FAITH HOUSE Manhattan

A Revolution of Hope

~ by Samir Selmanovic

After working on ideas and designs for the last twelve months, we are finally going public.  Here is our logo!  (See at the top of the blog).

A number of you have set down with me over a meal or a drink and listened to my half-hour explanation of a drawing like this on a napkin. You asked questions, shared your excitement and worries, which all added to it.  After this year-long process, special thanks to Steve Hatzman from Seattle for propelling this design process forward, to Tim Gilman from Portland for final touches, to Justin Kim from Washington D.C. and Katharine Loving from New York for their advice on legal issues.

Why house?  Why these religious symbols?  Why separate circles?  What is the fourth circle about?  Why are they horizontally positioned?  What about the roof?  What about the foundations?  Where are the walls? . . .  Oh, so much to talk about.  We would love to hear some of your comments or answer your questions. 

I have never seen these three religious symbols displayed together, until someone sent me a video from a U2 concert where daring Bono wore a bandana with the three on his forehead.  He is convinced of the potential for good that has been stored in them.

Most people find the idea of Faith House either impossible or dangerous.  On the first account, I have become like most of you, a passionate post-cynic. On the second account, I think we will either learn to live together on this newly small planet, or there will be no planet.

Next week, we will begin two months of fundraising campaign to bring an Imam, a Rabbi, and a Pastor to work together for two years, building a different kind of community.  Imagine that!  I wonder if you can.

We believe that our main source of support will be you, the readers of our newsletter/website.  I hope that in the weeks to come, regardless of where you live in the world, you will make a step from being an observer to being a full participant in this revolution of hope.

God has his hopes high.  Why shouldn't we?

Walking with an Atheist

~ by Titus Müller, born 1977 in Leipzig, Germany, and studied Literature and Medieval History in Berlin. He published his first novel at age 24. The sixth—The Mystery—was published this year. His books have won literary awards and together sold more than 250,000 copies. Titus Mueller is a Seventh-day Adventist Christian who lives in Germany. More information at the Author's Website (sorry, German only).

Recently, I was invited to a science fiction conference in Germany, the annual meeting of the readers of “Perry Rhodan,” one of the world’s most ubiquitous science fiction series. Materialistic science fiction portrays the future as technically and morally advanced (“Star Trek” is an example for this way of thinking), therefore depicting humanity as self-sufficient and in no need for God. On the other hand, the darker wing of science fiction asks the question: Can we trust our senses? In works like The Matrix, for example, the information we receive from our five senses is an illusion created by machines that have spun out of human control and are using humanity as an energy supply system. 

I was speaking to this audience of atheists on the topic the host had given me: “God in Science Fiction.” I had written a science fiction novel for the “Perry Rhodan” series—the first since 1963 in which someone prayed to God and believed in him. For this, a Christian publishing house awarded me with the C.S. Lewis Prize, including the opportunity to spend 40 days on the Isle of Wight. I had received hundreds of reader’s letters after that book was published. Half of them hated my novel; the other half loved it. Now the science fiction lovers wanted to know what my thoughts on God really were. 

After I gave my speech to the science fiction fans, some of them furiously attacked me, saying that the belief in God is nothing but weakness, originating from fear. A Roman Catholic priest who was in the audience tried to calm them down by saying things like: “God is not a separate being, he is in every one of us, he is what happens when we do an unselfish act.” I began to sweat.

After offering a silent prayer, I took a step forward and said: “I don’t know whether I am right in what I believe. Maybe I have to learn that what I believe is in fact wrong. Maybe I will come to different conclusions later in life. But right now, I firmly believe that God is not only in each one of us, but that he is a being of himself, an alien. You as science fiction readers will understand that thought. He is not from here, not from earth. I believe he listens when I think, feel, or talk to him. He is pure wisdom. He is smarter than all of humankind put together.”

This changed everything. My most aggressive critic talked to me afterwards: “I am the one who wrote the devastating review on your book. I didn’t know you are a seeker. I thought you think you already know everything. I didn’t know you are still open and on the way. Thank you for being sympathetic to everyone who seeks. I hadn’t thought that one can be a believer and a seeker.”

When I heard Samir speak in Germany last week I was reminded of this atheist brother who was seeking along with me. He would have liked to hear what Samir had to say. Christians who aren’t seekers anymore pretend to know all about God—which only makes God smaller and more distant. And at the same time, they turn away other seekers on the journey, forfeiting a chance to give and receive. I am glad to learn—from Samir and others—to keep going on my way to God in company with all who seek.

Struggle with Our Sacred Texts

~ by Samir Selmanovic

I have received a link to an interesting L.A. Times article from my friend Todd Chobotar, titled Scholars Try to Reconcile 'Problematic' Religious Texts. It discusses the struggle we have with the "dark side" of three faith traditions, sacred texts that have been used to exclude or even justify violence against the The Other.

Reflecting on the struggle we have with our sacred texts, I have written a poem (first one in a long time!).  I have been inspired by a quote of one of the Californian based professors of Islamic Law, Khaled Abou El-Fadl who said: "The meaning of the text is often as moral as its reader. If the reader is intolerant, hateful, or oppressive, so will the interpretation of the text" (article in Boston Review 2/25/2002).  My poem is followed by a sampling of another kind of sacred texts.

 

UNDER OUR DAUGHTERS' GAZE
~ by Samir Selmanovic

God watches our religions
through the eyes of people
that will inherit the earth
after three of us are gone.

Why not hear
now
the questions
they will ask
then?

"Those three mighty defenders of God,
did they love, or did they love to be right?"

I am making a turn here.
I will interpret my Sacred Text
not in the quiet of my room
not in the glory of my temple
not to preserve my past
not to prove anything at all.

I will study The Word
under the gaze
of my daughters
and yours,

my Muslim and Jewish
brothers.

And the words of God
will make me run to you.
We will talk, cry,
eat, and dance,

three of us,
fathers.

 

God is our Lord and your Lord. We have our works, and you have your works. There is no disputing between us and you. God brings us together, and to him belongs the final destiny. -  Qur'an, Surat al-Shura (42):15

Bring about reconciliation between your brothers, and fear God, that you may receive mercy. -  Qur'an, Surat al-Hujurat (49):10 

~ ~ ~

Jesus said: Blessed are the peacemakers. -  New Testament, Matthew 5:9.

God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them. / And he has committed to us the message of reconciliation. -  New Testament, 2 Corinthians 5:19

~ ~ ~

You shall be a blessing and through you all peoples on earth shall be blessed. - Torah, Genesis 12:2-3

You shall not take vengeance nor bear any grudge against any of your people, but you shall love your neighbor as yourself. - Torah, Leviticus 19:18

A Sabbath Poem (Nye)

KINDNESS
~ by Naomi Shihab Nye

Before you know what kindness really is
You must lose things,
Feel the future dissolve in a moment
Like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
What you counted and carefully saved,
All this must go so you know
How desolate the landscape can be
Between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
Thinking the bus will never stop,
The passengers eating maize and chicken
Will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
You must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
Lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
How he too was someone
Who journeyed through the night with plans
And the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
You must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
Catches the thread of all sorrows
And you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
Only kindness that ties your shoes
And sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
Only kindness that raises its head from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for,
And then goes with you everywhere
Like a shadow or a friend.

(from The Words Under the Words:
Selected Poems, Eight Mountain Press, 1995)

Interview with an Arab Atheist

~ by Esra'a Bahrain (Mideast Youth)

I’m interviewing an Arab atheist from Kuwait: Sara Sultan.  I will first make it clear that I’m happily a Muslim, and am in no way promoting atheism by conducting these interviews. Young atheists in the Arab world are extremely frowned upon and thus hardly ever given a voice, and if we really want to represent all kinds of people then we should include the voices of those we disagree with as well.

Q: Firstly, why did you agree to do this interview? Aren’t you scared of voicing such controversial opinions?
A: I agreed to do this interview because I have the interest in sharing my thoughts and beliefs with you. Why should I be scared? I have a right to express my opinions and I have no fear from doing so. People try to bully us into believing things… into being part of a “larger mass.” They kick us into buying anything from political opinions to religious beliefs. I refuse to be a product of such attempts at misleading us. They can call me what they want, at the end of the day I’m just an independent woman with a firm opinion.

Q: When did you become an atheist?

Binding In Jordan and Manhattan

~ by Lauralea Banks, a new Program Coordinator of Faith House Manhattan

After deciding my life in Washington, DC, was not fulfilling or taking me where I wanted to go, I decided to seize the moment and pursue my wildest dream. 

Three years ago, I moved to Jordan for nine months to study Arabic.  I had visited Jordan twice on archeology digs in a little village close to Amman. But moving there was something different. In part, I wanted to experience how deep Jordanian hospitality went.  My earlier visits had revealed the kindest, most giving people I had ever met.  But I wondered if the red-carpet treatment had been brought out just for a guest.  And if their hospitality was really as deep as it seemed, I wondered what driving force lay behind it?  Was it culture, religion, heritage?

After living in Jordan for a few months, I began to figure out how to navigate social interactions. I learned for example that people might offer things, but you only knew they were serious if you declined their offer three times and they still insisted.  Many times I found they meant what they said, but just as often they changed the subject after the first invitation.

Throughout my nine-month stay, one group of people inspired my passion for interfaith dialog and this prepared me to capture the vision of Faith House.

I felt fortunate to have friends in Jordan before I moved there.  They emailed advice prior to my arrival, and only later did I learn they had spent hours knocking on doors trying to find me an apartment.  Through their military connections, they obtained special passes so they could meet me at the gate of my plane.  At every turn, they were there to help me.  And yes, they found me an apartment, and then shared information about jobs in which I might be interested.  They took me shopping.  For my first week, they arranged for one of their cousins to meet me everyday after school to make sure I settled in OK.  It became a habit and for nine months I spent every afternoon surrounded by people eager to help who wanted only friendship in return. Over time I felt a degree of skepticism about such kindness and pressed a friend on the subject.  He responded that that they wouldn't be good Jordanians or Muslims if they didn't take good care of me.  Then he paused, looked at me and said it was partly my fault.  I had been so interested in them, and had been so non-judgmental of our differences that it had been hard for them not to reciprocate!

We spent hours talking about religion: each of us explaining why we belonged to our respective faiths.  It proved to be quite a challenge because there were irreconcilable differences between us that we could only begin to understand by seeing the world through each other's eyes.  A few months after I arrived, we had a long conversation about women in Islam.  They explained why women in the Middle East utilize a different “space” than women in America.  It took all nine months of my stay to begin to wrap my brain around the different ways Jordanians define female agency and empowerment.  I'm still trying to understand it.  But our friendship only deepened in these conversations and made me recognize the arrogance I brought with my worldview.  My friends began to feel the same way about their perspectives as well.

As we dismantled misunderstandings and arrogance, something else happened to our friendship: I spent more time in the village with my friends.  Invitations were always extended three times and after awhile, merely mentioning an event meant I was expected to show up.  And when some guys at school approached my friends and asked about me in a suggestive tone (implying the stereotypical assumption that all Americans are like Britney Spears) they were told I was a sister.  These young guys protested, but were firmly informed I was their sister and would be respected as such.  Their willingness to defend me as their own blood deeply affected me and proved to be a monumental step in our friendship.  They insisted I was not like other Americans, that the thoughtfulness I brought to my religion and spirituality made me more like them than if I had converted to Islam. It’s true they often expressed the wish that I would convert, but respected that I had a different path to walk.  As a result, our friendship created a strange new family of different religions but similar mandates for living.

When Samir approached me about Faith House Manhattan, it resonated with my experience in Jordan.  Imagine Muslims, Jews, Christians, Atheists, Buddhists, and other religions coming together, staying rooted in their faith but recognizing that their religious journey can be strengthened by learning about other religious traditions!  From my experience in Jordan I can say this process is powerful and binds people together in a unique way.  Imagine taking that powerful connection and using it to touch the lives of neighbors in your community.  I've already lived the dream of Faith House and the outcome is miraculous and beautiful.  For me it is the true and complete picture of God.

(read more about Lauralea soon on this website)

A Sabbath Poem (Lewis)

      THE APOLOGIST'S EVENING PRAYER
     ~ by C.S. Lewis (1898-1963)

      From all my lame defeats and oh! much more
      From all the victories that I seemed to score;
      From cleverness shot forth on Thy behalf
      At which, while angels weep, the audience laugh;
      From all my proofs of Thy divinity,
      Thou, who wouldst give no sign, deliver me.

      Thoughts are but coins.  Let me not trust, instead
      of Thee, their thin-worn image of Thy head.
      From all my thoughts, even from my thoughts of Thee,
      O thou fair Silence, fall, and set me free.
      Lord of the narrow gate and needle's eye,
      Take from me all my trumpery lest I die.

      (source:  sorry, can't remember)

Looking for Each Other

~by Samir Selmanovic

Those of us working locally to prepare for the launch of Faith House public meetings had an important conversation recently and decided that in order to live up to our mission, we need to make a turn in our strategy. We realized that starting Faith House as a predominantly Christian community would create a group with an owned-by-Christians DNA. No matter how open we would be to others, we would be in the position of power. Which we believe would not be in accordance with Christian faith as we have come to understand it. We believe we don't need to be in charge in order to fully live out our convictions.

We therefore decided to have at least two more "founders" added from the start, one Imam, one Rabbi, endorsed by their respective traditions/networks plus myself representing the Christian community. We want to make our initial decisions about Faith House with the future stakeholders not for them. Here is how one of our wise Christian advisors from London put it:

This seems to me like a very thoughtful way forward. I believe that it will be much easier to achieve the vision you have by including the other voices from the start. Rather than trying to invite them into a homogenous house where they are red and everyone else is blue and convince them it is their home too. If Faith House is really to be a community, it is best that key stakeholders each get to cement the walls - or in this case posts, or bridges instead of walls, that will hold you together.

I once heard theologian Dallas Willard say, "You will know what the Kingdom of God is when you do things you know will not work, ... and they do!" I hope that those of you who are our Christian supporters approve of this act of "letting go." We have become tired of our own religions constantly clinging to a position of privilege and power. Now, we want to follow our Teacher who said, "Do to others what you want others to do to you." 

And we believe that a number of our Jewish and Muslim brothers and sisters are doing the same right now, loving their faith, disarming themselves, and looking for us.  Let's take time to seek and find each other.

A Sabbath Poem (Zeitlin)

SING OUT
~ by Aaron Zeitlin

Praise me, says God;
I will know that you love me.
Curse me, says God;
I will know that you love me.
Sing out my graces, says God.
Raise your fist against me and revile.
Sing out my praises or revile.
Reviling is also a kind of praise, says God.
But if you sit fenced off
in your apathy, says God.
If you sit entrenched in:
"I don't give a hang."
If you look at the stars and yawn,
If you see suffering and don't cry out,
If you don't praise and don't revile,
Then I created you in vain, says God.

(translation: Emanuel Goldsmith)

Don't Hurry Through This One

~ by Samir Selmanovic

I am at an airport right now. 

If you travel a lot, I am pretty sure you cannot escape the magic of watching people every once in a while, imagining their journeys, their stories, studying their body language, their faces, thinking about what they are really like. What is her life like? Where is she coming from? Where is she going? If you look at a person long enough you are bound to realize that, without exception, they are your very own flesh and blood. You realize we are all coming from the same origin, the same womb, we are all living under the same sky, going into the same dirt. 

Here is a poem by a contemporary poet I discovered recently. Her name is Naomi Shihab Nye. Naomi was born to a Palestinian father and an American mother and grew up in Jerusalem and San Antonio. Her books of poetry include 19 Varieties of Gazelle: Poems of the Middle East, A Maze Me: Poems for Girls, Red Suitcase, Words Under the Words, and You and Yours.

I suggest, don't hurry through this poem. Let yourself be there.

WANDERING AROUND AN ALBUQUERQUE AIRPORT TERMINAL 
(by Naomi Shihab Nye)

After learning my flight was detained 4 hours,
I heard the announcement:
If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic,
Please come to the gate immediately.

Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there.
An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress,
Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly.
Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her
Problem? We told her the flight was going to be 4 hours late and she
Did this.

I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly.
Shu dow-a, shu-beduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick,
Sho bit se-wee?

The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—
She stopped crying.
She thought our flight had been canceled entirely.
She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the
Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late.

Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him.
We called her son and I spoke with him in English.
I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and
Would ride next to her—Southwest.

She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of
It. Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and
Found out of course they had ten shared friends.

Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian
Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours.

She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering
Questions.

She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered
Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—
And was offering them to all the women at the gate.

To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a
Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California,
The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same
Powdered sugar. And smiling. There is no better cookies.

And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—
Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing,
With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always
Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.

And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought,
This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.
Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped
—has seemed apprehensive about any other person.

They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too.
This can still happen anywhere.

Not everything is lost.