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Belief
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4 min read

Love Island: 'thanking the universe’ makes no sense

The universe doesn’t even know you exist, so don't waste time thanking it.

Graham is the Director of the Centre for Cultural Witness and a former Bishop of Kensington.

A Composite image of Love Island contestants stand together in a group under a fiery heart.
ITV.

I don't watch Love Island, but maybe I should. A friend noticed something odd happening on it recently. Contestants often seem to credit 'the universe' with something happening. The universe has been thanked; it’s been used to bring solace to those unlucky in love (i.e. ‘the universe has your perfect woman lined up to enter the villa’ ); it’s been ‘prayed’ to, even.

I read a moving article about a mother some while ago, reflecting back on the difficult birth of her now teenage son, filled with a sense of gratefulness for the sheer gift of his life. Her words were simple: “As my son turns 16, I thank the universe his fraught birth is only a memory.”

‘Thanking the universe’ has become a common trope these days, maybe because people feel they can no longer thank God. Being thankful, of course, is a good thing, and gratitude is the subject of significant scientific research. Numerous studies have shown the beneficial effects of a grateful approach to life. It helps people live longer, sleep better, reduces toxic emotions like regret or resentment, and builds self-respect. By consciously being grateful for ordinary things – a roof over their heads, clean air to breathe, or a kind word from a friend, people who were previously dogged by resentment and grievance about the way life had treated them have found it possible to express appreciation of others, let minor insults pass and negotiate successfully with tricky neighbours.  

Gratitude is the ability to recognise good things in our lives that we didn’t create. It reminds us that we are not the makers of our own good fortune.  Saying a simple ‘thank you’ turns us outwards, away from a sense that we deserve the good things that come our way.  It contradicts any idea that we are somehow self-sufficient, helping us recognise that we are thoroughly dependent on factors beyond ourselves for most of what makes our lives enjoyable and fruitful.  

All the same, there is something odd about being grateful to an impersonal object - like a tree for standing, a river for flowing, or, for that matter, to the universe itself, especially when we usually think of that universe as blind and indifferent. Bob Emmons, a Professor of Psychology in California points out an important distinction between gratitude and thankfulness. We tend to be grateful for something, but thankful to someone. We often talk about life or a particular talent as a ‘gift’, but for something to be a gift, it really needs to be given by a giver. Something that is not deliberately offered can’t easily be seen as a gift.  

Imagine finding a bunch of flowers in the street outside your home, dropped by an absent-minded shopper. Then imagine a similar bunch of flowers given to you by a friend who knew you needed cheering up. Which would mean more? Which is really a gift? You might be grateful that the lost flowers exist and are sitting in a vase on your kitchen table, but they would mean so much more if they were a gift from a friend. Gifts which come from a giver, deliberately chosen, and personally given, mean so much more than things which would just happen to be there. 

While a sense of gratitude can be psychologically beneficial, something even better happens if we learn to see everything we have as a gift from a giver, rather than a fortunate accident, or mere chance. 

A gift we receive is never ultimately about the gift – it’s about the relationship established between us and the one who gave it. 

The practice of giving thanks in Christian prayer is rooted in the idea of Creation - that the world around us is not here by chance but is a gift from a God who made it. It therefore changes the way we look at that world. The simple discipline of saying grace before a meal transforms the food from a random plate of meat and veg into a sign of love and provision for our needs. Thanksgiving reminds me that the tree outside my window doesn’t just happen to be there, but is a gift from a heavenly Father who made it and gave it, at least in this moment, to me as the person observing it right now. As G.K. Chesterton once put it: “If my children wake up on Christmas morning and have someone to thank for putting candy in their stockings, have I no-one to thank for putting two feet in mine?”  

We often say it’s the thought that counts. If that’s true, then if there is no thought behind the thing we receive, then somehow, however good it is, it means little. A gift we receive is never ultimately about the gift – it’s about the relationship established between us and the one who gave it. Gratitude is better than greed, but if there is no-one behind the things we enjoy, then what we have is not really a gift. To put it bluntly, the universe doesn’t care about you. It doesn’t even know you exist. So, thanking it makes no sense whatsoever.  

If, however, behind the gift, there is a Giver who gave us what we needed, or even more than we needed, whether or not we deserved it, that gift becomes something much more significant. That gift – friendship, food, forgiveness and much more, becomes a token of love – a sign that despite everything, there is a God who made us, thinks of us, and even beyond that, gives himself for us at great cost, an even deeper reality than the gift itself. 

 

A version of this article originally appeared in the Times 

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Sport
5 min read

Beyond the wave and the feed

Why a generation—and a surfer—are chasing depth in a shallow world

Rick writes and speaks on leadership, transformation, and culture.

A setting sun back-lights a crowd of young people on a beach
Jen Loong on Unsplash.

For years, I've chased waves from Malibu to Maui, each one, big or small, pulling me into something raw, real, extraordinary, authentic, and divine. Between sets, I drift on my board, watching the horizon, waiting for the next wave to rise and carry me into a new spiritual journey. Each time, I'm humbled by an otherworldly sensation, a feeling beyond myself. My heart races, my toes buzz as I paddle and drop into the emerging liquid wall. In that instant, I realize I'm entering an environment that can transport me to another place, a spiritual state of wonder and awe.

When I paddle out into the ocean, I enter a world that pulls me towards something greater. This sense of wonder sparks my curiosity, urging me to look past myself, man-made institutions, and preconceived notions to what you might call the ‘invisible qualities’. For me they go beyond the laws of physics that rule the waves and the carve of my surf board. Thousands of years ago, Saint Paul called them ‘God’s invisible qualities’.    

Surfing deeply stirs my soul, tugging at my mind and heart. It reveals the wonder of each wave and the ocean's vastness, testifying to something more, a wonder and awe beyond my comprehension. In essence, surfing is my church. Every time I paddle into the liquid world of the sea, I see God’s invisible realities

Like surfers searching for the perfect wave, Gen Z is on a divine quest. Their "Jesus Curiousness" reflects a deeper yearning for something beyond the everyday - real answers and a profound sense of purpose.

New research indicates that over half (48-56 per cent) of Gen Z is "Jesus Curious," and yet these numbers do not reflect any uptick in church attendance. Someone recently posted, “The young people of Gen Z are diverse, educated, and social media savvy. When it comes to faith, they’re open to Jesus and his teachings but skeptical about institutions and leaders putting on a façade.” 

While Gen Z definitely shows a renewed interest in Jesus, they are simultaneously distancing themselves from the church. This might present a seeming contradiction, right? How can anyone, much less an entire generation, seek Jesus without engaging with the church? This phenomenon could be considered an oxymoron, much like phrases such as "almost always" or "jumbo shrimp." Or perhaps, this is an emerging trend? 

Adventurer and survivalist Bear Grylls recently articulated a sentiment that, I believe, precisely captures the essence of Gen Z's "Jesus Curiousness" and their quest for meaning outside traditional church settings. His words point to a core human longing: an authentic, genuine, and raw hope in something or someone that offers a personal answer to life's profound mysteries.

He said, “I want people to know that the Jesus I eventually discovered is intimate and beautiful and strong and gentle and relevant and life changing and life enhancing. People ask me the question, ‘what attracts you to Jesus?’ It's hard because it's like trying to say what do you like about the blood running in and around your body or water in the desert? It's like, try to live without it?” 

I think much of this shift - this renewed interest in the person of Jesus - can be traced back to how the Pandemic altered every one of our lives, specifically Gen Z. It contributed to a new and profound sense of despair, a crisis of meaning in all that we thought we knew. For example, when the Pandemic hit, it broke daily routines, both sacred and secular. Life as we knew it was put on pause and we had to look outside of those routines and what we thought we knew and practiced. We were stuck in our homes, often alone and in isolation. It gave us time to think. It created space to ask bigger, more existential questions and explore the essence of purpose and meaning. We were all forced to examine life and what we knew through a new lens. For Gen Z, this served as their catalyst. 

Notably, this larger trend of their rejection of religious institutions favors a personalized, authentic, and socially relevant spirituality. It's marked by how they distinguish between the figure of Jesus and the institution as they seek a deeper understanding of Him through unusual means. Instead of the church pew for example, they explore the commercially popular show The Chosen and contemplate the very human and honest lyrics of new musical artists like Forest Frank, both of which offer an accessible portrayal of Jesus.

In a world where digital perfection is first, Gen Z is looking for something outside of the traditional church, something authentic, a genuine connection to something real, something beyond this tangible world. Jesus to them represents this authenticity, someone to whom they can both approach with questions and find answers that potentially satiate their deepest curiosities:  What are we here for? What do we do? Is there more?

What’s interesting about this post-Christian generation is that they are not abandoning faith or becoming spiritually apathetic as many would suspect; rather, their exploration is a sincere journey for a genuine faith, leading some to consider them the most spiritual, non-religious generation to date. 

This surge in "Jesus Curiosity" doesn't suggest Christianity is losing its relevance. Conversely, it’s proof that something new, something raw is emerging and causing a shift in the spiritual landscape. It’s redefining labels and changing older definitions that may no longer fit. The underlying human desire remains constant: a quest for deeper meaning in life.

As we look at this generation and its sincere inquiry into the deeper things, we observe a spiritual renewal, a seeming revival worldwide, unprecedented in recent decades within a post-Christian society. Some call it the Quiet Revival. Gen Z does not want to fake it. They “just want to figure it out”. They are on a true quest, engaged in a journey of enchantment. At the center of their journey is Jesus, not religion and not the church. 

As my surf session ends, the salt roughens my skin and the sea's echo lingers in my soul like a quiet song. Walking back to my truck, board under arm, I relive each wave's freedom, the sound, the churn, the emerging shape. The raw power of the sea connects me to something greater, deepening my quest. You see, surfers and Gen Z in our sojourn share a common search, a common language - a search for something intangible, something immeasurable. We are on a quest to find, to see, and to know what St. Paul called God’s invisible realities.

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