Religion is a fascinating thing.

There are over 10,000 religions in the world. Still, 77% of people align with one of the “big four”—Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, or Buddhism. Each of them offers something similar at the core: a belief in something greater, a sense of belonging, and a guide for how to live.

And yet, so many of the smaller, less visible religions—indigenous, tribal, local—carry just as much weight for the people who practice them. In those spaces, the divine may not be far away or up high, but instead right here—immanent, present in nature, in people, in the universe itself.

Religion is hard to define because it isn’t just about rituals or buildings or sacred texts. It’s about our relationship to what we call holy, sacred, divine. And that relationship has taken countless forms.

In the West, we’ve seen long periods where society shifted away from religion and spirituality altogether. Some believe that turn has left us more isolated, more self-centered, and more disconnected.

Then came the pandemic.

After COVID—after all the fear, separation, grief, and silence—it’s no surprise that people started returning to churches, fellowships, and spiritual communities. When the ground beneath you crumbles, you reach for something steady. Something ancient. Something you can believe in.

But here’s where I get stuck.

After COVID, I didn’t want “normal” back. I felt like the disruption was a call to change—deep, necessary change. But when I spoke with leaders, teams, and friends, I saw something else: a collective relief that we were returning to business as usual.

That crushed me.

It felt like all the grief we carried—individually and collectively—just got swept under the rug. We didn’t process it. We didn’t even really name it.

And then the world kept turning: 

The war in Ukraine. 

Gaza and Israel. 

Another U.S. election cycle that tore into what little unity we had left.

I don’t know how to fix any of this. 

And maybe that’s the point.

Maybe we’re not meant to be “fixed.” 

Maybe we’re not broken—we’re just deeply divided, emotionally exhausted, and stuck in a culture of right/wrong, us/them, saved/damned.

We keep waiting for someone to save us. 

But no one is coming.

It’s not Trump’s fault. It’s not Biden’s. Not Musk’s. Not the GOP or the Democrats. 

It’s us. *We the people.*

Right now, people are turning back to religion as an answer. I understand that impulse. 

It can be a path out of separation. Out of loneliness. Out of despair.

But maybe we don’t need to return to an old religion. 

Maybe it’s time to create something new.

Something rooted in curiosity. 

In shared humanity. 

In a willingness to listen, rather than litigate.

What if we could ask each other: *What matters most to you?* 

And instead of debating or defending, we simply held space for each other’s answers?

What if we could agree—not on beliefs, but on behaviors that help us live together with dignity, empathy, and care?

Maybe we’ve been smart for a long time. 

But we’ve lost resilience. 

We’ve forgotten how to bend without breaking.

Maybe the path forward isn’t through politics or policy alone—but through people. 

Children could guide us. 

Nature could heal us. 

Elders could ground us.

What if we built something around that?

Something that didn’t require one definition of God—but honored the divine in many forms.

Maybe that’s what God is.