My Drash for Tonight's Service...Enjoy!

Only one Drash this week, because after tomorrow's service we're going immediately into our Tu B'Shvat Seder.  And as you'll see, in my Drash I've not even referenced this week's Torah portion...something I do occasionally, if rarely. 

Spiritual…but not Religious

A Drash for Friday, 1 February 2013

I spoke recently about how I discovered that I’m ‘stuck’ in the music that was popular when I was a teenager and a young adult.  Many of you also love and miss the music that was popular in your formative years.  You listen to the music that is popular among your grandchildren, or even great-grandchildren today, and you ask yourself: “Is this really music?” Or perhaps it is more a declaration than a question: “This isn’t really music.”

                One musical act of my generation that is most memorable is an American band called The Eagles.  They were one of the most successful musical acts of the 1970’s.  They were successful because their music is so eminently singable.  When an Eagles song comes on the radio, you can bet that somewhere nearby, someone is singing.  Be careful…you may very well be that one!

Yesterday, as I was driving back from Brisbane, The Best of My Love, one of the Eagles’ greatest hits, came on.  Being alone in the car, I sang in full voice.  One line which I sang with particular gusto, was the line:  We tried to talk it over/But the words got in the way.

The words got in the way.  The same declaration in present tense, is the title of a ballad written and recorded by Gloria Estefan.  It’s a line that is familiar to most of us.  It means that words are imperfect; they often fail to communicate what it is that we really want to convey.  Even worse, the words that we use can actually hamper us from communicating what we want to.

                As you probably know because I have spoken about this before, I am concerned almost to the point of obsession with the problem of words getting in the way of our communication.  The aspect of this phenomenon that I tend to rail about, is the use of words to convey a sense of pejorative rather than fact.  In public discourse, people often use words because they attach a negative connotation to what the other party to the conversation is saying.  They use these words as a way of ‘winning the argument’ by discrediting the other speaker.  I will continue returning to this concern of mine, because I believe very deeply that it is unethical to use words as pejoratives in order to ‘win the argument’ or shut down the conversation.

                But what I want to talk about this evening, is a declaration one often hears.  I’m not religious…I’m spiritual.  The topic came up in a conversation yesterday just a little while before I heard that Eagles song on the radio.  Everybody has heard this dictum, and probably quite often in this age where religion is severely discredited in the public forum.

                So what does it really mean to be ‘spiritual’ but not ‘religious’?

Traditionally, ‘spiritual’ and ‘religious’ were almost inseparable.  There was no disconnect between the quest for religious truth on one hand, and the quest for spiritual connection on the other.  There were always differences in emphasis.  For example, in our own tradition, from the eighteenth century there was a phenomenon called ‘Hassidism’ that came out of the Jews of the Eastern European shtetl.  Hassidism endures today as an important force in Judaism, even if Hassidim are very small in number.  Hassidism as a phenomenon emphasises the experience of G-d.  The anti-Hassidic movement of the eighteenth century, the Mitnagdim, emphasised Torah scholarship.  The two camps were deeply antagonistic towards one another until the nineteenth century.  Then, both realised that they weren’t really that far apart.  That is to say, the Hassidim did not eschew Torah scholarship.  And the Mitnagdim did not eschew spiritual connection.

So too in other religious traditions.  Every tradition – Christianity, Buddhism, Hinduism, Islam – has its adherents who emphasise religious teachings and truth.  And each has others who emphasise deep connection and experience.  This experiential aspect is what is often referred to as the ‘spiritual.’  The aspects of ritual practice in the repetitive sense, and the quest to grasp the truth of religious teachings, are usually identified as strictly ‘religious.’  They are not mutually exclusive, although they can certainly ‘get in the way’ of one another at times.

But the idea of ‘spirituality’ in the complete absence of ‘religiosity’ is a more contemporary phenomenon.  What does it mean?

It often means an individual’s distancing himself from the whole religious enterprise and framework, while not turning away from one of the major goals of religion – connection to G-d.  As a religious leader, I have no particular objection to this mindset.  If one can pursue – and achieve – one of the major goals of religion without religion, then that’s probably not a bad thing.  Religion should assist one with spirituality, but if it hampers one’s spirituality, then it gets in the way of something that’s too important to concede.

And if we’re honest, we should concede that religion can get in the way of spirituality.  I’m guessing that everybody in this room tonight, has at one time or another attended a religious service that failed to make them feel spiritual.

It may be that it was in the house of worship of another religion, one that was unfamiliar to you, or perhaps which contained elements that were objectionable to you.  For example, to many Jews the invoking of the name of Jesus as G-d is deeply antithetical.  Many Jews who attend a Christian service, for whatever reason, say afterward that the first mention of the name of the Christian saviour ‘ruined’ the experience for them – or at least, made it feel un-spiritual to them.

But one can also find that versions of Judaism other than one’s preferred one, hamper the quest for the spiritual.  I hear complaints all the time from Progressive Jews, that when attending an Orthodox service, they could not feel spiritual.  Perhaps the consigning of women to a segregated section, behind the mehitsa, did that for them.  Or perhaps the breakneck speed of the service, with few or no verbal cues as to the page number or whether to sit or stand, did it.  In fairness, Orthodox Jews who have visited a Progressive shul have sometimes complained to me that our service, while its content was nothing to quibble about, didn’t feel right, or authentic.  It didn’t feel spiritual.

But even the service in the style of one’s choosing, can hamper one’s spirituality.  One of you might, for example, object strongly to something that I say from the pulpit – to the point that you’re thus unable to achieve spirituality in the service.  Or you might come expecting to sing Lecha Dodi to a particular tune – and if I change the tune, that could ruin the experience for you.  Of course, it is my prayer that our services here will only help, never hamper your quest for spirituality.  But this quest is highly emotional.  It is a-rational.  It would therefore be unrealistic for me to expect that nothing here, either content-wise or stylistic, will ever hamper your spirituality.

So a declaration that one is spiritual but not religious, if truly meant in that way, is not necessarily a bad thing.  Spirituality brings goodness into the world.  If one can bring goodness into the world without a religious framework – and I believe that one can – that is something to celebrate.  Yes, even by us, tonight, here in this profoundly religious setting.

I have not exhausted this particular topic – the idea of being spiritual but not religious – so I reserve the right to return to it next week, and perhaps even the week after that.  Judging by the spirited conversation that the notion engendered yesterday, and often engenders when it comes up, it is an important topic.  I look forward to continuing to present my own analysis of what it means for us, as Jews, in Australia, in the year 5773.  Shabbat shalom.