Thursday, November 21, 2013

A monologue about dialogue

Earlier this week, I got to go to an event that hit on two of my favorite interests: music and interfaith. In celebration of 35 years of commitment to interfaith work, the Interfaith Conference of Metropolitan Washington put on a concert combining the musical artistry embedded in eleven different faith traditions. A beautiful, diverse spectrum of people assembled in the Washington Hebrew Congregation's sanctuary. The event began with a series of sacred sounds -- first the shofar (Jewish), then the conch shell (Jain), then the gong (Buddhist), and then finally the azhan (Muslim call to prayer). The audience was hushed, recognizing the transformation of this commonplace gathering into a holy shared space. And it was with that in mind that we ventured forth into the richness of the evening.

I loved it. Loved it. And I want to establish that now before I take a turn in a different direction.

Because something happened that made me want to jump out of my chair in protest.

Our mistress of ceremonies was Greta Kreuz, a well-respected local journalist who originated the religion beat for the DC metro area's ABC station. She has covered a variety of events for a variety of traditions and has been a passionate advocate for interfaith work. After spending a little bit of time commending IFCMW and those who had convened for the event, her talk took on a different spin. Not only was our unity a powerful way of uniting against the social, political, and economic problems of the world, but it was also a source of strength in battling what she deemed to be the biggest problem facing people of faith these days: "non-believers."

I was so stunned that I nearly stood up to let out a "Hold up -- WHAT?!"

Some of my most fruitful conversations about faith have been with people who would categorize themselves as "none" when asked to identify religiously. These are the people who don't guilt me for my doubts, who ask clarifying and refining questions, who push me to articulate what I really believe without slipping into Christian-ese lingo that takes itself for granted but never asks for definition. I don't feel threatened by my non-religious friends; I feel challenged by them. And challenge is healthy.

Not to mention, excluding those folks from the opportunity to talk about faith is entirely against the principles that uphold interfaith dialogue. Interfaith dialogue is about both respecting and transcending lines of difference for the purpose of deepening our understanding of each other. We allow one another to be our distinct selves while also making room for the possibility of collaboration and mutual learning. Where in that model is there room to exclude anyone from the conversation, should they want to join it in that spirit -- even if they aren't religious?

Back in September, my supervisor gifted me with the opportunity to attend a day of the President's Interfaith and Community Service Campus Challenge event at Georgetown University. During my lunch hour, I joined in on an interfaith "speed dialogue," which places interfaith dialogue into speed dating format. I expected to meet people who spanned from Protestant Christianity to Zoroastrianism, from Buddhism to Islam, all clearly identifying with a particular and distinct tradition. Instead, I found myself instead faced with one person after another who identified as secular, atheist, or agnostic. Yet none of them seemed to think any less of me for being a person of faith (let's hope not, at least -- they were at an interfaith event, after all!). They were searching for meaning in their own lives, whether that led them to religion or not, but either way they wanted to understand people of faith more completely. They wanted to be part of the conversation. I deeply respected that.

Welcoming that dialogue will do more to smooth relations between people of faith and people not of faith into something respectful than any belligerent or defensive ideological warfare ever can, and in the process we will find ourselves with a clearer sense of who we are and what we're called to because we've been asked to articulate it. I feel that the greater danger lies in a misled sense of certainty, which often lives in extreme fundamentalism but can sneak in practically everywhere. Our danger, I believe, lies in stopping the search and thinking we have nothing left to learn.

So, Ms. Kreuz, no offense, but I respectfully disagree. However, that won't keep me from dialoguing with you.

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