FAITH HOUSE Manhattan

Two Poems That Will Stop You In Your Religious Tracks

~ by Samir Selmanovic

April is National Poetry Month. Here are two poems of war I recently came across (thank you Robert Darken for “Revenge” and Erica Wright for “The Diameter of the Bomb”). Read them and be prepared to carry them inside of you for weeks to come.  These are about you and me, no matter what our religion, race, or nationality. We fall within the diameter of every bomb and we all find solace in suffering of our enemies. And we have a say about the wars raging close and far away. No war is ever merely their war.

THE DIAMETER OF THE BOMB

(by Yehuda Amichai (1924-2000),
translated from Hebrew by Yehuda Amichai and Ted Hughes,
Selected Poems edited by Ted Hughes and Daniel Weissbort)

The diameter of the bomb was thirty centimeters
and the diameter of its
effective range –
about seven meters.
And in it four dead and eleven wounded.
And around them in a greater circle
of pain and time are scattered
two hospitals and one cemetery.
But the young woman who was
buried where she came from
over a hundred kilometers away
enlarges the circle greatly.
And the lone man who weeps over her death
in a far corner of a distant country
includes the whole world in the circle.
And I won’t speak at all about the crying of orphans
that reaches to the seat of God
and from there onward, making
the circle without end and without God.

                REVENGE

                (Nazareth, April 15, 2006,
                by Taha Muhammad Ali,
                translated from Arabic by Peter Cole,
                Yahya Hijazi, and Gabriel Levin)

                At times ... I wish
                I could meet in a duel
                the man who killed my father
                and razed our home,
                expelling me
                into
                a narrow country.
                And if he killed me,
                I’d rest at last,
                and if I were ready—
                I would take my revenge!

                *

                But if it came to light,
                when my rival appeared,
                that he had a mother
                waiting for him,
                or a father who’d put
                his right hand over
                the heart’s place in his chest
                whenever his son was late
                even by just a quarter-hour
                for a meeting they’d set—
                then I would not kill him,
                even if I could.

                *

                Likewise ... I
                would not murder him
                if it were soon made clear
                that he had a brother or sisters
                who loved him and constantly longed to see him.
                Or if he had a wife to greet him
                and children who
                couldn’t bear his absence
                and whom his gifts would thrill.
                Or if he had
                friends or companions,
                neighbors he knew
                or allies from prison
                or a hospital room,
                or classmates from his school …
                asking about him
                and sending him regards.

                *

                But if he turned
                out to be on his own—
                cut off like a branch from a tree—
                without a mother or father,
                with neither a brother nor sister,
                wifeless, without a child,
                and without kin or neighbors or friends,
                colleagues or companions,
                then I’d add not a thing to his pain
                within that aloneness—
                not the torment of death,
                and not the sorrow of passing away.
                Instead I’d be content
                to ignore him when I passed him by
                on the street—as I
                convinced myself
                that paying him no attention
                in itself was a kind of revenge.

Live Words: Defending God

There are always those who take it upon themselves to defend God, as if Ultimate Reality, as if sustaining frame of existence, were something weak and helpless. These people walk by a widow deformed by leprosy begging for a few paise, walk by children dressed in rags living in the street, and they think, "Business as usual." But if they perceive a slight against God, it is a different story. They faces go red, their chests heave mightily, they sputter angry words. The degree of their indignation is astonishing. Their resolve is frightening.

These people fail to realize that it is on the inside that God must be defended, not on the outside. They should direct their anger at themselves. For evil in the open is but evil from within that has been let out. The main battlefield for good is not the open ground of the public arena but the small clearing of each heart. Meanwhile, the lot of widows and homeless children is very hard, and it is to their defence, not God's, that the self-righteous should rush.

                                                                        ~by Yann Martel

For New Yorkers: 92nd St. Y Event

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From a Novel "Life of Pi"

~ by Samir Selmanovic

I have been reading Life of Pi, a novel by Yann Martel that deserves all the praise it has been getting since it came out in 2001. I could not resist sharing this passage with you, even at the risk of doing so without checking whether I need a permission from the publisher. 

Main character, boy named Piscine Patel, grew up with his non-religious and pragmatic parents in India. Without their knowledge he developed a relationship with the local spiritual leaders and became a Christian, a Muslim, and a Hindu. The problem was that the priest, the imam, and the pandit did not know about the other two. Until Piscine's father invited all three of them for a meeting in Patel home (p. 66):

    My parents, the priest and the pandit looked incredulous.
    The pandit spoke. “You’re both wrong. He’s a good Hindu boy. I see him all the time at the temple coming for darshan and performing puja.”
    My parents, the imam and the priest looked astounded.
    “There is no mistake,” said the priest. “I know this boy. He is Piscine Molitor Patel and he’s a Christian.”
    “I know him too, and I tell you he’s a Muslim,” asserted the imam.
    “Nonsense!” cried the pandit. “Piscine was born  a Hindu, lives a Hindu and will die a Hindu!”
    The three wise men stared at each other, breathless and disbelieving.
    Lord, avert their eyes from me, I whispered in my soul.
    All eyes fell upon me.
    “Piscine, can this be true?” asked the imam earnestly. “Hindus and Christians are idolaters. They have many gods.”
    “And Muslims have many wives,” responded the pandit.
    The priest looked askance at both of them. “Piscine,” he nearly whispered, “there is salvation only in Jesus.”
    “Balderdash! Christians know nothing about religion,” said the pandit.
    “They strayed long ago from God’s path,” said the imam.
    “Where’s God in your religion?” snapped the priest. “You don’t have a single miracle to show for it. What kind of religion is that, without miracles?”
    “It isn’t a circus with dead people jumping out of tombs all the time, that’s what! We Muslims stick to the essential miracle of existence. Birds flying, rain falling, crops growing—these are miracles enough for us.”
    “Feathers and rain are all very nice, but we like to know that God is truly with us.”

Religion and Violence

~ by Samir Selmanovic

January 21-21 Lauralea and I attended 38th Trinity Institute on "Religion and Violence: Untangling the Roots of Conflict" held at Trinity Wall Street episcopal church in New York. It was a powerful and thought-provoking event with satellite linked sites around the world. Speakers Katharine Jefferts Schori James Cone, Susannah Heschel, James Carroll, and Tariq Ramadan dug deep into the issues and provided us with opportunity to discuss, gain insight, and find hope.

I even had a chance for a conversation with Susannah Heschel whose father Rabbi Abraham J. Heschel is one of my top five all time favorite teachers, and with James Caroll whose book Constantine's Sword rocked everything I thought I knew about history of Christianity and Judaism when it came out in 2001. I was particularly interested in hearing Tariq Ramadan who did not get visa to come to the United States (for a no good reason!) and has joined us over a satellite connection. I was encouraged and inspired with his fresh interpretation of what Islam is about and his efforts in integrating its treasures with Western society. Although committed to different traditions, we felt spiritual kinship, hope pulling us like a river to the future.

Good news for all of you is that their presentations are now available on the Trinity Institute website. Just click HERE. If you don't have enough time to see everything, I would recommend these three presentations: James Carroll, Susannah Heschel, and Closing Panel.

For many of us the best part of the experience was participating in a small theological reflection group after each speaker. Seven of us from around the country that comprised our group bonded immediately as we wrestled with the issues and questions raised at the main sessions and shared our journeys, dreams, and hopes. I wholeheartedly recommend Trinity Institute conference in Manhattan. Come next year! The topic for 2009: Religion and Sustainability.

On Her Way

~ by Samir Selmanovic

Couple of days ago the New York Post newspaper had a front-page report titled PEACE TRAIN: Muslim rescues Jews from subway thugs.

Someone on the train said, "Merry Christmas," and when Walter Adler, 23, and his friends responded, "Happy Hanukkah" one of the men pulled up his sleeve, showed a tattoo of Christ, and said "Hanukkah, that's when the Jews killed Jesus." An angry scrum ensued. Passengers watched, waiting to see what would happen. But Muslim New Yorker, Hassan Askari, 20, intervened and rescued the group from being completely pummeled. Ten people were arrested. The following night, the two new pals, Adler with a broken nose and a fat lip, Hassan with two black eyes, broke bread together and laughed off the bruises, celebrating Festival of Lights (for video report, click HERE).

Cynics say "the hope of Faith House is a crazy hope," or "this foolishness of Faith House shouldn't happen," or "people are much less interested in pleasing God than in being right."

Well, we humans have tried just about everything to make our religions live together, like a power struggle, indifference, parallel existence, avoidance of the problem. In fact, everything except showing love to each another.  Not from a distance, but in a community. Really close. Closer than a subway train. And longer than today's news.

In Faith House we will seek to live as sojourners not competitors, where our religious identities won't depend on diminishing the other.  So, we invite you to join us as we take the well-meaning advice from the critics of this dream and then respond in these words:

Another world is possible.
Another world is necessary.
Another world is on her way.

Help us bring together an Imam, a Priest, and a Rabbi by making a contribution today!  Don't wait for others to do it.  The future of the world depends on people with "a crazy hope" acting on it. Cynics have given up, and are now free to do nothing. Don't be a cynic. It seems, at times, that only God still has hopes in humanity. It is up to us, regular people like you and me, who are invited to act on this "crazy hope of God." Thank you for joining us with your support.

Salaam, Shalom, and Peace of Christ from New York

Songs About All of Us: Sting's Fragile

~ by Samir Selmanovic

On September 11, 2001, when the terrorist attacked WTC, Sting was just ending his concert in Italy.  Upon the news, he chose to sing this song.

As you can see, he is confusedly solemn here. And the audience, unaware of the magnitude of the event that happened that day doesn't not know what to think and how to feel, still enjoying the show.

I was in Manhattan at that time, listening to the same song over and over again the following week. For years, this song has been seared into my soul. All of our religious boasting comes down to this: we are born, some of us who are lucky, sing songs, some of us have hemorrhoids or eczema, and all of us die.  We are temporary and breakable. And we say "I (or we) know everything about God?" One does not know whether to laugh about it or cry.

We are in terrible need of one another. How did we ever come to a place where we use our religions to divide ourselves and make an already difficult situation even worse? Why not being sojourners instead of competitors under the mystery and misery of human existence?

So, I invite you to listen to this song again and grieve. Those who don't know how to grieve cannot hope.

"FRAGILE"

Fragile

If blood will flow when flesh and steel are one
Drying in the colour of the evening sun
Tomorrow's rain will wash the stains away
But something in our minds will always stay

Perhaps this final act was meant
To clinch a lifetime's argument
That nothing comes from violence and nothing ever could
For all those born beneath an angry star
Lest we forget how fragile we are

On and on the rain will fall
Like tears from a star like tears from a star
On and on the rain will say
How fragile we are how fragile we are

On and on the rain will fall
Like tears from a star like tears from a star
On and on the rain will say
How fragile we are how fragile we are
How fragile we are how fragile we are

The Good News Can Get You Killed

~ by Ryan Bell, the Senior Pastor of the Hollywood Seventh-day Adventist Church, currently completing his Doctor of Ministry in Missional Leadership at Fuller Theological Seminary. To read more from Ryan go to his blog Intersections.

Our world relates to religion today in terms of exclusion. Our identity is that we’re not you. As a leader in a Christian community I have witnessed first-hand how exclusive religion can be. However, this exclusivity is not part of the Hebrew story or the Christian story as understood in the life and teachings of Jesus. Take, for example, Jesus’ first public sermon.

Jesus has returned to his hometown of Nazareth. On this particular Sabbath he stands in the synagogue to read from the scroll. Today’s reading: the prophet Isaiah. You can read the story for yourself in Luke 4:14-30. You might want to take a minute now, click on this link, and read the story. The mood in the synagogue changes rapidly.

One minute the people are praising Jesus saying, “Isn’t this the carpenter’s son? My how he’s grown up. Just look him now and listen to the confident way he expounds the scripture!” Yet the next minute Jesus is being run out the synagogue by a murderous crowd intent on his demise. What happened?

It seems that Jesus’ interpretation of Isaiah was that God’s healing and liberating work extended beyond the boundaries of Israel. That may not seem very scandalous on the surface, but it is very much like suggesting that God’s grace extends to Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus and people of no faith. Judging from the things I’m reading these days, that is a scandalous suggestion indeed. Scandalous enough to get someone killed. Verse 29: “They got up, drove him out of the town, and led him to the brow of the hill on which their town was built, so that they might hurl him off the cliff.”

Look closer at Jesus’ words. What is it that triggers this violent reaction? Jesus is pointing to Israel’s own narratives which indicate that at certain times in history, in the times of two of Israel’s celebrated prophets, God preferred the Gentiles.

Notice vv. 25,26 – “But there were many widows in Israel in the time of Elijah, when the heaven was shut up three years and six months, and there was a severe famine over all the land; yet Elijah was sent to none of them except to a widow at Zarephath in Sidon.” (Hint: Sidon is not Israel).

Again in v. 27 - “There were also many lepers in Israel in the time of the prophet Elisha, and none of them was cleansed except Naaman the Syrian.” (Once again, Syria and Israel are worlds apart).

A modern equivalent might be something like, “There were many churches in America at the dawn of the 21st century, but none were blessed by God like the mosque in downtown Los Angeles.” I dare say a comment like that from a Christian pulpit would raise a few eyebrows. The speaker might even find himself or herself run out church by a violent angry crowd. Central to Israel’s story and faith, and therefore central to the Christian story, is the truth that God is the God of all nations.

Here at the beginning of Luke’s gospel he foreshadows the open embrace of God that will become a reality later in the story. In Luke’s second volume, Acts, the emerging Jesus movement becomes a Gentile movement. The seeds of the inclusive and expansive understanding of God has its seeds in Israel’s own story and in the life and teaching of Jesus. Reading the Bible with an eye on the fact that God makes his love available to every human being uncovers a number of telling texts such as this one in Luke.

Today, millions of people of all religions and no religion at all, claim exclusive access to the truth, or even to God Himself. But God is no more willing to be limited to one group today than he was in the days of Elijah, Elisha, or Jesus.

Why We Fight

~ by Mark F. Carr whose love of earth and its physical beauty is surpassed only by an unquenchable desire for intellectual and emotional exploration of ideas. He loves his job at Loma Linda University, School of Religion's Center for Christian Bioethics.

When Samir introduced me to the Faith House project, I thought of my own journey to understanding. Some years ago, I sat in class listening to my Muslim professor lecture about Islamic theology. I was astounded at what I heard; so many similarities to what I believed myself! How could a sectarian Christian from Alaska have point of common faith with a Persian Muslim who had only recently moved to the United States?! But in addition to the excitement I felt, I was also disturbed.

You see, part of the culture of western Christianity is to fight. We live and breathe conflict from our present day to as far back as you can trace our history….The most famous peace in western civilization was the Pax Romana, the Peace of Rome, which came about only after the universal and brutal destruction of all opposition.

Part of this culture of conflict had taught me to sift everything I heard of theological significance through my apologetic sieve. It was tiring me out! I recall the point at which I decided to simply listen and learn from this man who had once told me with no uncertainty that God had brought me to this school for a purpose and that God was truly involved in my life. He believed it, and I believed it; so I listened and I learned. I learned to appreciate the authenticity of early Islam and how it brought monotheism to the Arabic people. And how closely related it was to both Judaism and Christianity. Later, when I took similar coursework from my Jewish professor, I was equally stunned at how much I had in common with this rabbi’s understanding of God and his presence in the life of his creation.

How is it that I had been taught to believe that my faith was so drastically different from these other faiths of Abraham? And why does our society continue to foster conflict, exclusion, and hatred among us? I’ll share two quick illustrations of the points of commonality I found and then posit one simple reason we continue to fight.

One of the fundamental teachings of Judaism is that God created humankind. Important to this doctrine is the idea that his creation, humans of every sort, can perceive God in his creation--but not simply that humans have the capability to see and perceive of his presence. Included also is the idea that humans can reason well enough to reflect upon notions of morality. Of course human understanding of God’s revelation strikes each of us in personal ways, but communities of faith can come to points of general agreement.

Similar notions of human capability to perceive God and establish notions of morality as a result are present in both Christianity and Islam. In fact, even though there are well developed notions of the moral life in each of the Abrahamic faiths, at least three things are anathema to each of them; idolatry, adultery, and murder. Granted, there are subtly different ways of understanding these three issues, but all agree they ought not to be done.

Now, why would we continue to fight with each other? We fight, in part because so much of our societies depend upon our continued fighting. Take the media for instance and the controversy about the depictions of Muhammad in a Danish newspaper. Stupid as the original action was, it didn’t get much attention when the cartoons were first published. The attention came months later when the media began reporting it. This caused a stir all over the world, riots, killing, hate-filled speeches, and an incredible spirit of revenge. What did the media do during this time? Laugh all the way to the bank!

Why not do something in your little world today to reduce the hatred and violence? Why not find a point of peace and commonality with some “other” person this week and celebrate?

Blessed Are the Ambivalent

~ by Julius Nam who teaches religion at Loma Linda University and blogs at www.progressiveadventism.com.

This past month I threw a usual December cinematic feast for myself. In between “Mission Impossible 3” and missed episodes of “Gilmore Girls” on Youtube, I watched three movies that all had to do with 9/11, Middle East relations, and fundamentalism—Paradise Now, Munich, and United 93. Each was entertaining, satisfying, instructive, inspiring, and disturbing in its own way; I recommend them all.

Whether it was Paradise Now, Munich, or even United 93, what intrigued me the most was the way the filmmakers portrayed terrorists and assassins. These are characters caught in the seemingly irreversible course of events with irresistible forces pressing upon them. Whether it was exacting revenge on terrorists or wreaking havoc in their oppressors’ land, doing what they were selected and ordered to do was the “right” thing to do within the matrix of their beliefs. Yet each film also has characters that are ambivalent about the acts of violence that they are about to commit. Percolating beneath the expressions of fundamentalist conviction and righteous indignation are doubts about the rightness of their cause and the appropriateness of their actions. Still . . . they proceed—chucking their moral struggles aside, plowing ahead with blind determination, believing and trying to believe intently that they are in the right.

Faith spells danger, even death, in this world of contrary and seemingly incompatible religious convictions. Yet each religion calls for greater faith, for deeper convictions, and for higher commitment from its adherents. The measuring stick for spirituality as touted in many of our halls of worship is the intensity of one’s beliefs—ignoring the fact that the same beliefs, when bent a little toward the right or driven just a few steps further to fringes, is the fuel that fans the fire of murderous fanaticism.

I wish that religions would put a premium on ambivalence as much as the filmmakers of my December movies. Things of the divine and the supernatural are mysteries that force us to question as much as they require us to believe. Being ambivalent means to be unsure—unsure about our understanding of the true nature of reality, about the true nature of our understanding, about the rightness of our convictions. Moreover, it means to be OK about being unsure.

Just as faith requires courage and discipline, so does ambivalence. It resists the urge to arrive at conclusions and move ahead with them. It does not hastily settle or line up “facts” to build incomplete arguments that are proclaimed as truth. It questions, doubts, wrestles, and grapples with the tension called life. It neither chucks moral struggles aside nor proceeds with blind determination.

Whether one is a Jew, Buddhist, Muslim, Christian, or an Atheist, I submit that each tradition is richly blessed by embracing the value of ambivalence. Why? Because ambivalence leads to humility—even in the midst of our deep convictions. It demonstrates to one another that knowledge of the ultimate couched in individual traditions and conceptual frameworks is incomplete and unable to offer truly satisfying answers to all of life’s questions. It prevents us from realizing the triumphalist fantasies of our faiths and tempers the arrogance of our traditions.

Thanks to the three films, I’m reminded of Christ whose birth I celebrated also this month. One who exemplified a mysterious blend of conviction and humility; one who showed a great deal of ambivalence over the blind adulation of the masses; one who questioned the validity of his will in relation to the divine; one who wondered out loud on the cross whether or not God was with him. So, my wish for you this year—dear friend—is that you grow into a person of great ambivalence, and therefore of great faith. In this new year, may you find yourself reveling in the mystery of the divine.