Shifting Spiritual Landscapes

For the last 15 years, I’ve taught comparative religion and philosophy at the college and independent high school level. At some point in every course, inevitably the question arises, “So, what religion do you follow Amy?” Bright eyes accompany this heartfelt inquiry. I also hear cautious curiosity in their voices. Would my students think differently of me if I said I was an atheist, a Mormon, a Muslim, or a Jew?

In class, my students compose personal reflections about their own spiritual or religious journeys. Students are encouraged to bring themselves fully into our study. For what we have lived through, known, loved and lost affects how we interpret religion and spirituality. This is an inevitable part of being human. We are all intimately connected to the world. Indeed, acknowledging what we bring to the interpretative process is central to being an honest student or scholar.

When I am asked, “What religion do you follow Amy?” I know a story about shifting spiritual landscapes is in order. I begin by telling my students about a pact I made with my father when I was 14-years-old.

My parents are devout Mormons and encouraged weekly church attendance by making many privileges dependent on my participation. As a young teen, I didn’t think it was fair that I would loose “phone privileges” simply because I felt deeply compelled to explore the teachings of other religions. After a thoughtful discussion, my father agreed that a Sunday visit to any non-Mormon church would suffice. He encouraged my explorations and seemed confident I eventually would return to the faith of my ancestors.

I never did return to the LDS faith, though I hold many of its teachings in high esteem. Throughout my teen years, I explored a variety of spiritual paths. In my twenties, I earned two degrees in the field of religious studies and traveled extensively. I lived in Jerusalem for a year to more fully examine Abrahamic faiths. Later, I studied at a meditation center in the Himalayas to research Hindu philosophies. While I love studying the beauty of each of the world’s wisdom traditions, I resonate most deeply with practices that directly engaged the body through dance, yoga, or meditation.

Looking back, I bow in gratitude to my 14-year-old self. It took a great deal of courage to explore alternative traditions. Many of my friends and family members never felt the call to examine faith traditions outside of Mormonism. They didn’t quite understand me. Leaving the religion of my youth depended upon trusting my heart to lead me through uncharted waters. My journey mirrors that of millions of Americans. According to the 2007 Pew Forum’s U.S. Religious Landscape Survey, 25% of Americans “have left the faith in which they were raised in favor of another religion – or no religion at all.”

Certainly, I realize it is a gift to be born into a tradition that deeply resonates with one’s inner being. A lifelong practice of a spiritual tradition can yield tremendous light. Yet, a gift also awaits those who don’t feel at home in their family’s religious tradition. It’s a gift to trust that feeling of dissonance and begin one’s own search.

My mother used to tell me that I made guardian angels “work overtime.” Looking back on the choices I made as a young woman, I’m sure I was the source of many sleepless nights. I chose a different, unmarked, and pretty adventurous path from the one she intended for me. It was a path distinct from the prescribed life patterns of a conservative Mormon woman.

Sometimes I wonder, “What if I had grown up in a home without any religious practice?” I imagine that I would have found my way to meditation and yoga eventually. It is in my blood. But would I have devoted so much time to the study of religion and philosophy? Would I still see myself as a “spiritual being having a human experience” and not the other way around? Intellectually, I can weave together some powerful arguments for a materialistically centered atheism. However, my love for wonder -- call it God, Spirit, or Mystery – is rooted firmly in my heart. I like to imagine this would be the case independent of my heritage.

William Ellery Channing, a famous 19^th century American Unitarian, wrote that the “great end in religious instruction” is “not to impose religion” but to “awaken the conscience.” It’s not to “stamp our minds upon the young” but to “stir up their own.” I couldn’t agree more. I’m forever grateful that my father came to embrace my awakening conscience. My journey began with the tender musings of a 14-year-old young woman and continues to this day.

“All conditioned things end. Seek out your own salvation with diligence.” These were the last words attributed to Buddha. Whether we choose to shift our spiritual landscape and embrace new beliefs and practices, or remain loyal to the traditions of our parents, we must seek diligently. May we each bring courage and tenderness to the task of forging our spiritual paths.

Originally published in Empowered Woman Magazine