I am not a religious person, and if I’m being sincere, I am not all that spiritual either. That being said, I grew up in religious settings with a Christian background. I’m talking about mandatory church on Sundays, church camps on holidays, and sermonettes at family events. It was the kind of religious immersion that leaves little room for questioning. My struggle with religion came very early on, mainly because it was a space where questioning and critique were not celebrated but almost shunned. This went against my wiring, which has always gravitated towards getting answers. I have never wanted to do things or believe in things simply because it is required of me. I have always wanted to be able to defend my beliefs, and I really couldn't explain to myself or others why I was a Christian beyond ‘ I was brought up in a Christian home,’ or the fear of damnation. It always felt forced and unnatural. While some people found peace in their religion, I just got frustrated, mainly because of all the hypocrisy, links to colonisation, and discriminatory attitudes towards women.
As I grew older, I sought to rediscover spirituality and reconnect with religion on my terms. In reality, after spending most of my life in Christian spaces, I knew I couldn’t wake up one morning and forget everything I had been raised to believe. It would be more about taking in what felt right and discarding what felt wrong. Despite my disappointment, I couldn't help but feel curious. I still sought answers, and I had hope that religion could in some way provide them. I was just getting into University and made the bold move to choose religion as my major. Yes, my brain told me that the best approach to figuring out what I wanted to believe in was to study it religiously, a very intentional pun.
I loved studying religion because it was about finding meaning and answers to doctrine and rituals. I also had very objective professors who made the process less about how spiritual one was and more about understanding and learning. One of my favourite courses was on comparative religion, where we got to explore different religions across time and cultures. I learnt about religions such as Jainism, which I hadn’t heard of before. It was interesting to see the common threads in religion, such as community, shared values, and ritual. I learnt about the beauty of religion, where it can be a means to confront the differences between us and find pathways to community. Also, how religion can offer some comfort or solidarity to navigate some of the complex life experiences, such as death.
The downside was seeing how humans have corrupted religion to suit their agendas, mainly by creating the notion of ‘other’. While most religions are founded on love and community, they are often corrupted to develop an ‘us versus them’ mentality. The ‘us’ being the righteous and worthy, and ‘them’ being some form of heretics or damned that should be changed or shunned. This othering legitimises violence towards those considered ‘them’, in subtle ways like excommunication and discrimination that push the ‘other’ to the margins of society. Other times, it's more explicit violence like honour killings, genocide, and other dehumanising violent actions. Ranging from the Crusades, the protestant reformation, colonization, and even modern extremism, othering has created room to justify violence by portraying the ‘other’ as the enemy.
The most interesting aspect of learning about religion is that it reveals the beauty of spirituality, which explores hope, connection, and faith. I have seen its power in giving people hope, building community, and instilling a sense of purpose. Admittedly, I became a little jealous of people with strong faith and spirituality who move through life with a peace I admire. I haven't been able to separate the corruption from the purity of religion and decided that working on a generalised sense of spirituality was most appropriate for me.
I have established that the desire and pursuit of connection are recurring themes in most spiritual practices. This desire resonated with my longing to feel a sense of connection. It was in this space that I stumbled on the concept of love as a form of spirituality. It was a theme that appeared in many religions, both old and new, and while it wasn't always explicit, the nuance was clear to me. I resorted to seeking a generalised sense of spirituality untethered from strict religious doctrine, which I believed was the right path for me. I had encountered love from a conceptual perspective and had to admit to myself that this was something I deeply craved. Love liberates and allows us to connect with ourselves, others, and even the environment. When you move in love, you can see the beauty of people and things you would otherwise miss. It was this kind of connection that I wanted. A form of spirituality that would bring me peace, comfort, and healing.
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How could something so broken be loved?
Surely, love from something so shattered had to be foul.
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At this point in my early twenties, I was so isolated from the world and truly believed that asking for love was too much to ask. Yet, love asked me to lean into it. It asked me to start a journey towards healing. It was not a Kumbaya moment, where we let go of everything bad that has happened, but rather one that asked...