God Within: Our Spiritual Future—As Told by Today's New Adults
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About this ebook
Our Faith, In Our Words
What does it mean to be young and spiritual today—when the New Age isn’t exactly new, when female rabbis and ministers are no longer unusual, and when Eastern religion’s ideas and practices are no longer considered exotic? Who are the faces behind today’s fresh approaches to faith, approaches that are destined to shape the future of spiritual life in America?
"Religion is not a crutch for the weak-minded. It is merely spirituality in its simplest, most rudimentary form. We have witnessed the hypocrisy, the moral and spiritual mediocrity of succumbing to tradition for tradition’s sake. In an age when there are books on everything for dummies, my generation has opted to find out for themselves. I am a new adult, with decisions to make about my identity and my future. I am not about to surrender this newfound privilege. I am content with discovering my spiritual self through my own avenues. I am not in need of a crossing guard."
—from God Within
God Withinrepresents citizens of the twenty-first century who are faced with a dizzying array of spiritualities: believer, seeker, Christian, Jew, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, and Wiccan, to name just a very few. The result of a nationwide challenge extended to young adults born after 1974, in this book they share their experiences with all of these beliefs—some confident, some questioning—and introduce us to many shades in between.
Sometimes irreverent—but more importantly, always relevant—this thought-provoking collection of writings, poetry, and art showcases the voices that are defining the future of religion, faith, and belief as we know it.
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God Within - Editors at Skylight Paths Publishing
1
Love and Strategy
EBOO PATEL
"We wake, if we ever wake at all, to mystery…"
—ANNIE DILLARD
There were a few empty seats on the eastbound Circle Line train at Victoria Station—a rare occurrence for evening rush hour in London. It made the person responsible for the odor easier to identify. The content of the smell was old, sour sweat, and maybe a little urine. You don’t smell that way after playing basketball in the hot sun, or even after three days camping without a shower.
He was white, thirtyish, wore a New York Yankees baseball cap. I watched him eat a banana. He took the peel off, placed it behind him, held the fruit in his hand, and bit jaggedly into the flesh. I thought to myself, his hands probably aren’t clean. Bits of banana clung to the hair on his face.
The train stopped, and a well-groomed man boarded and sat in the empty seat next to him. He noticed the odor, glanced at the source with disgust, and shrank away.
The first man finished his banana and stood up, walked toward me, threw his bag on the floor, sat down next to it, and said, It’s not me, okay mate, it’s my trainers.
Oh no, I thought; this nut is gonna get angry and start a fight. I decided that I would get into another train car at the next stop. I returned to my mindscape of upcoming appointments and looming deadlines. Then I looked at him again.
He was staring at the floor, or maybe at his shoes. And it occurred to me that he didn’t look like a nut. It occurred to me that I didn’t know where the smell on his shoes came from. I had a hard time imagining it—how would they get that smelly, why wouldn’t he change them?
And I realized that I was surprised that this man got angry. When someone falls so low that they smell up a train and put their dirty hands on the fruit of a banana in public, then do they have the right to get angry when well-groomed people stare at them with disgust and shrink away?
And suddenly I am seeing myself. I am hearing the story I have been telling myself. I am studying my rationale for wanting to move to another part of the train. I am wishing I were less low, less ugly, less weak. Why did I think this man should respond to an insult with any less anger than I would?
I stayed on the train and saw him pick up his bags and move to another empty seat. He leaned forward and began peeling another banana. The cap hid his eyes. But I thought I saw them anyway. I know that look, I said to myself.
Staying on the train was no great act of justice or mercy or generosity on my part. Still, it was a small victory in the jihad-al-nafs: the holy war against the lower self. My first instinct was to leave, and I stayed. My first instinct was to turn away, and I looked again. My first instinct was to wipe him from my consciousness, and now he is part of my being.
Listen to this story, and you will understand why what I write is about spirituality. A young Yeshiva student was going to see a great rabbi. His friends asked him, "Will you ask the rebbe about the Torah? The student said,
No. They asked,
Will you discuss the Talmud with the rebbe? The student said,
No.
Then why are you going? they wondered. The student responded,
I want to see how the rebbe ties his shoes."
I learn more about Islam every day. Some of it is from the books I have to read for my dissertation in the sociology of religion. Most of it is in the moments I catch myself being less of a Muslim than I ought to be.
I used to say that I pray to say Thank You
and to ask for help. Now I know that there is at least one more reason. I want to rewire myself, to transform my first instinct. Instead of having a first instinct to leave, to turn away, or to wipe from my consciousness, I want my first instinct to be to stay, to witness, to absorb into my being.
When I first read Freemon Dyson’s book Disturbing the Universe in college, I was floored by his idea of cosmic unity—that we are all part of the same fabric, and that when somebody else is hurt, I am hurt too. I began to imagine the suffering of hungry children, soldiers in war, abused women. Then I became too sophisticated to care about other people’s suffering. Compassion is a waste of energy,
I wrote a friend, because it clouds strategic thinking.
And now I care about strategy in basketball. And in the rest of my life, I am trying to be good.
Eboo Patel is the executive director of the Interfaith Youth Core. He has worked as an artist, a teacher, and an organizer on four continents. He has given speeches with luminaries such as Raimon Pannikar and Huston Smith, and at venues such as UNESCO in Paris and the Parliament of the World Religions in Cape Town, South Africa. Eboo is a Rhodes Scholar completing a doctorate in the sociology of religion at Oxford University.
Influences of mine …
One book: Their Eyes Were Watching God, by Zora Neale Hurston
One album: Stop Making Sense, by The Talking Heads
One spiritual leader: Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him)
One artist: Rumi
One thinker: Paulo Freire
2
Simply Complicated
LINDSAY KEIPPER
Iam a child of steadfast faith, loyal family and friends, and secure future becoming an adult with no direction, no shoulders to lean on, and no God. Once upon a time, I thought I had found everything I needed to make my life complete. I thought I knew who I was—a writer, a Christian, a person who mattered in the grand scheme of things. In a few short months, my God abandoned me, my writer’s inspiration fled, and I found myself without a career or a spiritual truth to stand on.
How did this happen? I’m afraid that if you read on hoping for answers, or a moral, or a trite conclusion that melts on your tongue like a piece of maple candy, you will be disappointed. I have no solid answers to offer you, because I still haven’t figured them out for