails its followers in precisely the area where it ought to excel: revelation. The religious institution has an unfortunate tendency: it makes its members lazy and spiritually dependent on it. Rather than provoke an intense search for the divine – and provide the adherent guidance and assistance in that endeavor – religious institutions often become crutches for their followers. The latter come to delegate all questions of spiritual relevance to the institution. When an issue arises, followers tend to respond – often subconsciously – with “well, what does the church say?” rather than giving the matter serious thought and reflection, and seeking God for truth on the matter.

This is truly unfortunate. One should never thoughtlessly delegate questions of serious spiritual importance to an institution. Never let the religious institution think or feel for you! The role of the institution ought to be to help you connect to the divine – not to serve the role of an agent who manages your spirituality for you so you don’t have to be bothered.

In theory, you would think that modern spirituality would shine in this department. Without the institution to rely on, individuals engaging in modern spirituality would be forced to seek the divine on their own and tackle difficult questions personally – thus exposing the individual more directly to God.

Alas, this is not the case. Modern spirituality in many cases appears to be little more than a way to replace former institutional religious duties and obligations with something far less onerous. Modern spirituality, it seems, is often little more than a cheap excuse for not getting up for church on Sundays, not an impassioned quest for the divine.

In view of this weakness, let me suggest to everyone – adherents of official religions as well as the free spirits of the spiritual age – that no true religion, religiosity, or spirituality of any kind can exist without revelation. Without direct, personal communication with the divine, an individual’s spirituality is as lifeless as sodden ash. And this applies equally well to members of official religions as to the independently spiritual.

But how does one go about communicating with God? Now that is truly a question of immense importance – yet one that is almost frivolously passed over by the faithless and faithful alike, as if it were obvious. I want to shed some small amount of light on the subject through a simple analogy:

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­If you had a quiet, soft-spoken friend who had something important he wanted to tell you, what would you do? Ask him to text you? Or send you an email? Would he likely want to have a conversation with you at a boisterous party, or while you’re busy with work? If you knew this friend well and valued his advice, you would invite him over on a rainy day for hot chocolate. You would put your favorite quiet music on in the background, and you would happily and gently invite your friend in. You would sit together, just the two of you, at a table, sipping your hot chocolate, reminiscing about past experiences together. You would appreciate each other’s friendship and company, and you would tell your friend how grateful you are for his friendship, for his love; how grateful you are that he cares about you.

And at some point during this conversation – and it might happen suddenly – you will know why he came, and what it was he wanted to tell you. And you will wonder why you don’t do this more often.

It is my experience that God is indeed soft spoken. Unlike parents of rambunctious children, he won’t shout over the noise of your life to get your attention. The Bible and Book of Mormon describe God’s voice as a still, small, and perfectly mild. Definitely soft enough that you aren’t likely to notice it unless you’re listening for it.

So don’t forget to take the time to invite him in. The ancient art of searching, pondering, and praying has been lost on the world, I fear. The beauty of it, though, is it’s not something that you need a PhD in theology to do. All you need is a sincere heart, a quiet place (both literal and figurative), and a desire to uncover the truth. In our modern consumer culture, that may not sound very sexy. But true spirituality never was about consumption; it’s about revelation.

On Vulnerability: Of Fire and Ice

I wonder a lot about relationships. How they work, and when and why they don’t. It’s a topic I don’t think we spend enough time on, because I think we want it to happen naturally, magically, without our having to think about it, understand how it works, or “force” it in any way. We want our relationships to bloom magically, as if they were always meant to be. We sometimes think that analyzing the process takes the magic out of it, and hence the sense of fate and destiny that we – magical, eternal creatures stuck in a hopelessly time-bound and unmagical world – so desperately crave.

But there’s a serious risk to avoiding the analysis and counting too heavily on the magic. It’s an oft-heard adage that friends are rare and true friends rarer. I think there’s a lot of truth to this, and I also think that life has a lot to do with it; mortality makes forming meaningful relationships and maintaining them over time quite difficult. Yet a lot of the truth behind the “rare friends” adage is that we humans are bad at relationships. And the reason we’re bad is partly because we don’t always understand well how human connection works. Oh, we recognize it when we see it; and we are right to crave it. And I’m sure each of us could deduce the essential dynamics from our own personal experience if we gave thought to it. But do we?

Indulge me in a quick mathy exercise real quick. Let’s say each relationship between two people has a significance, or depth, for lack of a better word. Let’s define the total level of connection in the world as the sum total of the depth of all relationships in the world. A measure of how “connected” we are as a race. I firmly believe that if we only more fully understood and embraced the fundamental principles of how relationships form and last we could be living in a world where the total level of human connectivity was much higher than it is.

Now, maybe you think that would be a bad thing. Maybe humans can only handle so much connection at a time; maybe the added depth of connection, mixed with the constraints of mortal life, would only cause more heart break and suffering. Both valid points, and I’m sure there are others as well. But if you believe as I do – and, I think, as just about all of us do, deep down – that human connection is the source of happiness and relationships are what life is really about, then it’s worth at least entertaining what I have to say next.

So what about friendship? What about human relationships? What determines how many (or how few) we have? What nurtures them and makes them grow? How do they germinate? What weakens and kills them?

These are rich questions and I don’t pretend for an instant to have all the answers. If anyone does, please send me your masterpiece when you’ve written it. But I have discovered (and many others have confirmed my hunch) something that I believe fundamental to all of them. Relationships deepen and weaken on vulnerability. As Brene Brown put it, vulnerability is the birthplace of joy, connection, and whole-hearted living.

Why vulnerability? Sounds awful, and scary. I’m not sure exactly why. I think it’s maybe because, when we are vulnerable, we are exposing who we really are – honestly and truly. No obfuscation, no hiding, no holding back. So when we’ve been vulnerable with someone, and that someone accepts us and even loves us afterward, we know for sure they love the real us. The most awful, gnawing fear in the human heart is the fear that if others really knew us – every dark, ugly, weird corner – they wouldn’t love us. We fear above all else that we are not loveable. Oh sure, our surface personality may be pleasant, and our visible exterior may garner praise and affection. But if people really knew all there is to know about us – if they could peer behind the façade – they would recoil in horror and shock. They wouldn’t want to have anything to do with that part of us.

And so we believe we are only partly loveable; only worth of conditional love. We are loved incompletely, and not fully; loved according to how well we conform to what the world wants us to look like, act like, be like. And so we hide ourselves and only dare connect at the surface level.

Yet we crave connection. We yearn for unconditional love. We want our dark corners to see the light of day – and we want to be loved despite them. We want to know that, as a whole, with all our good and bad lumped together in the awkward mess that is a human being, that we are still worth loving, and connecting with; that as we are now, we are worthy of love and connection, fellowship and friendship. A true friendship is one where each can relax in the utmost confidence that the other knows him and accepts him as he is, all the same.

So true friendship, then, is only possible when you have made yourself known to another; and that is a very vulnerable experience. The more meaningful and deep a relationship goes, the less of yourself you can afford to hold back. Until, in the ultimate relationship, each partner knows everything there is to know about the other. And that is why vulnerability is absolutely essential to meaningful human connection.

Now, I know full well that’s an ideal. It’s a theoretical statement about relationships while we live in the real world, where the rubber hits the road. But it can still teach us a great deal because it reveals what needs to happen if we are to experience more and deeper connection in our lives – while leaving the how to make it happen up to each of us individually.

Basically, the prescription can be summed up in a single sentence: we need to embrace vulnerability as a natural part of life. Like public speaking, most of us (including yours truly) avoid vulnerability like the plague. We put up with it when we absolutely have to, but steer clear otherwise. While not advocating aggressively seeking it out (in potentially inappropriate ways), I am asserting that we must not avoid vulnerability. We need to stop running from it, stop stigmatizing it, and stop fearing it. How often are those who are readily willing to share honestly about themselves ridiculed? It’s gotten to the point where we assume any man willing to be vulnerable must be gay – no offense meant to gays, who are in fact often more willing to be open and honest about things other than their income level or how much they can bench press.

Now, I know that a lot of people aren’t going to like this. And it could well be argued that a world where everyone was willing to wade through the vulnerability to form deeper and more meaningful connections with a broader swath of humanity would perish, as Robert Frost said, in fire – consumed by the depth of hurt that is the risk all take who let themselves be truly seen, and learn to truly and deeply love as a result. But I fear our world is heading towards the opposite extinction: dying in the cold, icy loneliness of empty space – all because we aren’t willing to share the intimate flame that burns within us.

Mortality and the seeds of greatness

Mortality – with all its pain, suffering, unfairness, and hardship – holds the potential for enormous greatness, glory, goodness, and love – or their opposite. It all depends on how we face it, on how we respond to it. 

Life is unfair. It’s arguable there isn’t a truer phrase in all the English language. Or any other language, for that matter. Life is unfair, and all the efforts of countless men and women over the ages hasn’t changed that fact. Not that we can’t or shouldn’t strive to limit the unfairness, or fight injustice, or be equitable and just in our dealings with each other. But in the end, life is fundamentally unfair – because it was meant to be.

Life is hard, too. It’s full of pain, depression, self-doubt – even self-hatred – suffering, hard work, uncertainty, and loss. Great effort has (rightly so) been expended trying to minimize these things in life as well. But such efforts too will ultimately fail. Such things are a fundamental part of life, and are built into life’s very fabric. 

Much has been said about suffering and evil and hardship and its role in life. The questions surrounding the injustice and pain of life strike such a chord in each of us that they almost inevitably include such other fundamental questions as ‘is there a God?’ and ‘what is the meaning of life?’ Such discussions are complex and have been had for millennia. I won’t even attempt to address them here. I only want to make one point, illustrated by a simple, powerful story of courage in the face of affliction, injustice, and pain.

My point is this: the suffering, unfairness, trials, and hardships of life hold the seeds of greatness, glory, goodness, and love. Without the hard things in life the great and the glorious could not exist. Without pain and trials, we would never have the opportunity to be truly noble, good, and brave. And, depending on how we choose to respond to hard things in life, we can bring sweetness, goodness, love, glory, and greatness into being. 

The goal of God is for his children to be ennobled – for each of us to be filled with light, even as he is. Hence the essential role of this mortal stage of our existence, for it provides us the only opportunity to face down darkness with light. The pain of life we leave behind here in mortality. It remains with our bodies, to moulder into dust, to exist only as a faded memory, a reminder, a counter-point. The good we take with us. It becomes part of us, attaches to our hearts and makes them nobler by association. For good attracts good and light cleaves unto light. We are creatures of light, and when we choose to face darkness with light; when we choose to return good for evil; when we choose to be noble in the teeth of unfairness and pain – then are we enlarged by the very glory we have called into being, by the light that radiates outward from our souls in opposition to the darkness we have defied. The goodness and greatness of our mortal lives stay with us forever and ennoble us.

Without trials or injustice or pain we could not choose nobility and goodness despite opposition. The passing, temporary darkness of life gives an even greater, eternal light the opportunity to shine out from our souls. And this light, should we choose it, we will keep forever. For light cannot, does not perish. The universe is full of – indeed, made of – light, not darkness. The darkness of life is a contrivance – necessary for us to call the light of eternal glory into being in opposition to the dark – a torch which, once lit, will grow only brighter as we voyage through eternity. 

But it all depends on how we respond to the trials of life. Hardship provides the opportunity to call great glory and light into our lives. But we can just as easily squander the chance by merely reacting, by responding in kind. This life is our great chance to choose to be noble in the face of the ignoble; to be great in the face of the petty; to be good in the face of evil. We must not waste it!

I want to tell you the story of someone who didn’t waste it.

In 2009, Zachary Sobiech, aged 14, was diagnosed with a form of bone cancer that occurs in children. He underwent surgeries and chemotherapy, but in 2012 the cancer was found in several organs of his body, and the doctors told him that nothing further could be done. The cancer would spread until it killed him. He had a few months to live. He was about 17 years old when he heard this. 

“Unfair” doesn’t even begin to describe it. How could it be fair in any way, shape, or form, that a good, loving 17 year-old should already have only months to live? How could it be fair when so many of us live out long lives, filled with all sorts of experiences and opportunities, while Zach never had the chance to experience so much of life? The answer is simple: it isn’t fair. Not fair at all.

The point of life isn’t fairness, though. And that’s where so many of us go wrong in analyzing this question. And that’s exactly where Zach went right. Zach taught me that it isn’t the unfairness or pain of life that matters – it’s how you respond to it that counts. 

Zach responded by loving and living each day with hope and joy, and by giving as much love and joy to as many other people as he could. He recorded a farewell song for his family to have something of him to keep, something to provide them with joy and comfort in lonely, painful moments. And he shared it with the world – over 3 million people have viewed it on Youtube. 

Listening to his song, “Clouds”, I was struck with the incongruity of a young man, robbed of a future, wracked by a painful disease, singing sincerely, honestly, sweetly, of going up; of sharing love and joy with others; of moving on, but hoping to meet again. Completely absent was bitterness, anger, resentment, hatred, or despair. Zach had chosen to respond to this soul-crushing news by choosing goodness, happiness, love, giving, and faith. He chose to fill his heart and life with that which is good, to leave no space for the dark. As I listened to his song, I couldn’t help but feel that I was witnessing one of the greatest, most glorious events that has transpired on Earth. And when, years and years from now, Zach looks back with his family and friends on this moment in time on Earth when he faced helplessness, sorrow, despair, and terrible unfairness with hope, faith, and love, he will see it for what it is: the triumph of light over darkness, of good over evil. And he will see that he only had the opportunity to choose greatness – to be great – because of unfairness, pain, and hardship.

Because of the way Zach chose to respond to mortality, great inspiring goodness and glory were brought into the world. And he will take that glory with him forever.

I have been inspired by Zach, and I am personally grateful for his goodness, for his example of light and joy and nobility. It is yet another evidence to me that God does exist, and that his greatness and glory live in each one of us. Listening to Zach sing “Clouds”, it is impossible not to see and feel the glory of God. 

Zach died two days ago. He was 18. 

God speed, Zach. I’ll never forget your example, and I promise to try and respond to all that life throws at me the way you did.