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Be the Change You Want to See

May 21, 2009

A Muslim Response to a Bombing Plot This Week

~ Sammer Aboelela, one of the leaders in Faith House community of communities and contributor to this website, is Community Organizer with the NYC Community of Muslim Progressives. He also serves on the Board of Directors of Muslims for Progressive Values.

Sammer just left for Cairo, Egypt to visit his family. Couple of days before he left, he and I (Sammer and Samir) met in a coffee shop on the West Side and spend some time discussing the latest in Middle East and then dreaming, hoping, reminding one another why we are doing this community organizing thing. Soon after arriving to Cairo he heard the news about the bombing plot in New York and emailed this letter to us, his Jewish and Christian friends in New York sharing his personal thoughts. Some of the people who live near Riverdale Temple synagogue have been our guests at Faith House and we both met many of our caring and concerned Jewish friends through Marcia Kannry and The Dialogue Project.


Dear friends,

I’m sitting in Cairo now as I write this letter, at the home of relatives with whom I was reunited yesterday after nearly a decade of separation.  I went to sleep last night with a feeling of peace that I haven’t felt in a long time, and woke early this morning to the sound of the Azhan, the Islamic call to prayer, as it sung its way across the neighborhood and through the open window over my bed.

But as I was sharing hugs with my Muslim family here in Egypt, four very disturbed Muslim men were planting bombs in an effort to tear apart Jewish families in New York.  Early news reports suggest that these men were “upset about the war in Afghanistan,” so with a deranged rationale of misanthropic nihilism they somehow concluded that planting bombs in front of two Bronx synagogues and recreating the atmosphere of bloodshed, fear, and loss we experienced during and after 9/11 would provide some personal cathartic release.

I want my friends in the New York Jewish community to know how deeply I sympathize with the emotional anguish that is sure to pervade in the wake of this failed plot.  While we’re all concerned for the wellbeing of our families in this period of economic insecurity, none of us should carry the additional burden of being potential targets of violent acts of hate and terror.  You have no idea how relieved I am that you are all safe from the will of these would-be terrorists, and how concerned I am for your (and our collective) ongoing health and safety.

In all honesty, it is times like these that I wish Islam had some mechanism for excommunication.  I wish that my non-Muslims friends and acquaintances would see me, my family, my Muslim friends, and the American Muslim community as representative of Islam rather than the headline grabbing sociopaths who act in our name.  I’m so sick of finding myself ashamed of something I didn’t do, by someone I do not know, with motives I do not share, against people for whom I care.

Please know that you are not alone in the shock of this news… that good everyday people whom you have never met, and will likely never meet, as far away as Egypt are also distressed by this story.  My thoughts and their thoughts are with you.  My prayers and their prayers are for you.

Peace,

Sammer Aboelela
Organizer, New York Community of Muslim Progressives

Mar 29, 2009

Cute and Sad

~ by Samir Selmanovic

Recently I got one of the regular mailing I receive from Tanenbaum Center, a vocal proponent of the Golden Rule. Enclosed was a card that would shake any believer who still lives with an illusion that the heart of his/her religion is in its center.  It has moved to the edges, where one's religion touches the world and the other.

CCF29032009_00002

Jan 29, 2009

Bless Your Pharaoh

Amichai+in+JM+dec+2007 ~ by Amichai Lau-Lavie, Faith House Advisory Council member, and founder, executive, and artistic director of Storahtelling Inc.

"God Bless You"– this common post-sneeze sacred invocation that has gone completely secular is uttered endlessly and mindlessly around the world. Just like 'God Bless America,' this is often simply a polite figure of speech, a civic, civil nicety. In Hebrew you say "La'brioot" – "to health."


The cultural differences are interesting but either way, these are expressions of empathy, and I've been intrigued by this word/concept--empathy--for about a week now. How come there is no word for "empathy" in Hebrew? No exact translation, that is – Israelis say "empatia," one of many foreign words that migrated into Modern Hebrew and stuck. It's a telling fact, though, that words like 'empathy' or 'pluralism' or 'text' do not have an Israeli life of their own. These days, I wonder not only about the missing word in Hebrew but also about the collective ability to exercise the word's imperative: to feel empathy towards others, esp. others in distress, and esp. others in distress who are very much 'the other.'

Ten days since the ceasefire in Gaza, and many efforts at rehabilitation take place– physical, emotional, political and diplomatic. But for many here in Israel, the anger remains. Maybe I shouldn't be surprised. Merely suggesting the expression of empathy towards the people of Gaza, alongside support for the IDF soldiers and the people of Sdeort, gets many Israelis – including family members and close friends – furious. Calls for empathy and care for the estimated 20,000 Gaza residents who are now homeless is met with pursed lips: "let Hamas help them, its their own fault." Empathy, generally recognized as "the ability to sense and understand someone else's feelings as if they were one's own," seems to take a backseat to her fierce and frugal sister -- survival. "I just can't afford to be thinking about them right now" M. tells me. I get this approach but it drives me nuts. ‘You’ve been in NY for too long’ B. tells me ‘this is how we roll here, remember?’ This isn’t helping either.

There are, thankfully, other voices, and other initiatives that think and do otherwise. L., for instance, a 27 year old student from Jerusalem who teamed up with another student and organized within 5 days a 7 truck convey of emergency supplies to Gaza, thousands of Israeli donations of clothes, food, blankets and personal letters from Israeli citizens to the families beyond the border. I met L. at the weekly Zohar class we attend at the Hartman Institute – who knew she was such an organizer? She didn't sleep for a week and offered many of us a way to be really helpful. I helped by carrying boxes. The story hit the media two days ago -- even Al Jazeera wanted to interview her…

And meanwhile, I've been asking people for Hebrew translation for 'empathy' – heads are scratched, options offered, all admit that there is no one single perfect Hebrew word for it. Yet. How long has it been missing? How come there isn't one?

"In essence," L. tells me, mid-carrying-boxes, "'love your neighbor as you love yourself' is the root of empathy – and Judaism's core concept – but I guess it got lost in translation. isn’t this in the Bible somewhere?"

So I turn to search for empathy in Exodus and check the tale out this week's Torah reading. It’s got the Prime Time coverage of the actual moment of the Exodus – the last midnight in Egypt. The firstborn of Egypt are slain – and there isn't a home in the land that has not been struck by death. Amid the screams, the king relents – demands that they leave the land – and offers the most audacious invitation for empathy:

"Take both your flocks and your herds and be gone; and bless me also" (Ex.12:32).

He's asking them for a blessing?

How can he expect Moses and his people to have anything but hatred in their hearts towards him? And yet he asks. And we are invited to consider, seriously, his request. Can we bless the enemy – then, now?

And let's say we do decide to grant him a blessing – let's pretend that empathy swims in our veins – what blessing would he receive? What blessing would you offer the ruler who has ruled over your misery?

This past Sunday evening, right after the Zohar class (in which L. updates us that the convoy of trucks, courtesy of the UN, made it into Gaza and that the supplies have already been delivered) I walk over to my parents’ house to have dinner. it’s a 10 minute walk, the evening is cold and crisp, and on the way I ponder this question – who is my Pharaoh? Would, could, should I bless him? I recall the psychological/mystical reading that the Zohar offers the Exodus saga – this is all a description of our inner drama. The oppressed slaves are within me – yearning for more freedom, for more autonomy, for more self expression, Moses is my inner drive for growth, my connection to the Higher Self, and sometimes this inner Moses will resort to strange tricks or fierce strikes to get its point across. And Pharaoh – Freud would call him ‘ego’, and I see him as that part of me that refuses to change, yet knows he – I – have to change in order to grow. Can I have empathy towards my inner resistance? Can I have empathy towards my fellow Israelis who have no empathy?

After dinner with my father (my mother is out at some lecture) I sit with him and open a Torah and read the verses with him and ask – what blessing would you have given the king?

My father, who is no Pollyanna, may or may not be thinking of his Nazi jailers, or the Hamas fighters or any other mythic or historical 'Pharaoh' as he quietly, and with great empathy, offers this version of a blessing to the King of Egypt: "May your river continue to flow."

God Bless him.

(And, If you were to bless the Pharaoh – what would your blessing be?)

Jan 22, 2009

The Story of "God In the Other"

~ by Sheryl Fullerton (article from www.readthespirit.com)

It seems everywhere I look these days, there is talk of interfaith this or that, for or against. The impulse either to strengthen boundaries or breach them seems intense, maybe because of the general feeling that change is in the air, that an era is ending and we need new ways forward—or, as some feel, we need to do everything in our power to resist the changes.

It’s from such times of tension and uncertainty and passionate discussion that books are born. And that is the case with a new book we’re publishing next fall by Samir Selmanovic, tentatively titled for now “God in the Other.”

I remember when I first opened up Samir’s proposal. His opening statement hit me right between the eyes: “For years I’ve been talking about three monotheistic religions to nonbelievers. And here is what I hear: ‘At best, Jews, Christians, and Muslims look like three religious stooges in a slapstick comedy. At worst, they look like three brothers with hands clasped in prayer and soaked in blood.’ We have littered history with incredible amounts of stupidity, injustice and suffering. The world has simply had it with us. They are not listening anymore… Judaism, Christianity, and Islam have painted a picture of God that is difficult to admire, much less worship….Either monotheism will die, or evolve.”

When I read that, I nodded.

To continue reading The Story of "God In the Other" click HERE.

Jan 11, 2009

A Jew's Prayer for the Children of Gaza

This past Friday, I (Samir) went to welcome Sabbath and worship with our Jewish brothers and sisters of Romemu community on the Upper West Side. It was four hours of singing, dancing, food, tears, laughter, hugging, wisdom and compassion. Here is a prayer by Rabbi Levi Weiman-Kelman of Kol HaNeshama, Jerusalem, that we prayed together. You might want to read it in your churches, mosques, or synagogues. Imagine, you can have Christians reading a Jewish prayer for Muslims. God will hear.

If there has ever been a place forsaken, Gaza is that place.

Lord who is the creator of all children, hear our prayer this accursed day. God whom we call Blessed, turn your face to these, the children of Gaza, that they may know your blessings, and your shelter, that they may know light and warmth, where there is now only blackness and smoke, and a cold which cuts and clenches the skin.

Almighty who makes exceptions, which we call miracles, make an exception of the children of Gaza. Shield them from us and from their own. Spare them. Heal them. Let them stand in safety. Deliver them from hunger and horror and fury and grief. Deliver them from us, and from their own.

Restore to them their stolen childhoods, their birthright, which is a taste of heaven.

Remind us, O Lord, of the child Ishmael, who is the father of all the children of Gaza. How the child Ishmael was without water and left for dead in the wilderness of Beer-Sheba, so robbed of all hope, that his own mother could not bear to watch his life drain away.

Be that Lord, the God of our kinsman Ishmael, who heard his cry and sent His angel to comfort his mother Hagar.

Be that Lord, who was with Ishmael that day, and all the days after. Be that God, the All-Merciful, who opened Hagar's eyes that day, and showed her the well of water, that she could give the boy Ishmael to drink, and save his life.

Allah, whose name we call Elohim, who gives life, who knows the value and the fragility of every life, send these children your angels. Save them, the children of this place, Gaza the most beautiful, and Gaza the damned.

In this day, when the trepidation and rage and mourning that is called war, seizes our hearts and patches them in scars, we call to you, the Lord whose name is Peace:

Bless these children, and keep them from harm.

Turn Your face toward them, O Lord. Show them, as if for the first time, light and kindness, and overwhelming graciousness.

Look up at them, O Lord. Let them see your face.

And, as if for the first time, grant them peace.

Nov 24, 2008

The Fundamentalists We Need Now

~ by Samir Selmanovic

Certainty is out of vogue. Dogma is the devil. We are learning to communicate any convictions we have more tentatively; any statements we make, we feel obliged to qualify. And for a good reason. We have noticed something common to people who blow themselves up in buses or fly planes into tall buildings. Or economically colonize other countries or bomb them into submission. They are sure. The rest of us—the vast majority of people—cringe and protest.

We see violent people as having dangerous levels of certainty and conviction— fundamentalists and extremists—and ourselves as peacemakers, free to question anything and think for ourselves. But since experiencing the September 11 terrorist attacks while living in Manhattan, I am not so sure anymore. I am beginning to think neither is true: we are not free thinkers; they are not religious extremists.

First, we are all part of one of the most fundamentalist ideologies in history. Never has such a large group of people submitted themselves to a single ideology like we have. The ruling dogma of our time has become the economy. Albeit in different words, we hear this rumor of the oppressive dictatorship of the economy over all our lives. From workers in Chinese rice field to Wall Street moguls, we have become unquestioning followers. We have subjected our individual and communal lives to decisions that honor the market above any other force, the story of economic progress over any other story, corporations over any other institutions, and possessions over any other values that govern our lives. The present economic crisis now demonstrates how deep that fundamentalist devotion has been running.

During our "economic boom" virtue has morphed from something valuable in itself into a helpful strategy to overcome the cost of transactions. Relationships have become a natural network for spreading one’s influence and business. Our “free time” has become a paid-for activity. News about the world has become a form of entertainment, whose bottom line is to keep advertisers happy. Marketing strategies have molded us into consumers with a similar fantasy life. While insisting we are unique, we have been using words from commercials to describe our life dreams and celebrity personalities to describe the person we would like to marry. The millennia old concept of communal life has morphed from being a citizen to being a consumer.

Something else has happened. Across the planet, people have been discussing different scenarios of the end of the world: “Religious people will destroy us with their wars. Global warming is going to cook us all. Viruses will wipe us out. God is going to come and clean house.” But while we can imagine different scenarios of the end of the world, we are unable to imagine a more modest shift in the way we run this world. Since the fall of communism, discussion about what is going to come after modern liberal capitalism has ceased. We all agree: our view of human beings as Homo Economicus is here to stay. There is a vacuum of options in our collective psyche. We have become fundamentalists of a religion with its own dogma (“nothing is ever enough”), its own sense of belonging (industry brands), its own temples (shopping malls), its own centering meditational practices (life punctuated by commercials), its own priesthood (get-rich experts), its own sacred (accrual of personal satisfaction) and its own plan for spreading the faith (expansion of the market). Now, the economy is collapsing under the weight of our expectations, we are forced to take a break from this fundamentalism. Now we have an opportunity to see and question the dogma.

When a movement, a revolution, a religion, a country, matures and moves away from its first ideals and ability to adapt, from the ability to keep on dreaming and changing, and becomes “fundamentalist,” fear has taken a hold of the imagination. Capitalism with its initial insights into the human spirit, ingenuity, and perseverance has been steadily deteriorating into consumerist fundamentalism. We have learned to live by the fear of losing everything through some misfortune of world events, by the fear of the poor or lazy who might take everything from us, by the fear of finding ourselves among the “have nots,” by the fear of old age, by the fear of being ugly and by the fear of being alone.

So most of us watching “extremists” blow things up are not free thinkers at all. Most of us are fundamentalists of our own kind, unaware of the fact, participating in the madness of self-destruction. Moreover, our public ideology has found a way to criticize itself or laugh about itself while constantly strengthening its grip on our actual lives. We can talk as much as we want about the need to live sustainable lives, curb our desires, talk about the sacredness of the earth and learning to see that small is beautiful, as long as we—individually or corporately—don’t try to change the way we actually live. The only power that makes us change our lifestyle is—again—economic. Nothing else can move us. That’s not freedom.

But we also should consider that supposed extreme religious fundamentalists are not extremely religious at all. Their fundamentalism is much closer to consumerist fundamentalism than we think. To blow oneself up in order to wake up surrounded by sighing virgins or any other bliss expresses nothing but a desire for extreme products and services, with celestial goods instead of earthly ones. People who blow themselves up are actually people without conviction, commitment or certainty. Deep inside, they carry ambivalence about their faith. They do not trust.

And because they are not sure about their faith, they gravitate to acts of self-destruction. Because they cannot find peace with their creaturehood, they take upon themselves God’s prerogative to create or destroy life. Because they have not grasped the religious teaching of the inter-dependence of all life and the absurdity of reducing the other into an enemy, they are so detached from the image of God in themselves that they are ready to act on their self-hatred and self-destruct. They see their acts of violence as a way to push themselves over the threshold of unbelief.

At the same time, we give them a title of “religious extremists?” So what are then people like Gandhi, Martin Luther King and thousands of others who have given their lives protecting the interest of those with whom they disagree? Religious light-weights? No, people who are extreme enough, rooted and certain about something care enough to be capable of standing up to the officially promoted reality.

There is a scarcity of religious or humanist extremists willing to dissent, not so much with talking, writing or protesting, but dissenting deeply, from within. In a fundamental sort of way. It seems leaders like those who have helped humanity in the past cannot surface and lead today. Their ideas are swiftly subjugated to the unyielding master of our public ideology. First political campaigns and now the whole world runs under the banner, “It’s the economy, stupid.” If you think anything else can matter more, you are not sane enough to be trusted, we are told. United States, president elect Obama, keenly aware of these dynamics, repeatedly yet timidly warns the public, "the road before us will not be easy." Any direct appeal to values other than economic prosperity are still considered only inspirational at best and heresy at worst.

The resulting scarcity of public dreamers on all levels of civic life then creates a vacuum of imagination. In the past, the world was young and progressing. History was going on with the future wide open. Today, not only has the culture lost its critical distance from the social reality of unstoppable consumption, but most religion has lost this critical distance as well. For many of us, modern liberal capitalism has been adopted as not only one moment among many in history. It is the last one, inevitable. The current order of things has been regarded like something given to us, like a revelation, something that can’t be argued, something that we cannot change with our choices, something eternal, after which there is no future to be fathomed. 

We have grown up with a classic myth of what it means to wage war. It always meant taking the weapons, conquering the other and preserving one’s own way of life at all cost. Yet, on our interdependent planet we have no more territory left to exploit and no more wars that can be won. In this world, empathy, cooperation, and forgiveness are becoming the most potent agents of transformation.

To take the risk of refusing to reduce anyone to “an enemy,” a risk to contribute instead of just take from the world, a risk to be inter-dependent instead of self-sufficient, the risk to forgive and absorb wrong instead of retaliate, takes people with courage and strong convictions. We have to learn to measure our lives differently--find different fundamentals of life. And may thousands of new fundamentalists across the globe please step forward.

(from Signs of the Times, adopted for this website by the author)

Sep 29, 2008

Talk to Your Enemy: A Wish for the New Year

07_186_002_edited_2 ~ by Amichai Lau-Lavie, Faith House Advisory Council member, and founder, executive, and artistic director of Storahtelling Inc.

Things got heated during the first televised presidential campaign when Iran was mentioned. Will the future president of the United States sit with the present president of Iran, whose hateful words towards the US and Israel just echoed in NYC? Does talking to the enemy legitimize the other’s views? 

 McCain and Obama probably didn’t know it but their debate on this issue touched on the core issue of the High Holy Days: the art of talking to the enemy.  In the classical Judaic liturgy for this season of reflection, the enemy is often described as a voice within--our personal demons, nay-saying selves that lead us into thought patterns and behaviors we later regret. How does one deal with these inner enemies? Meet them at the table, say the sages: confront, converse, come to terms--but do not avoid that which holds you back from becoming all that you wish to be in the world.

But the enemy is not just an internal voice. One of the demands this season is to confront real-life enemies and do what we can to amend conflict. Atonement with God is not possible until one is reconciled with fellow human beings, says the Talmud. Go through your address book, highlight those with whom you have unfinished business, then take the plunge and meet them at the table: initiate a conversation--no matter what. I know: easier said than done.

To give us inspiration and to make that point clear, our ancestors chose really challenging Torah stories to accompany these days.  On the first day of Rosh HaShana, we will meet Abraham and Sarah and witness as they deport Hagar and Ishmael, the no-longer-wanted-at-home surrogate mother and firstborn child. On the second day, we will accompany Isaac to the mountaintop on which his father expects to sacrifice him in the name of God. On Yom Kippur we will hear the silent scream of Aaron, the high priest whose two sons’ die while on duty, and we will spend three days inside the belly of a big fish, trapped with Jonah, a reluctant social activist.  None of these biblical tales are simple, and all point us in one direction: we need to show compassion for the other in our lives, to learn from and with the other, and even to reconcile with the other--both within ourselves, and within the full ranks of humanity. 

The Torah Service, invented by Ezra the Scribe in Jerusalem, 2,500 years ago on Rosh Ha’shana (Happy Birthday, Torah Service!)--was meant to accompany our lives with the values, found in stories, that will chart our growth and guide our way. The stories chosen for the High Holidays are no exception:  inside each and every one of them hides a coded call for awareness and action, potentially personalized by each one of us, if we pause to listen.

This year, the second day of Rosh HaShana, October 1st, coincides with Eid Al Fitr--the Holiday of the Sacrifice,  the festive conclusion of Ramadan. On this day, as Jews chant the Torah tale of Abraham binding his son Isaac, Muslims recall the Koran’s version,  in which the son bound is believed to be Yishmael. What a grand opportunity this can be for dialogue, for conversation--with preparation, but without pre-conditions--between the children of Isaac and the children of Yishmael, children in bitter conflict nowadays, but whose origin story and legacy of pain is one and the same: the raised knife of their father. How do we get beyond that pain and all those that followed and chart a peaceful and respectful co-existence?  Set the table: start with a conversation--on this New Year’s Day, and beyond. 

May this year bring us closer to having uncomfortable conversations with all respected others, inside ourselves and out in the world.  May we all have the courage to face the rage and hurt, pleas and passions, and invite ourselves to a table with our enemies, laden with nourishment for a well earned feast of peace.

Shana Tova & Eid – al - Fitr Said!

May Peace Prevail!

Aug 18, 2008

Muslim Youth Organizes to Defend Baha'is

~ report compiled by Samir Selmanovic

How many times have you heard people ask, where are the Muslim voices against discrimination and oppression? Here is a group of Middle Eastern youth who have come together in defense of minorities within their communities. We (Faith House Manhattan) have already shared with you an interview with Arab atheist posted by this vibrant group of people from Mideast Youth (www.mideastyouth.com). Their most recent effort is the creation of a video to bring attention to the rights of the Baha'is, a religious minority that has often found itself persecuted in predominantly Muslim countries.

Nowhere is the persecution worse than in Iran and Egypt where they have been denied basic rights and seen their sacred places destroyed and vandalized. In Iran, where the Baha'i Faith first emerged, Baha'i schools are shut down, leaders of the faith are arrested, executed, or harassed, and Baha'is are denied the right to higher education. In Egypt, Baha'is are not given identity papers, thus preventing them from attaining the basic rights of citizenship.

A group of predominantly Muslim youth have banded together to speak out against the discrimination. They formed a website, www.BahaiRights.org, which catalogues abuses against Baha'is and have now released a video which uses images from the film Persepolis to make a powerful statement against the persecution of the Baha'is. "When minorities are not given their rights, how can we ever expect to exercise our own?" says Kawthar Muhaib, a member of the Muslim Network for Baha'i Rights.

Censeo Productions
Safeguard The Innocent: Video in Defense of the Baha'i Minority


When I was in Europe this Summer, Egyptian Tourism Ad was on CNN International and BBC all day long, after every news. Mideast Youth's first video, called "Egyptian Tourism Ad,"  edited this popular TV advertisement into an awareness campaign for the condition of Baha'is in Egypt. It has been written about in a prominent Egyptian paper, Al Masry Al Yowm.


Egyptian Tourism Ad (Remake)


So there you have it.  Muslim youth is inspiring us Christians and Jews, to act on behalf of Baha'is!  Thank you Jeeeesus! Hallelujah! It is wonderfully interdependent new world. May our efforts help bring freedom to our brothers and sisters in Iran and Egypt.

------------------------

To watch the video in Farsi: http://tinyurl.com/63kpze

For more information contact:
Esra'a Al Shafei, Director, www.MideastYouth.com, director@mideastyouth.com
Kawthar Muhaib, Project Coordinator, MideastYouth.com, kaw@mideastyouth.com

More about our efforts to defend the rights of the Baha'i minority:

BBC Persian:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/persian/iran/story/2007/07/070719_si-wkf-bahaiedefence.shtml

Muslim Arab Youth Defend Baha'i Rights:
http://tinyurl.com/6odhqw

MideastYouth.com in the Press:
http://www.mideastyouth.com/press-room/

Jul 29, 2008

The Other: The Origin and Meaning of the Term

Headshot ~ Zane Yi was raised in the Christian tradition and is fascinated by the interplay of philosophical and theological thought through history. He teaches and studies philosophy at Fordham University, where he is a graduate student. Zane and his wife, Angela, live on the Upper East Side of Manhattan.

If you’ve browsed this website, you’ve most likely come across the frequent use of the term “the Other.” You may have wondered, “What does it mean? Where does it come from?”

Projet-eee.levinas03 The term has been developed by European philosophers and came into usage through the work of Jewish/French philosopher Emmanuel Levinas (1906-1995), an extremely influential, some might call quintessentially “post-modern”, thinker. Levinas fought in World War II, taught philosophy at the University of Paris, and is also known for his Talmudic scholarship. Levinas’ extensive writings are permeated with this term, but are notoriously hard to digest. Here is a short overview of the meaning of the term.

According to Levinas, when we encounter another human being, the face of the Other speaks to us and ethically obligates us.

The innovative nature of this claim becomes more evident when Levinas’ thought is compared with the thought of a Frenchman that is more familiar to many people--Rene Descartes. In his quest for absolute certainty, Descartes infamously describes his method of radical doubt. One must doubt everything—the beliefs inherited from one’s parents and teacher, and even one’s own senses!  After demolishing this shaky edifice of beliefs, one can reconstruct a stable building of knowledge built from indubitable facts.

What is the indubitable and, therefore, foundational fact? Descartes claims that he cannot doubt the fact that he is doubting. “I think, therefore I am,” he purportedly claimed. Starting from this point, one begins to work one’s way to other certain facts.

Following Descartes’ lead, many philosophers seem to think that the primary task of philosophy is an epistemological or metaphysical one. What we desire most is absolutely certain knowledge. How do I know that the external world and others exist? (Believe it or not, philosophers have spent much time and energy trying to answer this question!) With the proper method of acquiring knowledge (epistemology), one can ascertain what is real (metaphysics).

Ethics, or “practical philosophy”, is a secondary concern; “knowing” (epistemology) and “reality” (metaphysics) take priority. Once we know what is real, we can find out what is good and right. Furthermore, figuring out the good and right is reduced to the derivation of principles or maxims from abstractions. 

In contrast to this, Levinas treats ethics as a "first philosophy."  According to Levinas, we are immediately aware of the Other through our encounters with him/her (and their "face") and the Other places obligations of care and respect on us, before we begin to theoretically speculate on things, people, life, truth, ourselves, or anything at all! This obligation towards the Other cannot be reduced to linguistic formulations and commands, and transcends race, gender, or religion.

Levinas’ innovative claim is powerfully illustrated by one of my professors, Merold Westphal, who uses an excerpt from Erich Maria Remarque’s All Quiet on the Western Front to help readers understand Levinas’ insight.

The following is taken from Westphal’s new book Levinas and Kierkegaard in Dialogue (p. 3-4). (The pagination is from Remarque’s book.) 

On a foray between the trenches, I have become separated from my comrades and have found refuge in a crater filled with water and mud. Suddenly a question occurs to me. "What will you do if someone jumps into your shell-hole? Swiftly I pull out my little dagger, grasp it fast and bury it in my hand once again under the mud. If anyone jumps in here I will go for him...stab him clean through the throat, so that he  cannot call out; that's the only way; he will be just as frightened as I am;  then in terror we fall upon another, then I must be first"  (184).

As suddenly as the question arises, a body falls on top of me. "I do not think at all, I make no decision--I strike madly home, and feel only how the body suddenly convulses, then becomes limp and collapses. When I recover myself, my hand is sticky and wet. The man gurgles....It sounds to me as though he bellows....I want to stop  his mouth, stuff it with earth, stab him again, he must be quite, but [I] have  suddenly become so feeble that I cannot anymore lift my hand against him"  (185).

Overcome by the desire to get away, I move as far away as possible in the shell-hole, watching and listening.  Morning comes, and the gurgling continues, drawing first my unwilling gaze and then my whole body is a crawling journey to the side of the dying man. "At last I am beside him. Then he opens his eyes. He must have heard me, for he gazes at me with a look of utter terror. The body lies still, but in the eyes  there is such an extraordinary expression of fright that for a moment I think  they have the power enough to carry the body off with them...the gurgle has  ceased, but the eyes cry out, yell, all the life is gathered together in  them....The eyes follow me. I am powerless to move so long as they are there" (187).

When I am finally able to move, I strain some muddy water from the bottom of the crater, give it to my dying enemy, and then dress his wounds as best I can. The gurgling resumes. After the passing of an eternity, the young Frenchmen passes into eternity at about three in the afternoon. "I prop the dead man up again so that he lies comfortably...I close his eyes. They are brown, his hair is black and a bit curly at the sides. The mouth is full and soft beneath his moustache; the nose is slightly arched, the skin brownish; it is now not so pale as it was before, when he was alive. For a moment the face seems almost  healthy;--then it collapses suddenly into the strange face of the dead that I  have so often seen, strange faces, all alike" (190).

Just as the compulsion to help had followed the compulsion to flee, now the compulsion to speak takes over. "Comrade, I did not want to kill you. If you jumped in here again, I would not do it, if you would be sensible, too. But you were only an idea to me before, an abstraction that lived in my mind. But now, for the first time, I see you are a man like me. I thought of your hand-grenades, of you bayonet, of your rifle; now I see your wife and your face and our fellowship. Forgive me, comrade. We always see it too late...I will write to your wife" (191).

Who is the Other in a religious context? We have many terms for her. The unbeliever. The religious fanatic. The liberal. The fundamentalist. The pagan. The goy. The kafir.

Such labels are usually based on a theoretical understanding of the Other (often a misconception), but actually prevent us from a genuine encounter with her. Sadly, in the end, this only impoverishes our own humanity and our experience of the depth and power of our own religious traditions.

We know ourselves most fully in the presence of the Other.

It’s my hope and prayer that Faith House will become a place where encountering the Other, not thinking or talking about him or her or them, is “first philosophy.”

Jul 15, 2008

Burning Rage Meets Burning Grace

John photo ~ John Hubers is currently a PhD student at the Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago concentrating his studies on the history of Christian-Muslim relations.  Prior to this he served as the Director of the Reformed Church in America's mission program in the Middle East and South Asia as well as pastor of international congregations in the Arabian Gulf states of Oman and Bahrain.  I (Samir) met John in Boston at the meeting of Interfaith Relations Commission of National Council of Churches held at Harvard University this past June. He told me this story and later send it to me.  It first appeared in a shortened form in the Other Side Magazine, October, 1997.

It’s the summer of 1981. I’m sitting with my missionary mentor in the book- smothered office of a Coptic Orthodox bishop downtown Cairo, Egypt.  He is speaking of the riots still smoldering in a slum not far from where we were sitting. 

He tells us how it started. 

A fanatical faction of the Ikhwan al Muslameen (Muslim Brotherhood) discovered that a Christian landowner had not properly registered a piece of property in the local deeds office. Seizing the moment, they occupied the land, planted a flag on it and announced their plans to build a mosque.  The Christian went to the police to protest.  They made noises, but did nothing.  The stage was set for a drama that no one saw coming and few wanted. 

It happened when the heated exchange reached a boiling point.  The spark was the squatters gathering a mob at the owner’s home with hostile intent.  The owner came to the door with a pistol in his hand.  He said, “leave!”  They said, “no!”  He fired a shot in the air.  Someone shouted:  “Christians are killing Muslims, Christians are killing Muslims.”  And the fires started burning.

For three days violent gangs bearing the name, but not the spirit of Islam, ran wild through the warren of streets targeting Christians and their shops.  A priest from Upper Egypt in Cairo visiting his brother had his head split open with an ax.  It was a low-level massacre.

At the height of the riots a gang approached the local church with gasoline cans in their hands and arson on their minds.  The parish priest saw them out of his office window.  And there wasn’t a thing he could do to stop them.  He had been praying for an end to the destruction and murder; now he prayed for a miracle. 

As they got closer he noticed another group of men gathering in the street; neighborhood shopkeepers, Muslims he knew as friends. His heart sank.  “Dear God, not them, too!”

Then he noticed that the shopkeepers weren’t joining the mob.  Instead they were forming a phalanx around the church.  He opened his window to listen to the exchange.  What he heard assured him that God is good . . . God and his neighbors.

“This is our church,” said the shopkeepers, “these are our friends.  If you want to burn it down, you’re going to have to kill us first!” 

Burning rage met burning grace.  And grace won.  The church was spared.

Jun 08, 2008

And Not But:
Celebrating Contradiction in Relationships

NancyPrinceton ~Nancy Shainberg-Colier was raised in the traditions of the East, primarily Buddhism, and is now most closely connected with the Vedanta/Hindu path, but always learning and seeking. She is also a psychotherapist, writer and Focusing practitioner.  With her husband Frederic and a five year old daughter Juliet, Nancy lives on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.

I met Samir recently at an interfaith gathering and it was there that I first learned of Faith House.  At the ceremony he raised the question (and I am paraphrasing here) of how we could be alive, engage in dialogue as human beings, and not talk about God or meaning of life itself.  This comment resonated deeply within me. Having grown up and lived in New York City for many years, I have felt the great need for a place where people are talking about the real issues of being alive, of having been "given" life.  There is definitely a place in this city for an intergenerational interfaith community that includes the "all" without diluting the weight of the "each."  So too, I share the desire to participate in raising our particularly American consciousness out of its materialistic malaise and into something that includes our whole being and is ultimately more satisfying.  Here is my reflection about relationships between people and the role of contradiction.  This can be applied to relationships between groups or religions as well.

The Problem with Contradiction

Nature abhors a vacuum, or so they say.  Similarly, it seems that human beings abhor contradiction, particularly in the context of intimate relationships. People attempt to package their feelings as positive or negative, believing that contradictory feelings cannot and should not co-exist.  In approaching their relationships, people use the word but to connect their contradictory feelings, as if the positive wipes out the negative and vice versa.  In fact, for a relationship to succeed, and not but must be the approach we take when linking the inconsistent feelings that are at the heart of all relationships.  

All relationships resolve in contradiction. Why then is it so difficult for us to accept contradictory feelings inside ourselves?  First, we are trained to believe that consistency is the basic nature of all things, that there is an answer to all questions, one answer.  Human beings ask the question “Is it good or bad?”  Science asks the question “Is it true or false?”  Religion asks the question “Is it right or wrong?”   We like simple, clean, straightforward answers.  If it’s both simultaneously then we are in for a more complicated consideration, a more unsettling resolution. 

We seek to obliterate internal contradiction because it causes discomfort and pain.  As humans, we are always trying to grasp pleasure and avoid pain. It doesn’t make sense that we can feel both love and hate, appreciation and disappointment, relief and frustration, all at once.  In relationship, when we open to our full experience we must face the truth that all of these contradictory feelings exist in our experience of our partner.  Such an openness of vision means accepting that we are receiving certain joys and being deprived of others.  This can be quite painful and unsettling to live with. 

Celebrating Contradiction

And not but is perhaps the most important concept in relationship.  Contradiction is truth; there is always both positive and negative existing simultaneously.  When we recognize difficulty in our relationship, we must relate to that difficulty as an addition to the positive, as an and.  It is not a but, not something that eliminates the positive. 

When we operate from a place of and, we can stand back and look clearly at the entire landscape of the relationship, make room for the full spectrum of our experience.  From this place of clarity we can make free choices.  By laying out what we are receiving and what we are missing, we can choose if we want to stay in the relationship and/or how we want to stay in it.  We can determine if what we are receiving is that which matters most, and conversely if what we are giving up is acceptable to give up. Being able to allow the whole relationship to exist with all of its contradictions, all its ands, allows us to get to know ourselves, our truth, our priorities.  It helps us determine our “non-negotiables,” those aspects of a relationship or life that we are unwilling to do without. Further, in recognizing the places where we are sacrificing, we can more fully appreciate the places we are receiving.  We generate compassion and appreciation for ourselves when we are able to accept the whole picture that is relationship. It is a compassion borne of  awareness, recognizing the profundity of the choices we are making.  Free to acknowledge and experience our partner’s value in our life, we can now fully appreciate our relationship, which is ultimately what makes it work.

Apr 28, 2008

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.

Mar 17, 2008

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.

Angry_manThese 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

Mar 10, 2008

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Mar 03, 2008

From a Novel "Life of Pi"

~ by Samir Selmanovic

Images7 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.”

Continue reading "From a Novel "Life of Pi"" »

Feb 20, 2008

Religion and Violence

~ by Samir Selmanovic

Speakerspanel 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.

Dec 17, 2007

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

Nov 28, 2007

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

Apr 11, 2007

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.

Jan 17, 2007

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.

Untitled_1Part 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?

Jan 10, 2007

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.

Paradisenow_resized_1Whether 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.

Munich_resized_130188I 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.

United93_resized_130188Thanks 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.