Spirituality is bullshit
Why it’s not working for a skeptical pastor’s kid
Here’s some brief context on me: I'm the agnostic Korean-American son of a Presbyterian Christian pastor and California State prison chaplain. I was born into a religious family. Early in mine and later in his life, my father pursued the vocation of being a minister. As I observe my father get deeper into his religiosity, I begin to question my faith and then, abandon my past identity. I explore a more secular path down spirituality, but things aren’t working. I’m not satisfied – I want and need more. Let me explain.
When I go to a party and hear someone tell me that they’re “spiritual but not religious” (SBNR), my eyes immediately roll to the back of my head. “That sounds like some bullshit”, I mutter to myself. “What does that even mean?”
Clearly, those Youtube videos on stoicism have failed me. I’ve lost my temper again. I don’t really want to engage with this person anymore. Another conversation has gone cold.
But, I’m a total hypocrite. The irony is that I identify as “spiritual, but not religious”. I shake my head as I ask myself, “How did I get here?”
Religious roots
I was born and raised in a Presbyterian family attending church every Sunday. My dad was a deacon or elder1 and my mom taught bible study on Sundays and during the week. When I was 11, my father decided to pursue a Master of Divinity degree to become a pastor. Everyone took these religious studies seriously. I audited Biblical Hebrew and Greek language courses during summer sessions. Learning to write the Hebrew alphabet right-to-left is difficult, but, let me tell you, conjugating Greek verbs is no joke. A couple of years in, my mother pursued her M.A. in Christian Education.
At age 14, I went to boarding school. For the first time in my life, I didn’t go to church every Sunday. Instead of contemporary worship music and prayers of repentance, Sundays were for leisure – for watching football, hanging out with friends, doing nothing, and then, cramming homework before Monday morning. This kind of liberty was uncomfortably frivolous to my puritanical brain. So, it took over a year for me to pledge allegiance to an NFL team.2
To quote Inception, one of my favorite movies, I began to “question the nature of my own reality.” I was struggling to accept what I observed: that people were living free and exciting lives, unburdened by the Atlas-level weight of church-guilt. Those alarm bells of cognitive dissonance rang even louder when I got to college. My friends were having unbridled fun – going out, partying, and getting laid (sometimes). While I participated, I wasn’t all-in. I questioned whether I was allowed to do this. I felt stuck and unsure of myself.
I didn’t enjoy feeling this discomfort with myself. I envisioned a life where I could freely explore, have fun adventures, find love, and make stupid, drunken mistakes with my friends. For years, I held myself back. It wasn’t until turning 27 that I committed to shedding myself from the tyranny of church-laden guilt. While I was trying ketamine for the first time, my Dad called me and I felt strangely emboldened to tell him that I didn’t want to lie anymore; that I hadn’t been going to church for years and I was no longer a believer. Being “honest” with my dad marked a departure from childish rebellion to adult authenticity.
My back fully turned on the church, I felt like I had broken free. But that freedom was short-lived. I felt lonely and lost as I shunned a core part of my identity and childhood. I recalled being 10 years old when my dad told our family about his calling into the Christian mission to help others. On his way back from a church mission trip to a Mexican juvenile prison, God had spoken. The next year, we moved out of our comfortable home into a walk-up dormitory apartment. The family had been uprooted into economic instability and emotional chaos as we scrambled to adjust to this new vision and reality. And now, I was rejecting the foundational tenet of my parents’ purpose.
Soul searching
To be honest, it’s not entirely clear what exactly I was rejecting or why.3 Was I disowning everything from my past or just certain parts of myself? I was completely lost. I had no one to turn to; not family, not friends. All I knew was that I wanted to explore life unencumbered by guilt and judgment. In the wake of realizing that I knew so little about myself, there was a massive void I was desperate to fill.
What was my mission in life? I had zero clue. Thus, I sought identity, purpose, and meaning in everything I did – my work, relationships, friendships, and extracurriculars. I wanted, needed, and required that my job be important – it had to move the needle in humanity’s quest for greater good and progress towards equality. After grad school, I joined a healthtech company called Cancer Outcomes Tracking and Analysis, a company with a worthy-enough mission. I dated my first black girlfriend and I was enraged about social injustice. James Baldwin’s words “I Am Not Your Negro” were seared and scalded into my mind. I yelled about religious hypocrisy. I denounced Christians as blind and broken followers of rigid ideology.
At the same time, I tried to find and heal myself. I began volunteering.4 I wanted to support the empowerment of Asian kids from low-income families. And I was determined to live life the way I thought it should be: free, fun, and full. I wanted to show people that while during the week, I was hyperfocused on “saving the world,” on the weekends, I could be care-free and spirited.
But, everything felt labored and unnatural and so, I became despondent, feeling alone, disorganized, and directionless. I called upon spirituality seeking answers and solutions. I tried to find substitutes to the Christian practices I was already familiar with and then, add more on top. Instead of daily prayer and reflection, I explored transcendental meditation and journaling, as ways to quiet my mind, reflect, and manifest my wishes. I attempted to be a “Daily Stoic” (hello, Ryan Holiday), a seemingly easy way to set intention for each day.
Searching for alternatives to Christian theology, I dove into texts around Buddhism, philosophy, and Islam. I sought to build a more modern, balanced, and integrative framework around ethics, morality, and values for myself. I started taking better care of my body. I cut down on the partying. I found myself more centered (and sweatier) bowing to the third eye in an increasingly more regular and hotter yoga practice. Finally, I identified myself as a highly mission-oriented person. I wasn’t just conscious – I was willing to put it all out there – sacrificing everything to “make the world a better place”.
Today, I find myself healthier and more at peace. Leaving the church and exploring spirituality has brought healing, allowing me to develop a calm centeredness that integrates focus with purpose. My life feels more authentic – sensual and soulful, free from the constraints of puritanical austerity.
Yet beneath this surface contentment, a persistent spiritual hunger remains. Each January brings familiar resolutions: meditate more, exercise regularly, build intentional relationships, reduce time spent on social media. I sense that my current practices are missing something: a deep sustenance.
After years of exploring what’s out there, I’ve reached a sobering realization: my spiritual journey has turned into a meandering personal quest built on vibes and activities.
My path has been a form of consumption where I’ve sought quick answers and temporary comfort rather than lasting transformation. I question whether the “choose-your-own adventure” ethos of individual spirituality allowed me to avoid confronting difficult truths or challenges to my instincts. When hearing something I didn’t like, did I simply disengage? Closing a browser window, walking away from a practice, just moving on.
More than agnostic
Most agnostic people I know will say something like “I don’t know and I don’t care.” But, that’s where I’m different. I want to know and I definitely care. I’ve wandered through a spiritual wilderness, bouncing around churches, temples, and mosques as a perpetual observer. I’m neither devout nor expert – not in Islam, Buddhism, or anything else. I have no conviction in any path. All of this bothers me.
The fundamental question remains in this search for meaning: what should I choose and what chooses me? I’ve wanted to explore questions of morality and meaning. But, without a clear framework or community to guide me, I’ve been completely overwhelmed – too many books to read, too many sermons and khutbahs to digest. It’s too much to do alone.
Thus, I feel a pressing need for community, structure, and direction towards change. I want to be able to share my vulnerabilities and explore the meaning of life with other people. I yearn for growth and radical transformation. And most importantly, I need to know if God is real.
Rabbi David Wolpe writes: “To be spiritual but not religious confines your devotional life to feeling good…Spirituality is an emotion. Religion is an obligation. Spirituality soothes. Religion mobilizes. Spirituality is satisfied with itself. Religion is dissatisfied with the world.”5
For the first time in my life, I feel a calling to go back to church. Just to check it out and see what happens, embracing both spiritual growth and religious commitment. But, this time, I’m no longer searching; I am hunting.
What will nourish my soul for the rest of my life?
The Presbyterian Church is well organized. Its structure isn’t too dissimilar from the 3 branches of the American government. If the pastor is like the president, then, elders are senators and deacons are congressmen.
Fly, Eagles, Fly!
Am I rejecting my religious upbringing, my parents, or my past? Is it all of the above? And the question is why? Is it because of the uprooting (which I wasn’t responsible for)? I’m honestly not sure.
I absolutely loved being a Middle School Mentor for the mentorship program at Apex for Youth.
https://ideas.time.com/2013/03/21/viewpoint-the-problem-with-being-spiritual-but-not-religious/
A special shoutout goes to
for meeting IRL, opening my mind, and softening my heart on this subject. I drew initial courage and inspiration from and her piece, “Opening Up to The Eternal”.Huge thanks to the writing crew for encouraging me and graciously staying patient with me through the revision process:
, , , , , , , , , , Jennifer Scott, , , and .Midjourney trying to work it — shrug.
John, this is such a real post. I can feel the weight of what you’re going through, and I respect the hell out of you for being this honest. It’s not easy to question everything you were raised on and admit that what you’re doing now isn’t hitting the way you thought it would. That takes guts. We're all putting a lot of pressure on ourselves to have it all figured out, but maybe we all have to go try stuff and see what sticks.
Excellent piece John. I really relate to much of your journey, though I eventually landed on Islam as the framework for what I felt was an inherent call for my embodied “spirituality”. I think you rightly point out that lack of community may be the sticking point as to why something still doesn’t feel right - alongside that feeling of just following your whims. This can be a challenge for me too. If it’s worth anything, even if you embrace Christianity again, or any other path; there will still be the work of finding or maybe moulding an expression of it which is unique to you. Having experienced other traditions I think you’re in a good position to intuit what resonates at a heart level. Most of all though, give yourself some grace. Some things we‘ll only truly know at the end of the journey— until then, keep your intentions pure (as they seem to be) and keep up the effort.