It appears to be in the nature of religion itself to be

Hear now, O seeker, the daring words of John Shelby Spong: “It appears to be in the nature of religion itself to be prejudiced against those who are different.” These words pierce like a double-edged sword. They are not spoken in malice, but in lament, for they name a wound deep within the history of faith. Religion, meant to heal and unite, has too often divided and condemned. The stranger at the gate, the heretic, the outsider—all have felt the sting of exclusion in the name of the holy.

Consider the nature of religion itself. At its purest, religion seeks to lift the human spirit toward the Eternal, to bind men and women in community, to awaken awe in the face of mystery. Yet the same fire that warms can also burn. For when religion takes form in institutions, rules, and boundaries, it inevitably divides: insiders and outsiders, the saved and the lost, the pure and the impure. What was meant to be a door to the divine becomes a wall between neighbors. Thus Spong declares that prejudice is not merely an accident of religion but lies in its very structure when corrupted by fear and pride.

Look to history and see how this truth unfolds. The medieval Inquisition sought to root out heresy, but in doing so it tortured and silenced countless souls who simply thought differently. The Jewish people, guardians of an ancient covenant, were scorned and persecuted by Christians who claimed to worship the same God. Even within single traditions, sects and schisms multiplied, each declaring itself righteous, and each condemning the other. Here is the bitter irony: religion, meant to reveal the face of love, often turned against those who were different, shrouding love with suspicion and violence.

And yet, not all was darkness. There were always voices of compassion that rose against the tide. Recall Francis of Assisi, who crossed battle lines during the Crusades to speak with the Sultan, honoring him as a fellow child of God rather than an enemy. Or Mahatma Gandhi, who drew upon Hindu devotion and Christian love alike to resist the oppression of empire with peace. These lives remind us that while religion may often breed prejudice, it can also inspire souls to transcend division and embrace the stranger as brother and sister.

Spong’s words, therefore, are both indictment and summons. They indict the ways faith has been used as a weapon of exclusion, but they also summon us to purify religion of this tendency, to seek a faith not of boundaries but of bridges. For if prejudice arises from fear of difference, then the antidote is love that delights in difference as a reflection of the Infinite’s endless creativity.

The lesson is clear: do not allow your faith, whatever it may be, to shrink your heart. Test every teaching, every ritual, every tradition against the measure of compassion. If it makes you despise the stranger, then it has lost the breath of the divine. If it teaches you to love beyond borders, then it has touched the true heart of God.

Practical wisdom follows. Speak to those unlike yourself. Break bread with them. Listen to their stories, their songs, their prayers. Defend the outcast, the marginalized, the one labeled impure. In doing so, you not only resist the shadow side of religion, but you also awaken its truest purpose: to reveal the sacred unity of all life.

Therefore, O child of tomorrow, remember Spong’s warning: the prejudice of religion is real, but not inevitable. You carry the power to shape your faith into something larger, more luminous, more just. Love the different. Welcome the stranger. Let your religion not be a prison of fear but a pathway to boundless compassion. In this way, what has so often divided will at last begin to unite, and what has wounded may yet begin to heal.