On Being 'Religious'

Last night my grandmother said something which I have heard from others on a number of occasions, and which I detest wholeheartedly. I’m certain she meant it as a compliment, as it was in the process of giving me a very kind gift. She presented me an old Bible, which had once belonged to a distant ancestor, dating back to the 1860’s. I just love old books, and I was really touched and thankful for her present. The words she said, however, as she closed and handed it to me, were as troubling and frustrating as ever to hear.

“I figured you might like this old Bible, since you seem to be…you know, so religious.”

Religious.

I don’t know how many times I’ve been called it, even by my parents. Over the years it’s become an irritating term, to the point that I don’t like talking about “religion” unless I am using it in the historical sense. Because Christianity—which makes me a ‘Christian’, not merely ‘religious’—is, in my self-righteous opinion, NOT a religion. It is something bigger, something greater, something that is incomparable to other religions of the world, by the simple assertion of what it professes, should you believe it. Christians believe in ONE GOD, and ONE TRUTH, and by definition that refutes all others. I am NOT justifying any sort of cruelty, harsh words, or discrimination against non-Christians, whether of another religion or none at all, but I AM justifying why I refuse to call my faith a religion. Because, at the very essence of what it is supposed (notice, I say SUPPOSED, not IS—there are too many occasions when legalistic Christians try to turn it into some form of rules and regulations for leading a perfect life) to be, is a relationship. A relationship between God and man. THAT is what my so-called “religion” is really—a relationship with God. And it operates just like any other relationship: we disagree, we fight, we argue…I can tell you for certain, I’ve gone to bed crying from fighting with God so many more times than I have from fighting with my Mom, or my sister, or my best friend. Our relationship not perfect. Because I’M not perfect.

I am not devout. Neither am I pious, nor am I religious. I am as sinful and messed up as the rest of the world, and the ups and downs of my relationship with my God are more than evidence enough of that. But my God is someone who is present with me every moment of every day, whether we are getting along or not. The fact remains, as it does in any other human relationship, that we love each other, and that is the ‘religion’ that dictates every moment of my life. Loving God, even when I’m angry or frustrated or disappointed with Him, and knowing that loving Him calls me to love the others He loves too.

In other religions, or even in the case of legalistic Christianity (which, unfortunately, is far too prevalent, and is the reason people like my grandmother mistake my relationship for piousness), we tend to see particular acts or rituals as being the essence of the religion. But my God is not like that. What are rituals crucial to salvation in other religions, form just a small piece of my relationship with God. I don’t pray because it’s what I ought to do; I pray because, well, to have a relationship, people have to communicate, don’t they? Prayers are, for me, nothing more than conversations. Sometimes they’re long; sometimes they’re short. Sometimes they’re even awkward. Even so, I don’t go to church every single Sunday, and I don’t pray nearly as regularly as I ought. My Biblical knowledge is, if anything, rather lacking, and I can quote maybe three verses word-for-word from the entire thing. In short, I’m not religious. But the thing is, I don’t NEED to be—nor does anyone else. THAT is the truth professed—and so often terribly misconstrued—in the Bible. That only believing in Jesus Christ, loving Him, and desiring to be in relationship with Him, is necessary to spend eternity with Him. Screw ‘religious’; all that matters is a relationship, which may be as rocky and difficult (in fact, usually moreso) as others.

So I say to the world, don’t call me religious. Don’t call me devout or pious either. To my ears, they are insults, telling me that my Christian life is too legalistic, dependent upon daily rituals, and not centered about my relationship with my God as it should be. Instead, call me wretched, sinful, screwed up, corrupt…those are far better adjectives for my imperfect relationship with my Father in heaven than religious. Religion is dependent upon ritual. My relationship with Christ is dependent upon something simpler, and yet far more complex—love.