“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)
