The Other is Me*

“Read! In the name of your Lord who created man from a clinging form. Read!”

The night these words were first voiced was the night a movement began. It was a movement about which many have heard, a movement that many carry forward today, a movement that many around the world distort, misunderstand or even fear. The night these words were first voiced was the night when the religion we now call Islam began.

Is it said that when the Prophet Muhammad first heard these words, he thought he had gone insane, and ran to his wife Khadijah, fearful of the meaning of his experience. Her response was to reassure him that his vision was real, and to encourage him to consult her Christian cousin Waraqah if he sought answers explaining what had transpired that night. It was at their first meeting that Muhammad’s role of prophet was first confirmed. The messenger of Islam was first endorsed by a Christian. I'm sure Fox News would love that fact.

So why do I share this story with you? Last night was one of the possible nights for Laylat-al-Qadr, or the Night of Power, what is perhaps one of the holiest nights of the year in the Islamic calendar. This night commemorates the revelation of that first verse: “Read in the name of your Lord who created man from a clinging form.” At first, this verse appears to be no more than a heavenly command. However, if we sit with its content for a moment longer, we see that it is a recognition of the unity of humankind. It is a divine reminder of our interdependent nature. We began as a clinging form. When we look beneath the surface-level command, we can see that the movement which began that night is more than a set of mandatory beliefs that have since become the center of media attention. It is a way of life that encourages people around the world and across cultures to fully embody compassion and ceaselessly work for universal justice.

I could spend hours speaking about the many ways in which Muhammad’s life reflects Islam’s origin as a movement seeking economic justice for the poor, or a peaceful community comprised of people from multiple faith traditions. But we’re not here for a history lesson. What I do feel is important to lift up about Islam in this space today is what it teaches us about difference. Islam teaches us that no matter who a person is, no matter what a community may believe, living faithfully means that we live with and for those around us, that we work for the good of all. What Muhammad’s leadership centuries ago teaches us is that there can be no “other” in society, that if a world in which inequality based on difference exists, it is not only unjust, but it is a violation of what was divinely intended. Islam’s emphasis on compassion and compassion is meant to remind us of our universally divine origin, so that we seek to live in ways that end the violent creation of the “other.” Unfortunately, our world has evolved to sustain oppressive systems that perpetuate the presence of this “other” in our mindset, thriving on a belief that difference is something to be feared, something that threatens our individual sense of comfort and safety. Islam seeks to end that fear; it seeks to break down the barriers that prevent us from becoming enriched by what we can learn from one another. This morning’s reading included a verse of the Qur’an that many involved in interfaith work know by heart: that we were made into different races and tribes so that we should get to know another. This verse has been quoted time and time again because it reminds us that our differences are intentional and they make our unity that much more beautiful.

Islam also teaches us that one of the ways in which we can begin to break down the barriers that prevent our natural unity is by attempting to put ourselves in the place of the Other. Today marks one of the final days of the month of Ramadan, during which the abstention from food and drink helps to develop greater compassion for the members of our human family whose lives have left them with no choice but to be hungry and thirsty. Interestingly enough, what my experience this month has taught me was the level of privilege that is reflected by my choosing to fast during this month. My practice of not eating or drinking was not something imposed upon me, but was a decision that I had the freedom to make. My choice to fast was a product of my privileged position, a position that I hold because I have benefited from systems that were designed to divide, otherize, and oppress. As Ramadan comes to a close, I am left with an uncomfortable combination of compassion and anger. My experience of fasting has kindled my compassion for anyone who struggles to find enough to eat, who may not know where or when they will find their next meal. But my experience of my choice to fast has pissed me off. It has reminded me that we live in a world dominated by structures that not only seek to separate us, but blind us to the real harm caused by that perceived separation. My anger this month has been fueled not only by my recognition of another’s suffering, but by the reality that this suffering is caused by the same fear-based and divisive systems that have granted some, including myself, freedom. This month has reminded me that the “other is me” not only because we come from the same divine origin, but also because my privilege depends on another’s oppression, yet I am constantly being conditioned to see no relationship between our different experiences.

Perhaps the most frustrating part of my experience has been my coming to realize that this conditioned mindset is the predominant attitude in our society. We do not have to look hard to find examples of our being blind to the divisive systems that privilege one by creating an “other.” It cannot be said enough, our criminal justice system is a divisive and biased structure that has manipulated our minds into believing that there are certain groups to be feared. Those of us who have read Michelle Alexander’s book, The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness, know that our criminal justice system has evolved out of a slavery-era philosophy that black men, women, and children are allegedly of lesser value; that people of color are an “other” to be separated from the rest of us. And what is, in my opinion the scariest part of this horrific structure is that most of those who benefit from it have absolutely no idea how it has created and oppressed an “other” for the sake of their own sense of freedom.

I realize that I am painting a somewhat dismal picture of society, and so I want to share what I see is the best part about all of this otherizing – we are fighting it. And one of the methods we have used to fight it is perhaps the oldest tool we have, the reason many of us are here today: religion. Earlier I spoke of some lessons which Islam teaches around our natural unity, and how they can be helpful in ending the perpetuation of an “other” in our mindset. But Islam is not the only faith tradition that has justice and the end of this unnatural division at its core. The commitment to dissolving the barriers that prevent us from relating to another’s experience finds support in the principles and writings of many traditions, which leads me to believe that these religions are not only belief systems, but that they are also progressive social movements. Each religion is an attempt to bring about justice and equality by bringing an end to our fear-based division, our separation from the “other.” Mark Morrison-Reed describes this point perfectly in a reading from our hymnal. He writes:

“The central task of the religious community is to unveil the bonds that bind each to all. There is a connectedness, a relationship discovered amid the particulars of our own lives and the lives of others. Once felt, it inspires us to act for justice.”

Mark Morrison-Reed is absolutely right. The task of religion and the religious community is to bring us to a place of recognition and appreciation that we are all bound together – there can be no Other. When we come to realize that there is no Other in a just society, our faith compels us to work for the change needed to uphold our bonds, to end the division that has violated our inherent connectedness. Whatever tradition or philosophy it is that inspires us, whether it is Islam, Unitarian Universalism, Hinduism, Christianity, or the wisdom of our humanist predecessors, our faith gives us the ability, and thus the responsibility, to heal the wounds that our inherited fear of difference has caused. Through our faith, we have the ability and responsibility to understand and to teach that when we view someone as the “other,” we violate their inherent worth and deny our natural unity. Otherwise, we forget and damage that interconnected existence that is our true nature and purpose; we forget that we are a part of each other and that each and every one of us is essential to our shared experience of the holy.

The power of the religious community to break down barriers and bring an end to the creation of the Other can only be trumped by one thing: the power of the interreligious community. If the function of religion is to bring an end to the unnatural division in our society, than interfaith engagement and cooperation are crucial practices for any person of faith. Think about it: how can a socially progressive movement claim to bring justice for all if it excludes among its allies any who may believe differently from its vision? When we create the interreligious community, we initiate the process of moving away from seeing certain groups as the “other,” beginning with faith traditions that are vastly different from our own. When we allow ourselves to learn and appreciate the wisdom inherent to different traditions, and the importance of need for others’ stories to expand our hearts and minds, we challenge ourselves to grow in new ways. When we are open to learning what and why another person loves differently from us, we become aware of the ways in which we have unknowingly tried to distance ourselves from segments of our human family. We learn how we have become too comfortable in our own story. When we open ourselves to understanding the uncomfortable truths behind another’s suffering, we acknowledge the power and privilege that we possess, which could be used to either perpetuate or end injustice. The interreligious community, with its ability to, as Rabbi Heschel describes it, encourage “mutual enrichment and enhancement” is essential to this process.

All of this can sound complicated and daunting, but the reality is that interfaith cooperation is so within our nature, that children are perhaps the most capable of modeling it. My favorite book these days is the children’s book Mira and the Big Story, which describes one girl’s experience with “the Others.” The book tells the story of two villages, each of which has their own belief about how they came to live in their valley, and both of which see the other village as wrong. One day, Mira sneaks over to visit the village of the “Others,” only to find that they are exactly like her. When she shares her experience with a wise man in her village, he provides her with a third story of how both villages came to be, one which describes them as having come from the same, single source. After hearing this story, Mira says words that brought me to tears the first time I read them:

“If this story is true, than no one owns the valley and we all belong here. If this story is true, the people across the river are not Others. They are like us. If this story is true, we are all connected to each other and to everything else – the river, the trees, the sky, the ocean, the animals. If this story is true, we have wasted too much time being enemies.”

We have wasted too much time being enemies. We have spent too much time seeing difference as a threat to our own selves, and not as a gift that invites us to fully live into our innate capacity to connect and evolve through cooperation. One perspective cannot, and should not, know all that there is to know- we all need each other to show us what pieces we as individuals are unable to see. Imagine what peace we could bring if we made the move from seeing differences as threats to celebrating differences as reflections of the incomprehensibly beautiful nature of the divine. Imagine if we took that lesson from the Qur’an at heart: that we were created differently so that we “should get to know another.” We were created not to separate from one another, not to protect ourselves through division; but to connect to each other. We were created to grow by appreciating the value of those lives which we have not lived ourselves.

Mira and the Big Story teaches us that interfaith cooperation is a natural and necessary way for us to bring an end to the creation of the “Other.” It is unfortunate, however, that religion has developed a bad track record featuring its own acts of otherizing, with many traditions adopting practices in exclusivism that describe others as sinners so that some can be saved. Much of religion has been altered by a westernized philosophy that focuses on individual salvation, and encourages a fear of anything that threatens one’s sense of comfort and safety in an oppressive system. It is unfortunate; but it is not permanent, and there is a new movement brewing. There is a new movement that realizes religion is not meant to be a barrier that separates one people from another through such fear. There is a new movement that views religion as a force that is meant to help us break down those barriers and encourage us to love, to act in ways that honor the inherent rights of all, not simply some. And we have a responsibility to be a part of it. We have a responsibility to recognize the innate human need to connect, with a goal of achieving universal salvation. We have the responsibility to create the interreligious community. For when we enter into real relationship with the members of different faiths, or of no faith, we honor our origin – what that first revealed Sura calls our initial, clinging form. When we come together as an interreligious community that sees fullness in our diversity, we can bring lasting change and heal the wounds of our violent separation. If we are willing to be with one another, willing to know one another as being part of the same miraculous creation, we can unite in an understanding that our mission is justice, and that our faith is action. When we see ourselves as being of the same miracle, we can love our differences. We can realize that our differences are necessary for us to depend on and relate to one another; we can cease wasting our time as enemies, and begin valuing our time as one clinging form.

*Delivered at the First Unitarian Church of Philadelphia (August 4, 2013)

Which Me Would You Like To See Today?

Which me would you like to see today?

Which face would you like to describe?

Tell me how I am supposed to act today,

Tell me in what voice I should speak.

Which me are you assuming is here today?

Which beliefs do you think I currently hold?

Tell me what people I should represent.

Tell me what agenda I am here to fulfill.

Which me would you like to ignore today?

Which stories are not important right now?

Tell me what thoughts should stay secrets,

Tell me what voices should remain unheard.

Which me are you surprised by today?

Which pieces just don't seem to fit?

Tell me what you think is "odd" or "unexpected,"

Tell me what about me makes you uncomfortable.

"Which me?" is a question I am tired of asking,

"Which voice?" does not make any sense.

The pieces of me cannot be separated,

The faces and stories are all intertwined.

I am more than you choose to see today,

My face has more to it than you can describe.

My actions and beliefs are not unexpected of me.

My stories all draw from an indivisible whole.

The pieces I share are not one-dimensional.

The voices I speak are not soloists but a choir.

"Which me" you can see does not change day by day.

"Which me" you create is what you chose to see.

Which me would you like to see today?

Living Life's Calling: Reflections After Seminary Year One*

Earlier in the service I mentioned having a trust in the journey that is our religion’s call. So what exactly is our religion’s call? In all honesty, it has taken me a long time to get comfortable with this language of “the call.” Maybe it was because it sounded to me like who I am and what I do is predestined. As someone with Type A tendencies, I had no interest in entertaining the idea that something beyond my control was directing the course of my life. So when I was first asked to describe my “call to ministry,” I panicked. I thought I was being asked to describe the day I received explicit instructions, a clear sign that might have literally included the words “Ranwa, you must become a minister.” Well, what if I never had that moment? What if my decision to enter ministry, to go to seminary, was based in and still surrounded by questions? By doubt? Did that mean that I was not called?

Cue Professor James Cone, the founder of Black Liberation Theology.

Against the advice of several second and third-year friends, I enrolled in Dr. Cone’s Systematic Theology course in my fall semester. This was a risky decision, since I didn’t really know what either of those words actually meant. But I knew I wanted to take a course with James Cone in my first year. I learned a very important lesson that semester – not listening to other people’s experienced advice can lead to amazing things. During the first day of class, Dr. Cone defined a theologian as someone “who reflects on ultimate meaning and seeks to reconcile one’s highest hopes with the disappointments in everyday life & experience.” Theology, he told us, emerges out of this contradiction. And so, he encouraged each of us in the room to discover our own contradiction, to find what it was deep within us that we had to answer, that we had to let out or else be consumed by it. He challenged us to embrace the power of our internal fire and to let it drive our work, our faith.

Well, Dr. Cone: Challenge accepted.

For those of us who may not be familiar with James Cone, he is, as I mentioned earlier, the “founder” of black liberation theology, and his work has been shaping religious leaders and justicemakers for decades. His liberation theology put at the forefront something that we now take for granted in our religious movements: the pervasiveness of oppression. At the core of liberation theology is a belief that God, the Divine, is on the side of the oppressed; that religion is meant to tear down the systems and structures that lift one person over another, that theology takes a side, and it is the side of the marginalized. Using biblical support such as God’s actions in the Exodus story, the beatitudes, and the resurrection of Jesus, Cone’s theology argues that God’s activity in the world is the hopeful work of liberation. It is a theology of resilience and survival, intended to give strength to those individuals who seek to claim their dignity amidst white oppression.

Now, to borrow from a friend “I love me some liberation theology.” It is about freedom, it is about empowerment, it is about saying “I am worthy” and knowing that whatever source it is you acknowledge loves you. But during the course of my first semester, I could not help noticing what I saw as a fatal flaw in most liberation theologies – a reliance on separating oneself from an “other.” This problem was exemplified when we learned about feminist theologians who accused James Cone of ignoring women, womanists who said feminists ignored women of color, queer theologians who reproached others for ignoring the spectrum of sexual orientation, immigrants who pointed out that their voices were silenced, the list goes on. I struggled to reconcile how those who had been so severely marginalized were now so quick to distinguish and validate themselves in their efforts to end their own oppression, that they ended up ignoring the plight of everyone else in our society. I could not understand how something that was meant to end oppression had divided us into groups that only continued its cycle.

Holy crap! I found my contradiction! Even better, I heard our religion’s call and could not ignore it! Challenge defeated!

Ok, so you’re probably thinking I’ve had too much coffee this morning. First, you’re correct. But that does not take away from the reality that Unitarian Universalism calls upon us, whether we are ministers or members, to do something about this contradiction. In our responsive reading this morning we said that we have religion when we “entrust ourselves to the life that is larger than ourselves.” Unitarian Universalism responds to the contradiction in traditional liberation theology not by saying that “I am worthy,” but that “we are worthy.” Unitarian Universalism is a message of universal salvation, and it calls upon us to affirm the value of all beings, not only ourselves. So maybe, a Unitarian Universalist liberation theology is a call to end the separation that brings about oppression. Maybe it is a call to seek freedom together, holding at its center everyone & everything. The best part is that we are not the only ones with this message. The Pope (the Pope!) just this past week said the very same thing: “We are all children of God, all of us! And God loves us, all of us!” The Pope! And my study of Islam this year has shown me that it is a tradition that grew out of a call to free both the poor and wealthy from a system of economic injustice.

Unitarian Universalism’s call for us to counter the separation in our society is a daunting one, and it is not easy to answer. Every day I wonder, “Is this even possible?” Can I, can we, actually bring about this universal affirmation, this universal freedom? I question whether or not I possess the skills to continue on this path to ministry, if the basis of my faith is strong enough to have actually heard this call. But amidst my questions, I remember the contradiction. I remember our principles, and I am able to put trust in our journey. Bayard Rustin, a civil rights activist who helped Martin Luther King, Jr. refine his platform of nonviolent civil disobedience, knew the courage it took to stay on a journey amidst the never-ending questions. And so I end my reflection with Rustin’s words as we go forth to answer our call: “To remain human and to fulfill my commitment to a just society, I must continue to fight for the liberation of all men (or people). There will be times when each of us have doubts. But I trust that neither of us will desert our great cause.”

*Sermon delivered on Sunday, May 26th 2013 at the First Unitarian Church of Philadelphia, during a service co-led by Scott Youmans (Seminarian at Starr King School for the Ministry).

Seminary Year One: Immediate Reflections

At the end of this first year, my immediate feelings are of utter exhaustion combined with a sense of satisfied energy. Last night, the phrase "nobody warned me" was aptly stated by a friend as we toasted the end of many chapters today. Indeed, to paraphrase a fellow first second-year, I have cried more in my first year of seminary than I have in the rest of my entire adult life. I have experienced both beautiful moments of unmatched gratitude for the world and nearly unbearable periods of despair as I thought "This is too big." I have met amazing people who radiate inspiration, and I have come to love people whom I first thought were annoying. Seriously, you all are beautiful, even if I sometimes want to throw a pen cap at the back of your head. I have developed a more passionate sense of call, yet this year's lessons and self-learning have left me more confused about my ministerial direction than ever before. I have developed equal parts love for humanity's unwavering belief in its potential and frustration towards our lack of humility regarding our limitations, leading me to surprising theological corners. I have been affirmed as a non-theist, but now eagerly embrace the reality that we simply cannot know the nature of the Divine. I have come to recognize that the contradictions between our conceptualizations of the Holy are a necessary piece of its beauty, and not something that we must resolve. I am not the same person that I was when I began (for one thing, I'm crankier...), yet I am more sure of my core being than I was that first day of orientation. I have been asked to "own my story" and in that process I have finally begun to understand how the twists in my journey have led up to this point. I am anxious about the future, but am assured by the experiences I have had thus far that change is not to be feared but rather fully lived. Looking back on the year, I am grateful beyond imagination for the people who have offered words of encouragement, a shoulder to cry on/an ear to rant to, the nudge to go beyond my comfort zone, and delicious homemade baked goods.

On a more targeted note, this past year has exposed me to systemic injustice that I knew existed but never wanted to fully acknowledge. Maybe it was a fear of feeling helpless or of getting angry to the point of being ineffective at building bridges. Part of it might have been the fear of learning my part in perpetuating a broken and oppressive system. Whatever prevented me from reaching that point of bearing witness to the harsher parts of reality, it has been defeated by embracing the responsibility and honor of being in full relationship with all of existence. I am still learning what that means for me and my ministry, but it is clear that we can no longer deny that something radical must be done, and that integrity and love demands being honest about what we face. I remember that when I first came to Union, it was because I felt called to affirm the beautiful miracle that is our world, and the inherent capacity for good that exists within all of us. When I think about my call, I do not believe it has become anything different from its original intention, but its form has changed. It is taking the shape of something much more than I thought (and still think) myself capable of, something greater than I thought was necessary for change. As I continue along this journey, I am both terrified of and motivated by what I might discover. That seems like a healthy combination for a second-year (omg that sounds awesome) seminarian and future minister :).

When it all is said and done, this year has been nothing short of life-altering (Although that begs the question, can one "alter" life? Or simply live it? CURSE YOU SEMINARY!). Imagine what next year will bring (..."all the feelings" raised to the tenth power?). 

And now, I rest until CPE in two weeks. Because, damn it, even God took a day off.

“The Marvelous Women” by Mohja Kahf

All women speak two languages:

the language of men

and the language of silent suffering.

Some women speak a third,

the language of queens.

They are marvelous

and they are my friends.

My friends give me poetry.

If it were not for them

I’d be a seamstress out of work.

They send me their dresses

and I sew together poems,

enormous sails for ocean journeys.

My marvelous friends, these women

who are elegant and fix engines,

who teach gynecology and literacy,

and work in jails and sing and sculpt

and paint the ninety-nine names,

who keep each other’s secrets

and pass on each other’s spirits

like small packets of leavening,

it is from you I fashion poetry.

I scoop up, in handfuls, glittering

sequins that fall from your bodies

as you fall in love, marry, divorce,

get custody, get cats, enter

supreme courts of justice,

argue with God.

You rescuers on galloping steeds

of the weak and the wounded–

Creatures of beauty and passion,

powerful workers in love–

you are the poems.

I am only your stenographer.

I am the hungry transcriber

of the conjuring recipes you hoard

in the chests of your great-grandmothers.

My marvelous friends–the women

of brilliance in my life,

who levitate my daughters,

you are a coat of many colors

in silk tie-dye so gossamer

it can be crumpled in one hand.

You houris, you mermaids, swimmers

in dangerous waters, defiers of sharks–

My marvelous friends,

thirsty Hagars and laughing Sarahs,

you eloquent radio Aishas,

Marys drinking the secret

milkshakes of heaven,

slinky Zuleikas of desire,

gay Walladas, Harriets

parting the sea, Esthers in the palace,

Penelopes of patient scheming,

you are the last hope of the shrinking women.

You are the last hand to the fallen knights

You are the only epics left in the world

Come with me, come with poetry

Jump on this wild chariot, hurry–

Help me with these wayward, snorting horses

Together we will pull across the sky

the sun that will make the earth radiant-

or burn in its terrible brilliance,

and that is a good way to die

Affirming the Contradiction: How Religious Difference Compels the Creation of an Interfaith Social Movement

“True religion is disruptive.” These words, written in response to actions taken by leaders within the Catholic Church against a recent protest by LGBTQ individuals, are perhaps the most accurate way of describing my understanding of religion at this point in my seminary experience. The importance of this statement, as it relates to both my educational development and evolving call to ministry, lies in my conceptualization of what it means to be “disruptive.” Contrary to the negative, destructive, and even violent connotations often associated with “disruption,” I have come to view the disruptive nature of religion as engaging a more healing, unifying, and peaceful purpose. My perspective is the result of an historically-based understanding of religion as having developed within a variety of cultural settings in response to oppressive or divisive systems, and in an effort to provide hopeful alternatives that allow humanity to develop a new understanding of our experiences, and to create new relationships with our world.

It comes as no surprise that my view of religious diversity is inevitably impacted by my appreciation for this positive disruption. In a global society where individual and geographical boundaries are permeable, where local systems that were once isolated are now interconnected and interdependent, we are given an opportunity to engage with new people and experiences that can challenge our perspective on a daily basis. The value of these interactions is determined by our approach to the differences that we will certainly discover, and to the contradictions that will appear seemingly impossible to reconcile. Within this setting, the presence of religious diversity, and more specifically the full engagement of religious diversity, can bring us to a deeper level of disruption. Every religious tradition reflects and ultimately engages culturally relevant systems of oppression and division. As elements of these traditions and cultures come into contact with one another, they create new systems, new reflections, and new responses. What we are then left with is a range of exclusivist claims and pluralistic explanations, which all attempt to rationalize contradictions so that we remain affirmed in our own perspectives amidst others’ certainty. Thus, many of our efforts to understand religious diversity in the past have actually been framed by an underlying desire to validate ourselves in the presence of an “other.” Unfortunately, such an approach has limited the potential of religious diversity. Our self-focused attitudes have kept us from engaging in interreligious encounters that could offer new depth to our efforts to disrupt institutionalized oppression and division with forms of healing and unity. Thus, if we are to fully embrace the disruptive power of religion, we must develop a new understanding of our perceived encounters with religious diversity. We must shift away from a self-focused approach that views contradiction as a threat needing explanation, and move toward a selfless approach that validates contradiction, and embraces it as a unifying prerequisite for peace.

Unitarian Universalism, Religious Diversity, and Contradictions 
As a Unitarian Universalist with a Muslim upbringing, or as a friend of mine so aptly puts it, a “UUslim,” religious diversity is an essential part of my faith experience. Having been raised in one tradition that is a “minority religion” in my current cultural context, and then later identifying with another minority religious movement while simultaneously engaging my faith of origin, my approach to religion has always engaged issues of diversity. Focusing on my more recent experience, as a non-doctrinal tradition, Unitarian Universalism has a strong basis in religious pluralism, which enables it to find wisdom within a variety of belief systems. Diversity is a reality that Unitarian Universalism not only strives to embrace, but also celebrate, and religious diversity is no exception. Even a brief review of the six sources of the tradition currently espoused by the association illustrate how Unitarian Universalism seeks to engage religious diversity, by acknowledging the wisdom in a variety of religious teachings beyond its own. We draw not only from the tradition’s Judeo-Christian roots, but also find wisdom in the “worlds’ religions” to enhance our “ethical and spiritual” learning, and seek teachings from “earth-centered traditions” to help us honor the larger web of life. As a faith tradition that embraces the constant search for truth and meaning, Unitarian Universalism views religious diversity as a resource to help us enrich our experience and enhance our understanding of the world. Thus, our starting point as a tradition is not necessarily one of self-validation, but rather of intellectual and spiritual curiosity, which enables us to value other traditions teachings, and even doctrines, without feeling the need to dismiss these traditions as a whole if there are certain elements with which we disagree.

However, in my opinion, this seeker-style approach has a significant shortcoming – it largely ignores the necessary importance of theological contradictions. By placing more emphasis on the similarities or “applicable” wisdom in different traditions, Unitarian Universalism fails to explore the many interconnected social, political, economic, and cultural causes and effects of religious difference. Because of its sanitizing efforts that draw primarily upon non-exclusivist religious teachings, Unitarian Universalism, as is currently practiced, plays it safe, and lives in a theological vacuum that denies the real effect and value of religious contradictions. Yet, as a tradition that embraces the fluidity of faith and has its roots in a doctrine of universal salvation, it actually has the largely untapped ability to lead in an affirmation of theological contradictions and the diverse teachings out of which they arise. Although its historical basis in dissent and emphasis on the use of reason may serve as an obstacle to affirming the validity of inter-religiously based contradictory teachings, its roots in social justice can pave the way for such a shift. By encouraging followers to view the challenging and incongruent elements of different traditions as being equally valid expressions of the need for systemic change, Unitarian Universalism’s emphasis on social justice can serve as the foundation for our affirmation of religious contradictions. With a strong educational focus that encourages holistic religious literacy, Unitarian Universalism has the potential to lead in the generation of disruptive dialogue and action, by compelling believers and nonbelievers of various traditions to explore and consider the practical implications of affirming contradictions.

Based on this understanding, the value of religious diversity for Unitarian Universalism does not come from its encouraging the selective appreciation of piecemeal wisdom from other traditions that suit our needs. Rather, Unitarian Universalism best engages religious diversity when it also seeks to affirm elements that are in contradiction, even those which are violent or dehumanizing, because it compels us to examine the context out of which they arose. To limit religious appreciation to the teachings that are congruent to our Unitarian Universalist principles is to practice a form of pluralism that remains in a “self-focused” paradigm of religious diversity. Thus, if Unitarian Universalists are to disrupt the divisive and oppressive systems that religion has historically sought to address, we must consider adopting a perspective that understands the role of such contradictions as bringing to light the presence of these systems, as they exist both within and beyond various religious doctrines. We must embrace our roots in social justice and social action, by validating those religious doctrines that appear to challenge one another and our own principles, and then determining how such an affirmation illustrates the pervasive presence of those oppressive and divisive systems that we are called to address.

Islam, Religious Diversity, and Contradictions
My appreciation for the role of contradiction in religious diversity is likely influenced by my recent exploration of religious diversity from the Islamic perspective. Although I was raised to view the Abrahamic traditions, and in particular Islam, as having a heavy exclusivist bent, my concern regarding the cyclically divisive nature of western liberation theologies has caused me to consider whether their religious doctrines can actually include teachings that mandate the affirmation of the “other,” and in particular the “religious other.” As a result, this past spring I enrolled in a course entitled “Islam and Religious Diversity,” which helped reshape both my understanding of Islam, as well as my approach to the traditions that were the focus of the “Cities” coursework this semester. My examination of various scholarly approaches to the nature of both intra and interreligious diversity in Islam required an understanding of the role of identity threat/politics, historical context, and the many conceptualizations of justice, as we consistently uncovered contradictory teachings that left us with no single correct answer as to how to view the “other.” What I gained from that brief exploration was nothing short of a paradigm shift – religion, and in particular Islam, in its efforts to disrupt divisive and oppressive systems, does so through the elimination of the barriers that create the “other.” Its true purpose is not to create a new separate identity within an existing structural framework, but to do away with that framework entirely, so as to eliminate the systems that enable division-based hierarchies and oppression. Given the now intersecting cultural contexts out of which religion arises, this disruptively unifying purpose can only be uncovered when we affirm the contradictions that we encounter within and across religions. In doing so, we can begin to grasp the pervasive influence of these oppressive systems on religion, their creation of identity-based contradictions, and their impact on our encounters with diversity.

This understanding of religious diversity and the value of contradiction within the Islamic tradition is particularly challenging to embrace given the seemingly exclusivist claims found within the Qur’an and Sunna. The question that we are forced to ask is if a religion is intended to be a disruptively unifying force, how than can it include teachings that seem to create barriers between followers of different traditions? With verses of the Qur’an telling “believers” to go so far as to avoid contact with various groups, and hadiths that cite Prophet Muhammad as saying only certain actions will bring one into islam, how can we say that the Islamic tradition intends to dissolve barriers? How do we reconcile these exclusivist teachings with the Qur’anic verse that is cited ad nauseum in support of religious pluralism – we were created in diversity “so that [we] should get to know one another” (Sura 49:13)?

The answer to those questions is not a claim that any one of these teachings is more right than the others, but rather an equal validation of all of their messages, so that we are able to acknowledge the resulting contradictions and engage their implications. When we say that there is truth within each of these teachings as they contradict each other, not to mention the teachings within other traditions, we must then examine what makes it possible for all of them to exist. We are forced to examine the historical, political, social, economic, and cultural contexts out of which these teachings arose, and the ways in which they reflect or adopt elements of those systems. As such, we are also reminded to consider our own present-day contexts, and the way in which our view of religious teachings, both independent of and within their historical setting, is impacted by the systems to which we ourselves are subjected. We can use our affirmation of the contradictions to direct our attention to the divisive and oppressive structures that we then realize are not only a part of a cultural context, but have also been adopted by religious traditions in an effort to highlight their existence. Perhaps that is what is meant by the aforementioned Qur’anic verse. We are created in diversity so that when we come to know each other, we can experience the contradictions that draw our attention to the divisive and hierarchical systems which religion has adopted in an effort to disrupt their presence.

Speaking more concretely about the Islamic faith and the engagement of contradiction as it pertains to religious diversity, we may find additional answers in its historical development as a socio-economic force. Islamic liberation theologian Asghar Ali Engineer researched the story of Muhammad’s early prophet hood, and uses the mercantile socio-economic system of the time as the backdrop for his understanding of Islam. Under this framework, he presents the beginnings of the Islamic tradition as an economically-driven force that was intended to unite communities with shared social justice practices (ie – zakat). Moreover, Engineer’s perspective of the concept of tawhid (the oneness and uniqueness of God) has been shaped by this socio-economically driven attempt at achieving unity. He believes that the oneness of God is best reflected by the oneness of humankind, thus our societal practices should function to honor this oneness, by creating an equitable and universally accessible society. If we are to embrace this unifying socio-economic motivation, than the contradictions within Islam, as well as those between it and other faiths, can still be interpreted as a disruptive signal of the existence of divisive and oppressive social systems. The presence of competing exclusivist claims and apparent disapproval of the “other” are included in the tradition not as reflections of its underlying effort to encourage unity and peace. Rather, they are adoptions of existing cultural systems meant to indicate the ways in which humanity’s oneness has already been violated by the presence of unjust social structures. Thus, Islam encourages us to affirm the theological contradictions we encounter in our religiously diverse society, so that we may then understand how their presence across various traditions reflects a need for systemic social change.

Buddhism, Religious Diversity, and Contradictions
The teachings of Buddhist traditions also engage the theological contradictions that exist within themselves and across religions in a manner that does not seek to resolve such differences, but instead enables them to be perceived as indicators of something beyond their surface subject matter. Such an approach is a reflection of the diversity inherent to Buddhism, also expressed by its many “doctrinal” forms, as well as its adaptability to various cultural settings. Perhaps the element of Buddhism that best provides an avenue for engaging contradictions and validating conflicting truth claims is its concept of emptiness. By approaching religious doctrines as having no distinct “self” outside of their relationships with other doctrines, structures, or systems, Buddhism allows us to hold competing religious “truths” in place and ascribe to them equal value without needing to resolve their differences. Moreover, its understanding of the presence of these doctrines as resulting from their relationship to other features of existence opens the door to an exploration of the systemic issues that lie beneath these surface doctrinal teachings. By affirming the validity of contradicting doctrines with a Buddhist understanding of their nature, we are also affirming the relationships they have with the socio-economic, political, and cultural systems that lead to such contradictions. The effect of this affirmation is our understanding of the ways in which religions may adopt features of the divisive and oppressive structures they encounter, and then present them as their own teachings in an effort to increase our awareness of the presence of such systems. Thus, much like Unitarian Universalism has the potential to generate disruptive dialogue because of its social justice focus, Buddhism also has an ability to bring healing unity by emptying doctrines of their perceived independent meaning. Using this approach allows different religions to fulfill their disruptive potential by being seen not only as dependent on the various systems alongside which they exist, but also as reflective of their elements, so that their contradictory claims compel us to engage the potentially divisive or oppressive practices that they promote.

Buddhism’s strong emphasis on nonviolence is another principal theological element that encourages us to affirm contradictions between religious doctrines in our efforts to bring healing and unity through disruption. The importance of this central value for the disruption of systemic oppression and division lies in its broad conceptualization of the nature of “nonviolence,” which includes many forms beyond the physical. Using Buddhism’s non-dualistic approach, violence can be interpreted as encompassing ways of “being” that separate oneself from others. Violence is then exacerbated when that separation is used to create false value distinctions that enable differences in treatment, even abuse. This broad definition of violence was demonstrated in an interreligious context during this spring’s Buddhist-Christian conference, throughout which leaders from both faith traditions spoke of their efforts to end the sufferings of war, sexism, racism, and poverty. In the conversations around these different topics, there was an unspoken recognition of the otherizing division that is at the root of these sufferings. In particular, the discussion of these various “isms” illustrated how they were based in the violent division of one’s experience from another’s, and are then perpetuated by social, political, and economic systems that rely on the maintenance of these separations. How does this discussion of the breadth of violence relate to the affirmation of religious contradiction for the sake of creating peaceful unity? There are two ways in which to apply this teaching to religious contradiction, one of which is to use it to justify the validation of competing theological teachings, so that no one viewpoint is lifted above the other. By following the Buddhist practice of nonviolence, we do not devalue one religious understanding for the sake of another, and can begin to chip away at the separation such competition highlights. Thus, we use the contradictions to look beyond differences in religious teachings, and address the divisive systems that are actually behind the impetus to create theological hierarchies. This potential is related to the second way in which nonviolence and the affirmation of contradiction are related. Buddhism’s emphasis on nonviolence is an illustration of the true disruptive nature of religion. Rather than perpetuating violence borne out of division/oppressive systems, Buddhism interrupts it by teaching nonviolence based in interbeing and emptiness, which leads to universal affirmation through a disruption of the self, and thus a disruption of systems that prevent such affirmations. 

Contradictions and Gender Justice 

These three beautifully different traditions, Buddhism, Islam, and Unitarian Universalism, each demonstrate how the act of affirming religious contradictions is not simply useful in fulfilling the disruptive nature of religion, but is actually necessary if we are to bring an end to divisive and oppressive systems. Of course, they are not the only traditions that offer similar support for the disruptive importance of the engagement of religious diversity. Christianity also includes potential teachings that necessitate the affirmation of the “other” if one is to serve the tradition’s aim at achieving unity through the disruption of divisive social practices. Modern day readings of Paul’s epistles in the New Testament, as presented this semester by Dr. Kahl, offer a new understanding the “Gospel,” which introduces anti-imperial messages of selflessness and universal affirmation. Other major traditions, such as Hinduism and Judaism, consist of teachings that present intra and interreligious contradictions, while also encouraging an affirmation of such contradictions in the interest of achieving unity through healing disruption.

When we commit to equally affirming the contradictory teachings within and between religious traditions, even those that present problematic depictions or assessments of the “other,” we commit to deepening our engagement and understanding of religious diversity. When we find ourselves sitting with seemingly theological contradictions, we are compelled to examine in what way competing teachings of exclusion and inclusion, acceptance and rejection, exclusivism and pluralism, etc. are all able to remain equally valid. The end result of affirming these opposing beliefs is the inevitable disruption of the systems that allow the most divisive and oppressive teachings to exist. When we are called to hold the religious content true, we must then look to find what systemic injustice can allow for the validation of harmful content, and use our true religious grounding to disrupt it. Only by engaging religious diversity will we be able to uncover these contradictory teachings, which exist to highlight the social, political, economical, and cultural systems that our religions have adopted; only then will we disrupt the divisive systems that our contradictory religious teachings have adopted so as to bring them to our attention.

The implications of this approach to religious diversity can be demonstrated by looking through the lens of achieving “gender justice.” The reality surrounding the idea of “gender” is that it is a complex social construct that seeks to impose a “man-woman” binary in an effort to perpetuate systems of division, control, and oppression. Moreover, though it is a social construct, gender is often compounded with biological expressions of sex, which has also been forced into a divisive binary of female or male. Regarding the nature of gender in religion, many traditions as followed today have adopted language, constructs, and divisive practices that have a basis in this binary social construction. Some of the content regarding concepts of “gender” in various traditions contradict other intra-religious teachings, as well as those from other traditions. Why do religions include such contradictory, divisive, limiting, and oppressive language or teachings? The answer is found by simply returning to the nature of true religion – to disrupt. Religions are structured to disrupt oppression and division, so that when they include such socially-constructed content, they inevitably, and I believe intentionally, develop contradictions in their teachings. As a result, when we engage in an attempt to affirm all religious teachings, we are forced to observe these contradictions and determine what systems enable them to exist. Thus, when we observe and affirm contradictions in religious content regarding “gender,” we are forced to examine what it is about “gender” as a system that enables such conflicting teachings to exist. Through that examination, aided by the anti-oppressive and unifying nature of truly disruptive religion, we can come to the determination that gender, as it is systemically practiced, is divisive, functions to oppress, and violates our oneness. The disruptive power of our religions highlight the dangerous nature of this socially-constructed gender system by presenting it in the contradictions that exist only when religious diversity is fully engaged.

Religious Diversity and the Creation of an Interfaith Social Movement
With the vast level of diversity that exists within and between religious traditions, and the equally varied ways in which diversity is experienced by individuals and communities, what are we to understand about the nature of the divine? If the level of intra and interreligious contradiction is any indication, than is clear that human beings are actually quite limited in our ability to truly know the divine. It is an exercise in humility to say that we cannot know everything there is to know about the divine, and in reality there are some who would adamantly suggest that their tradition says precisely the opposite. However, given the incredible level of religious diversity within our world, as well the demonstrated ways in which our religious traditions are influenced by the contexts out of which they arose, we must move away from attempting to reconcile what we observe as contradictions to fit what we “know,” and instead approach religious difference with an open mind regarding its designed purpose. To fully engage our religious selves, we must no longer seek only to affirm that which we are taught amidst others’ “competing” views, but rather seek to validate all experiences and teachings as expressions of a divine that we cannot fully comprehend. Such a task necessitates our working together to affirm each others’ traditions fully, so that when we face contradictions we seek not to resolve them, but rather to understand how they are simultaneously validated by divisive and oppressive systems. We must therefore work together, while holding onto our affirmed respective beliefs, to embark on an interfaith-driven social movement. We must come together to advocate for the systemic changes needed to addresses the divisive and oppressive structures that our disruptive religious traditions have called to our attention through adoption and contradiction.

Choosing Choice: The Samaritan

This morning, I had the opportunity to participate in a meditation as part of an International Buddhist-Christian Conference taking place at Union this week. During the meditation, we were asked to sit with the parable of the Good Samaritan, which was spoken aloud by Roger Haight, and place ourselves into the story based on wherever we were at that moment. I found myself sitting with the robbers this morning. I could not help wondering where they were before the story, what had caused them to engage in behavior that ran counter to their potential for good. I wondered if they felt remorse for their actions, if they were driven by pain or desperation in that moment. Did they value the life they were destroying? Did they experience hardship that drove them to a state of separation from the joy of being? As the story continued on, my mind remained in part with the robbers as I listened to an act of compassion that came from an oppressed segment of society. In a system where pain was ignored and unaddressed by those in places of privilege and power, an individual who was also a likely victim of pain put someone else’s life before his own. Rather than remaining indifferent to another’s experience and allowing for the continuation of a cycle of violence and suffering, this person started a new cycle of care and love. This person started a new narrative that allowed the victim of violence to experience both the very worst and the very best of humanity. This person gave those around him a choice: to move forward in love of or in fear of our imperfect potential for good. As I contemplated the risk and beauty involved in the Samaritan’s actions, I could not help but wonder if the robbers had been given that choice. I could not help but wonder if they were given the opportunity to act with love for our imperfect potential or with fear. As the story finished, I held out hope for the robbers that they somehow learned of the actions of the Samaritan, that they were given the choice, possibly for the first time, to see our potential for good in a new light.

When I mentioned that my meditation centered on the robbers to a friend later that morning, I was asked if I had seen the latest about the events in Boston. When I said I had, it was clear that my meditation had been motivated by a sadness for the fear that permeated through all parts of the city, including the men who engaged in this horrifically violent act. But the sadness was also paired with a hope, a hope that was justified and validated by the beautiful humanity that has been present since and during these terrible events. That hope is the hope that we continue to create and face a choice. Do we love our imperfect potential for good, knowing that the only way to fulfill it is by engaging in dangerous acts of kindness despite (or even because of) the pain we ourselves experience? Or do we fear our imperfect potential for good, believing that it will never be fully achieved, and that our pain will only be healed when we inflict it on others? What choice do we make; what choice have we made? I believe we have the potential to make a choice to love, and I see it already being made by many who are willing to give of themselves to show kindness and compassion to all who are experiencing pain. They are choosing to break the cycle of violence, they are choosing to show the wholeness of humanity so that we are not left with only the brokenness. And they are choosing to give others the choice to do the same.

The parable of the Good Samaritan is framed in the context of understanding what it means to love one’s neighbor, and in particular, who constitutes one’s neighbor. The one who “showed mercy” is the one who is identified as the neighbor to the victim in the story. The Samaritan, the one who broke the cycle of violence and showed compassion despite being a victim of oppression himself, is the one whose example we are invited to follow. The Samaritan, the person who did not act out of fear but out of love for our imperfect potential, the person who gave others the choice to see both possibilities and engage one, is a model that we can follow when we consider how we relate to one another. The Samaritan was given a choice, and in his actions of love, gave another the same opportunity. We now have the chance to do the same. I choose love. And I know others will too.