Losing Our Religion
2:21 am
Tue January 15, 2013

More Young People Are Moving Away From Religion, But Why?

Originally published on Wed January 16, 2013 5:24 pm

One-fifth of Americans are religiously unaffiliated — higher than at any time in recent U.S. history — and those younger than 30 especially seem to be drifting from organized religion. A third of young Americans say they don't belong to any religion.

NPR's David Greene wanted to understand why, so he gathered a roundtable of young people at a synagogue in Washington, D.C. The 6th & I Historic Synagogue seemed like the right venue: It's both a holy and secular place that has everything from religious services to rock concerts. Greene speaks with six people — three young women and three young men — all struggling with the role of faith and religion in their lives.


Interview Highlights

Miriam Nissly, 29, was raised Jewish and considers herself Jewish with an "agnostic bent." She loves going to synagogue.

"I realize maybe there's a disconnect there — why are you doing it if you don't necessarily have a belief in God? But I think there's a cultural aspect, there's a spiritual aspect, I suppose. I find the practice of sitting and being quiet and being alone with your thoughts to be helpful, but I don't think I need to answer that question [about God] in order to participate in the traditions I was brought up with."

Yusuf Ahmad, 33, raised Muslim, is now an atheist. His doubts set in as a child with sacred stories he just didn't believe.

"Like the story of Abraham — his God tells him to sacrifice his son. Then he takes his son to sacrifice him, and he turns into a goat. I remember growing up, in like fifth [or] sixth grade I'd hear these stories and be like, 'That's crazy! Why would this guy do this? Just because he heard a voice in his head, he went to sacrifice his son and it turned into a goat?' There's no way that this happened. I wasn't buying it.

"Today if some guy told you that 'I need to sacrifice my son because God told me to do it,' he'd be locked up in a crazy institution."

Kyle Simpson, 27, raised Christian. He has a tattoo on the inside of his wrist that says "Salvation from the cross" in Latin.

"It's a little troublesome now when people ask me. I tell them and they go, 'Oh, you're a Christian,' and I try to skirt the issue now. They go, 'What does that mean?' and it's like, "It's Latin for 'I made a mistake when I was 18.'

"When I first got the tattoo I remember thinking, 'Oh, this will be great because when I'm having troubles in my faith I will be able to look at it, and I can't run away from it.' And that is exactly what is happening.

"I don't [believe in God] but I really want to. That's the problem with questions like these is you don't have anything that clearly states, 'Yes, this is fact,' so I'm constantly struggling. But looking right at the facts — evolution and science — they're saying, no there is none. But what about love? What about the ideas of forgiveness? I like to believe they are true and they are meaningful.

"I think having a God would create a meaning for our lives, like we're working toward a purpose — and it's all worthwhile because at the end of the day we will maybe move on to another life where everything is beautiful. I love that idea."

Melissa Adelman, 30, raised Catholic

"Starting in middle school we got the lessons about why premarital sex was not OK, why active homosexuality was not OK, and growing up in American culture, kids automatically pushed back on those things, and so we had some of those conversations in school with our theology teachers. The thing for me — a large part of the reason I moved away from Catholicism was because without accepting a lot of these core beliefs, I just didn't think that I could still be part of that community.

"I remember a theology test in eighth grade where there was a question about homosexuality, and the right answer was that if you are homosexual, then that is not a sin because that's how God made you, but acting upon it would be a sin. That's what I put down as the answer, but I vividly remember thinking to myself that that was not the right answer."

Rigoberto Perez, 30, raised as Seventh-day Adventist

"It was a fairly important part of our lives. It was something we did every Saturday morning. We celebrate the Sabbath on Saturday. It was pretty hard growing up in a lot of ways. We didn't have a lot of money, the household wasn't very stable a lot of the time, so when something bad would happen, say a prayer, go to church. When my mom got cancer the first time, it was something that was useful at the time for me as a coping mechanism.

"While I was younger, my father drank a lot. There was abuse in the home. My brother committed suicide in 2001. So at some point you start to say, 'Why does all this stuff happen to people?' And if I pray and nothing good happens, is that supposed to be I'm being tried? I find that almost kind of cruel in some ways. It's like burning ants with a magnifying glass. Eventually that gets just too hard to believe anymore."

Lizz Reeves, 23, raised by a Jewish mother and a Christian father. She lost a brother to cancer.

"I wanted so badly to believe in God and in heaven, and that's where he was going. I wanted to have some sort of purpose and meaning associated with his passing. And ultimately the more time I spent thinking about it, I realized the purpose and meaning of his life had nothing to do with heaven, but it had to do with how I could make choices in my life that give his life meaning. And that had a lot more weight with me than any kind of faith in anything else."

Copyright 2013 NPR. To see more, visit http://www.npr.org/.

Transcript

STEVE INSKEEP, HOST:

Now, let's ask why many Americans are saying they follow no organized religion. Close to one-fifth of Americans now say that; young Americans are even less religious. We heard those numbers in our series "Losing Our Religion." And now, David Greene has been listening to some of the voices behind the numbers.

DAVID GREENE, BYLINE: They're the voices of six young Americans - three young women, three young men - all struggling with the role of faith and religion in their lives. We gathered together at the 6th and I Synagogue in Washington, D.C.; in many ways, a fitting spot. It's a holy and secular place - they have everything from religious services to rock concerts. So we were sitting in a circle at the front of the sanctuary.

MIRIAM NISSLY: My name is Miriam Nissly. I'm 29. I grew up in the Chicago area. I was raised Jewish. I consider myself Jewish with a - I don't know, agnostic-leaning bent.

GREENE: Meaning, Miriam's not sure she believes in God. Still, she loves going to synagogue.

NISSLY: I mean, I realized that maybe there's a disconnect; that, you know, why are you doing it, if you don't necessarily have a belief in God? But I think there's a cultural aspect. There's - I think there's a spiritual aspect, I suppose. You know, I find the practice of sitting and sort of being quiet, and being alone with your thoughts, to be helpful. But I don't think I need to answer that question in order to participate in the traditions that I was brought up with.

GREENE: Miriam still feels a connection to those traditions. Not so for Yusuf Ahmad, just to my left in our circle. He's 33, and was raised Muslim. Now, Yusuf calls himself an atheist. His doubts really set in as a child. There were stories that he just didn't believe. Here's how he remembers one.

YUSUF AHMAD: Like the story of Abraham; like, his - God tells him to sacrifice his son. And he takes his son to sacrifice him, and he turns into a goat. Like - even like, I remember growing up, when I was - you know - fifth, sixth grade, I'd hear these stories and I'd be like, that's crazy; why would this guy do this? You know, just because he heard a voice in his head, he went to like, sacrifice his son, and it turned into a goat? There's no way that this happened.

GREENE: You weren't believing that.

AHMAD: Yeah. Like, I wasn't buying it. And today, if some guy told you that, "I need to sacrifice my son because God told me to do it," he would be locked up in - like, a crazy institution.

GREENE: So this conversation at the synagogue goes on for two hours or so; everyone getting to know details about one another. Kyle Simpson, a 27-year-old from Iowa, has this tattoo on the inside of his left wrist.

KYLE SIMPSON: It says "a cruce salus" and - Latin for salvation from the cross; which is a little troublesome now, when people ask me. And they're like - I tell them, and they go, oh, so you're a Christian. And it's kind of like, well, I don't know...

GREENE: Like, maybe.

SIMPSON: Yeah. So I try to skirt the issue now. And then they're like, oh, what's that mean? And it's like, oh, it's Latin for, I made a mistake when I was 18 - just to kind of avoid the topic.

GREENE: Do you regret it? I mean, would you get rid of the tattoo if...

SIMPSON: No. The irony is when I first got the tattoo, I remember thinking, oh, this will be great because when I'm having troubles in my faith, I will be able to look at it, and I can't run away from it. And that is exactly what is happening.

GREENE: Do you believe in God?

SIMPSON: I don't, really, but I really want to. That's the problem with questions like these; is you don't have anything that clearly states yes, this is fact. So I'm constantly struggling. But looking - like, looking right at the facts; like, looking at evolution and science; you're saying no, there is none. But what about love? What about the ideas of forgiveness? Things like that - I'd like to believe that they're true, and they're meaningful.

GREENE: I'm so interested to hear more about this because you said you don't believe in God, but you really want to.

SIMPSON: Yeah.

GREENE: Why is that?

SIMPSON: (Sighs) I think having a God would create a meaning for our lives; like, we are working towards a purpose, and it's all worthwhile because at the end of the day, we will maybe move on to another life, where everything is beautiful. Like, I love that idea.

GREENE: And yet Kyle's uncomfortable with some of the religious doctrine. He doesn't believe in hell. He also doesn't believe homosexuality is a sin. And that is also a problem for Melissa Adelman. She's 30, and was raised Catholic.

MELISSA ADELMAN: I mean, starting in middle school, we got the lessons about why premarital sex was not OK; why active homosexuality was not OK. And so we had some of those conversations in school, with our theology teachers. The thing for me, was that part of the reason that I moved away from - well, a large part of the reason I moved away from Catholicism was because without accepting a lot of these core beliefs, I just didn't think that I could still be part of that community.

GREENE: So you were a teenager, and actually having some of these conversations...

ADELMAN: Yeah.

GREENE: ...with the nuns about homosexuality...

ADELMAN: (Laughter) Yes, yes.

GREENE: ...about premarital sex and...

ADELMAN: I remember a theology test in eighth grade, where there was a question about homosexuality. And the right answer was that if you are homosexual, then that is not a sin because that's how God made you. But acting upon it would be a sin. And I very clearly remember the...

GREENE: Did you mark that, I mean, as the answer?

ADELMAN: Yeah, that's what I put down as the answer. But I vividly remember thinking to myself that that was not the right answer.

GREENE: Rigoberto, tell me about your religion, growing up, and what role religion played for you.

RIGOBERTO PEREZ: It was a fairly important part of our life. It was something that we did every Saturday morning.

GREENE: This is Seventh-day Adventist, right?

PEREZ: It is.

GREENE: Which is a Protestant...

PEREZ: Protestant church, in which we celebrate the Sabbath on Saturday. But it was pretty hard, growing up, a lot of ways. We didn't have a lot of money; the household wasn't very stable, a lot of times. When something bad would happen - say a prayer, go to church, you know. When my mom got cancer the first time, it was something that - it was, you know, useful at that time for me, as a coping mechanism.

GREENE: So you were - one thing you were coping with was your mom - sounds like multiple battles with cancer.

PEREZ: Yes. She had cancer twice while I was a child, once as an adult. And she passed in - December 29 of the previous year...

GREENE: I'm sorry.

PEREZ: ...of cancer, also.

GREENE: And not the only struggle - I mean, it sounds like there were other things in your life that really required coping, for you.

PEREZ: Yeah. I mean, while I was younger, my father drank a lot. There was abuse in the home. My brother committed suicide in 2001. So at some point, you start to say, why does all this stuff happen to people? And if I pray and nothing good happens, is that supposed to be, I'm being tried? I find that almost - kind of cruel, in some ways. It's like burning ants with a magnifying glass. You know, eventually, that gets just too hard to believe anymore.

GREENE: That last voice is 30-year-old Rigoberto Perez. And he shares something with 23-year-old Lizz Reeves. Both of them have views on religion that were shaped by tragedy.

LIZZ REEVES: I had a brother pass away to cancer. And I wanted so badly to believe in God and in heaven, and that's where he was going, and all these things. And I wanted to have some sort of purpose and meaning associated with his passing. And ultimately, the more time I spent kind of thinking about it, I kind of realized that the purpose and meaning of his life had nothing to do with heaven; but it had to do with kind of - how I could make choices and pursue things in my life that give his life meaning.

(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)

GREENE: Six young Americans talking to us for our series "Losing Our Religion. "And we'll hear more from this group later in the week. Tomorrow, a story from one of our correspondents, Barbara Bradley Hagerty. She'll dig deeper into this link between faith and tragedy.

(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)

INSKEEP: That's NPR's David Greene, right here on MORNING EDITION from NPR News. Transcript provided by NPR, Copyright NPR.