There's a pervasive approach to the spiritual life in our culture that I would simply call "The Religion of Chipotle."

Now, if you love Chipotle, that's a good thing. Chipotle offers a very simple and fun way to eat lunch or dinner: you come up to a burrito bar, look down at all the food options, and then you decide how to concoct your own burrito. The ingredients are laid out behind the glass, but you design the meal to suit your personal tastes.

Unfortunately, some people take that same approach and apply it to the spiritual quest. In our culture it's tempting to think we can saunter up to the great burrito bar of the religious world and say something like this:

I'll have some of that evangelicalism. I like their energy and cultural adaptability. I like the regal nature of Roman Catholicism, and it seems kind of ancient, and I also need a little dab of mystery in my life—but not too much, please, because I also want to figure things out for myself. Give me a dash of Hinduism because I sure like that open-endedness; and if I'm a good person, I'll be reincarnated in a higher life form. I like the calmness and detachment of Buddhism. But once again, give me just a small portion because I don't want to quench all of my earthly desires. Wow, Islam has some seriousness and discipline. That would sure help me stay on track. I'll put a little bit of that in there. Oh, but that judgment of God stuff—that's too spicy. And that "Jesus is the only way to God" salsa—no, I don't want to limit myself to that option. Please keep that out.

We literally choose and pick, often without research, often very subjectively, the things that we think must be true. As a result, we make our own religion like a self-made burrito.