Spiritual, Not Religious

Why So Many Still Believe in God, But No Longer Trust the Church

By J. H. Irwin
Author | Storyteller | Capturing Life, Memory, and Meaning

Author’s Note

“I am very spiritual but do not consider myself a religious man. I believe we are all connected by an energy but I struggle with placing a name, face, figure, or entity on that energy. There was a time that was very different.

This article is not written in anger toward faith. Quite the opposite. It is written from a place of longing, reflection, disappointment, and hope. Like many people, I was raised inside religion. The rituals, the teachings, the music, the sense of mystery and morality all shaped me. But somewhere along the way, the institution and the spirit behind it stopped feeling like the same thing.

And yet, I still believe there is something connecting all living creatures in this world.

That is why so many people today describe themselves as “spiritual, not religious.” Not because they have abandoned faith, but because they are trying to protect it.”

I was raised in a strict Catholic environment where faith was not optional.

Church was part of life. Morality was clearly defined. God was presented as both loving and watchful, compassionate and absolute. For many years, I accepted all of it without question because that is what children do. We inherit belief before we understand belief.

But life has a way of complicating certainty.

As I grew older and began understanding myself more honestly, especially as a gay man, the distance between spirituality and organized religion began to widen. I found myself trying to reconcile the message of love and compassion I had been taught with the rejection and judgment that so often came from the institution itself. I could not understand how a faith centered on mercy could leave so many people feeling unseen, condemned, or unwelcome.

And I know I am not alone in that experience.

Across generations, millions of people have quietly stepped away from organized religion while still holding tightly to some form of spiritual belief. They still believe in kindness, humanity, connection, forgiveness, wonder, and perhaps even God. What they no longer trust are institutions that seem more invested in power, politics, outrage, and control than in the teachings they claim to represent.

For many, the breaking point was not theology. It was behavior.

It was watching churches become political battlegrounds instead of places of refuge.

It was hearing sermons about fear more often than compassion.

It was seeing religious leaders align themselves with cruelty, nationalism, wealth, and division while speaking less and less about humility, empathy, sacrifice, and love for one another.

And for many people, particularly those who felt wounded or excluded already, the overwhelming support many Christians gave and continue to give to Donald Trump became impossible to ignore.

I understand that statement alone may upset some readers, and that is not my intention. This is not about telling people who they should vote for. People arrive at political decisions for deeply personal reasons. But for many Americans, there was a profound disconnect between the teachings of Jesus and the public behavior they saw celebrated in modern political culture. The contradiction felt impossible to reconcile.

How could faith communities preach humility while embracing arrogance?

How could they preach morality while excusing cruelty?

How could they preach truth while rewarding deception?

For some, it created a spiritual crisis far larger than politics itself.

And yet, despite all of this, I have not lost respect for faith.

In fact, some of the most genuinely beautiful people I have ever known are deeply religious.

One of them is my cousin, a pastor whom I love and respect immensely. She embodies the kind of Christianity I still admire. She leads not with judgment, but with compassion. Not with superiority, but with humility. Not with fear, but with grace. She listens. She comforts. She helps. She loves people where they are.

To me, that is what faith is supposed to look like.

Not domination. Not exclusion. Not political theater disguised as righteousness.

But humanity.

The tragedy is that many people who walk away from organized religion are not walking away from God at all. They are walking away from hypocrisy. They are walking away from institutions that no longer reflect the spiritual values they once promised to uphold.

There is a difference.

Spirituality, at its best, asks us to become more aware, more compassionate, more connected to each other and to the fragile mystery of being alive. It encourages introspection instead of obedience alone. It leaves room for questions. It understands doubt as part of the human experience rather than proof of failure.

Religion can absolutely do those things too. In many cases, it still does. There are churches, pastors, rabbis, imams, and spiritual leaders doing extraordinary work in this world every single day. They feed the hungry. They shelter the vulnerable. They comfort the grieving. They stand against hatred and authoritarianism. They remind people that faith should expand our humanity, not narrow it.

But institutions are still made of people, and people are imperfect. Sometimes institutions lose their way.

Perhaps that is why so many of us now seek the spiritual in quieter places.

In kindness. In nature. In music. In love. In acts of service. In late-night conversations. In moments of forgiveness.

In the simple feeling that somehow, despite all the cruelty and chaos in the world, there is still goodness worth protecting.

Maybe being “spiritual, not religious” is not a rejection of a higher power at all.

Maybe it is an attempt to find a higher power again, underneath everything humanity piled on top.

Words can still move the world. Read mine → https://substack.com/@jhirwin

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