Across Africa’s cities and campuses, a familiar phrase echoes in conversations about faith: “I’m spiritual, but not religious.” It is often spoken with a blend of conviction and weariness. Conviction—because the speaker feels they are holding onto something higher than pure materialism. Weariness—because organized religion, with its dogmas and institutions, feels stifling or corrupt.
This phrase has become a shield for many young Africans who are disillusioned by churches that seem obsessed with prosperity, politics, or power. They want transcendence without tradition, meaning without membership, and a path to peace without pastors or priests. In Nairobi, Lagos, Accra, Johannesburg, and beyond, you will find students who practice mindfulness with YouTube videos, executives who burn sage in their apartments, and artists who speak of “the universe” rather than God. Some still carry their grandmother’s rosary or Bible, but they treat it more like a charm than a guide.
The New Religion of Restlessness
“I am spiritual but not religious” is not a throwaway phrase. It is a worldview. It signals a deep hunger for something more than the secular story that says life is a random accident. At the same time, it resists the exclusive claims of Christianity. It wants hope without commitment, transcendence without truth, spirituality without the cross.
But here is the irony: the very people who declare themselves “spiritual but not religious” often remain deeply restless. Their spirituality can soothe for a moment, but it cannot sustain when life falls apart. It cannot answer the crushing realities of guilt, evil, and death.
The gospel of Jesus Christ, however, offers something far more substantial: a hope that is anchored, not in our shifting spiritual experiments, but in the finished work of Christ and his resurrection.
In this article, I want to focus on one issue that exposes the inadequacy of “spiritual but not religious” living: the human search for hope in the face of restlessness. We will explore why this restlessness exists, why vague spirituality cannot satisfy it, and why only the gospel of Jesus Christ provides the hope we long for. Along the way, we will see how this message lands with particular force in Africa, where the realities of death, fear, and spiritual power are never far away.
The Longing for Hope
Human beings are hope-seekers. We cannot live without some vision of the future that makes sense of our present struggles. Hope is to the soul what oxygen is to the lungs. Take it away, and despair suffocates us.
This is why, across every culture, people turn to religion or spirituality. They sense that there must be more than the visible world. They long for peace, for connection, for protection, for a story that lifts them beyond the monotony of daily life. Even the most secular slogans—“things will get better,” “just trust the process”—are faint echoes of humanity’s hunger for hope.
In Africa, hope is woven into the very fabric of community life. Traditional religions have always promised that ancestors watch over the living, that rituals can secure blessings, and that obedience to taboos ensures prosperity. In modern contexts, prosperity preachers proclaim that sowing financial “seeds” will unlock divine favor. Political slogans promise freedom, progress, and unity. And increasingly, the “spiritual but not religious (SBNR)” generation turns inward: to meditation, to affirmations, to crystals, to yoga, to vague notions of “positive energy.”
But why this relentless search? The answer is simple: deep down, we know the world is not as it should be. We feel guilt over wrongs we cannot undo. We fear powers we cannot control. And we know, however much we try to avoid the thought, that death is coming. The heart longs for a hope that will not crumble when these realities press in.
This is why Augustine famously prayed, “You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you.” That restlessness is universal. It is not a sign of failure; it is a sign that we were made for something greater.
The Restlessness of Vague Spirituality
The “spiritual but not religious” movement tries to address this restlessness. It offers rituals without rules, transcendence without truth, and experiences without obligations. For some, it feels liberating. No judgmental sermons. No outdated creeds. No institutions to mistrust. Just me and my private spirituality.
But here is the problem: vague spirituality cannot carry the weight of human longing. It is like drinking saltwater when you are thirsty—it only increases the restlessness. Let me show you why.
1. It cannot deal with guilt.
Spiritual practices may bring a sense of calm, but they cannot erase the weight of moral failure. A young professional in Nairobi may chant affirmations every morning, yet still lie awake at night replaying the harm they caused to a friend. Burning sage may make a room smell fresh, but it cannot cleanse the conscience. Only forgiveness—real forgiveness—can do that.
2. It cannot conquer evil.
Africa is a continent where the reality of evil is not an abstraction. Witchcraft, corruption, betrayal, and oppression are painfully tangible. The SBNR worldview might recommend “sending positive energy” or “manifesting good vibes,” but none of that has the power to break the cycle of exploitation or protect the vulnerable from spiritual forces. Evil laughs at empty mantras.
3. It cannot face death.
This is perhaps the most decisive failure. Spiritual-but-not-religious practices may distract us from the thought of death, but they cannot prepare us for it. When a loved one dies, talk of “their energy living on” feels hollow. When we ourselves face the grave, affirmations collapse. Without resurrection, all spirituality is just whistling in the dark.
In short, SBNR spirituality offers a mist when we need a mountain. It may calm the restless heart for a moment, but it cannot anchor it.
The Gospel’s Solid Hope
Into this restless search, the gospel of Jesus Christ speaks with stunning clarity. Christianity does not deny restlessness; it explains it. It does not dismiss our longings; it fulfills them. And it does not offer vague spirituality; it offers concrete hope.
1. Forgiveness of sins.
At the cross, Jesus took upon himself the guilt of our sin. He died the death we deserve, so that we might receive the forgiveness we could never earn. The restless conscience finds peace, not by ignoring guilt, but by hearing the words: “There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (Rom. 8:1).
2. Victory over evil.
The resurrection of Jesus is not just a metaphor; it is a cosmic victory. Colossians 2:15 declares that Christ disarmed the powers and authorities, triumphing over them by the cross. For Africans who fear witchcraft, curses, or malevolent spirits, this is not abstract theology—it is liberating news. Christ is stronger than every power that terrifies us.
3. Assurance of resurrection.
Most of all, the gospel offers hope beyond death. Christianity does not comfort us with vague talk of “spiritual energy.” It proclaims a risen Savior who guarantees the resurrection of all who trust in him. Because Christ lives, we too shall live. Our hope is not wishful thinking; it is anchored in historical reality.
This is why Peter calls it a “living hope” (1 Pet. 1:3). It is alive because Jesus is alive.
The African Lens
When we bring this message into African contexts, its power becomes even clearer.
Africans know that the world is full of unseen powers. Whether in traditional villages or modern cities, there is an awareness of spiritual realities. The restless heart fears curses, envies protection, and wonders about the ancestors. The SBNR alternative may offer new rituals—burning incense, meditating, journaling—but it cannot silence the dread of the unseen.
Only the gospel can do that. Only Jesus can say, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me” (Matt. 28:18). Only Jesus can promise, “Because I live, you also will live” (John 14:19).
For young Africans who have grown weary of religion-as-business or churches-as-politics, this is crucial: the gospel is not another manipulative system. It is not about sowing seeds for blessings or performing endless rituals to keep ancestors happy. It is about the finished work of Christ, freely given to all who believe.
This is the hope that answers restlessness.
Conclusion: Come and Rest
So what do we say to our friends, classmates, or colleagues who claim to be “spiritual but not religious”?
We affirm their search. We acknowledge their restlessness. But we gently show them that their spirituality cannot carry the weight of their hopes. It cannot forgive guilt, conquer evil, or overcome death.
And then we point them to Jesus.
Here is the one who said, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matt. 11:28). Here is the one who died for sinners, rose in victory, and reigns over every power. Here is the one who offers hope that is stronger than death itself.
In Africa, where restlessness is palpable and death is never far away, this hope is not optional. It is essential. To be “spiritual but not religious” is to keep searching, always restless. To be in Christ is to find the rest we were made for.
Our hearts are restless until they rest in him.
This post was originally published on dansonottawa.substack.com
