When Integrity is Questioned Without Integrity

Below is a link to an article/blog post on the conflict in Gaza was shared on a social media site. I'm trying to be fair in reading materials from a variety of sources, including those with which I vehemently disagree. However, this piece went too far.

First, a disclaimer/acknowledgement of my perspective. I do not deny that I have a personal opinion on the experience of the people of Palestine. I believe that they have been suffering under a colonizing occupation for decades. I also feel that those doing the colonizing and occupying, while oppressing, are themselves oppressed by a system greater than them. They are acting with some agency, but only so much as is allowed by a colonizing system that has been built to lift others above even them into positions of power. In short, the recent conflict goes beyond these last few weeks, years, and decades, and is symptomatic of a long-standing imperialistic oppression that pits minority against minority, getting one oppressed people to raise themselves up above another oppressed people by doing the dirty work of the very same people who oppressed them in the first place. In the end, the two oppressed communities in conflict are the ones that lose, and though one may appear to have (and does have) greater power than another, it is only because the ones truly in power are using them as agents of their own agenda.



(The link to the post that I am about to criticize. I encourage you to read it and offer your own feedback as you desire.)

I am about to say some things that might upset a few of you. I apologize if my words are seen as insensitive, that is not my intention. After reading this blog post, I feel like I need to offer some form of counter to this piece of "journalism on journalism" that is, to me, a blatantly hypocritical composition.

In this post, it is claimed that the majority of images circulated in the media of Palestinian casualties are of women and children, even though a large portion of the dead are young adult males. The author then makes a not-so-thinly-veiled claimed that we do not see images of these men because most of them are likely Hamas militants.

I have to stop and breathe before I swear viciously into my computer screen.

First of all, we have seen images of young adult male casualties. One was shot dead by a sniper as he searched for his family. Another was a reporter. Another was an aid worker. Second, have we really stooped so low that we are criticizing the fact that the news media is reporting on the hundreds of children who have died in bombings on homes, school shelters, and beaches? Is that not an unacceptable and preventable tragedy, regardless of the number of alleged "militants" killed? We report for weeks at a time when a school shooting happens in the US, but when children are killed in their beds as they sleep in Palestine, it's biased, inflated, and anti-Semitic to continue coverage of their deaths?

Third, the claim that these men, aged 17-30 (with a spike in 21-27, an apparently popular age range among Hamas militants) are comprised mainly of combatants is false journalism, propaganda, and dehumanizing spin at its finest. Simply because these men fall within a certain age range of people who are known to be part of a certain group, does not make all or most of them a part of that group. To borrow from a fabulous tweet circulated in recent days, saying that male Palestinian fatalities within the ages of 21-27 are likely Hamas combatants because most militants fall in that age range is akin to saying that most white men between the ages of 20 and 30 are violent school shooters. One trait does not a militant or terrorist make.

I do not deny that there are Hamas militants among the dead in Palestine. I do not deny that they likely fall within the aforementioned age range. But to claim, even loosely infer, that the men who are being killed in these bombings are primarily combatants is a horrific and slanderous attempt at dehumanizing the people of Palestine. Simply because they are men between the ages of 17 and 30 does not condemn them to death. Simply because they live in an occupied state where there are some men who are fighting for its freedom in an undeniably terrorizing way does not mean that they are participating in those actions. To plant the seed of false inference and claim that many of these men are "likely Hamas militants," is to engage in the very same integrity-less journalism that is being reported.

What is happening in Israel and Palestine is a tragedy for both communities. In a recent vigil, I read the names and ages of some of the Israeli soldiers killed in the recent burst of violence. The fact that they were 18, 19, 20 years old made my heart sink. That their young lives were ripped from them by this violence is no less of a tragedy. But the recent reporting that this article describes as inaccurate and propaganda-fulfilling is, in my opinion, among the fairest that has occurred in recent years. We have just been so skewed in the other direction, so ignorant to the realities facing the largely civilian people of Palestine for so long, that we are horrified of the truth. We may not want to believe it, and we may try to come up with excuses for what is happening on the ground in Gaza. But that does not change the truth. It only dishonors the majority of the dead and continues to oppress the living.

Continue* by Maya Angelou

To Oprah on Her Fiftieth Birthday

By Maya Angelou

"Dear Oprah,

On the day of your birth,

The Creator filled countless storehouses and stockings

With rich ointments

Luscious tapestries

And antique coins of incredible value
Jewels worthy of a queen's dowry

They were set aside for your use

Alone

Armed with faith and hope

And without knowing of the wealth which awaited

You broke through the chains of ignorance which threatened to cripple you so that you could walk

A free woman

Into a world which needed you

My wish for you
Is that you continue
Continue
To be who and how you are
To astonish a mean world
With your acts of kindness
Continue
To allow humor to lighten the burden
Of your tender heart
Continue
In a society dark with cruelty
To let people hear the grandeur
Of God in the peals of your laughter
Continue
To let your eloquence
Elevate the people to heights
They had only imagined
Continue
To remind the people that
Each is as good as the other
And that no one is beneath
Nor above you
Continue
To remember your own young years
And look with favor upon the lost
And the least and the lonely
Continue
To put the mantel of your protection
Around the bodies of
The young and defenseless
Continue
To take the hand of the despised
And diseased and walk proudly with them
In the high street
Some might see you and
Be encouraged to do likewise
Continue
To plant a public kiss of concern
On the cheek of the sick
And the aged and infirm
And count that as a
Natural action to be expected
Continue
To let gratitude be the pillow
Upon which you kneel to
Say your nightly prayer
And let faith be the bridge
You build to overcome evil
And welcome good
Continue
To ignore no vision
Which comes to enlarge your range
And increase your spirit
Continue
To dare to love deeply
And risk everything
For the good thing
Continue
To float
Happily in the sea of infinite substance
Which set aside riches for you
Before you had a name
Continue
And by doing so
You and your work
Will be able to continue
Eternally"

*Not an official title

30 Days of Love: Day Four

Who Are Our Neighbors: The Race Story ReWrite Project

I remember sitting in the Young Adult Caucus room one afternoon during "Justice General Assembly" in the summer of 2012. Project Reflection. We had a guest speaker come in to help us reflect on the "Doctrine of Discovery," and its effect on the indigenous people in the United States. I remember how he challenged us that day. "Justice GA" that year was focused on the issue of immigration, and our tradition's presence there turned into one of social witness. That afternoon, we were given the challenge of thinking about where the conversation around immigration really starts. We were told that if we really wanted to have a full conversation around immigration, if we wanted to consider the whole story, we needed to first begin with the experience of the indigenous people of this land when European colonists first began to claim America as their own.

That challenge has stayed with me since that summer. And today's theme, which invites us to consider and rewrite the stories we tell of our collective history brought it to the forefront of my mind. When I think back to the stories I learned about our history, especially US History, I realize that they are usually told from one point of view. There's the expression "history is always written by the victors," and often those victors paint the story in such a way that ignores or discredits the suffering of their "opponents." Colonialism was a gift in history, the indigenous people were a threat to the growth of the colonies, the "founding fathers" fought for freedom with no mention of their participation in the horrors of slavery. When we look at those stories in a new light, we change the conversation, not just around history, but around the issues we continue to struggle with today. In reflecting on the words of Dr. King yesterday, one of the most powerful pieces of his speech against the Vietnam War was his acknowledgment of the suffering of the Vietnamese people because of the actions of the US military. He dared to tell the story from a different point of view.

In her reflection this morning, Dayna Edwards speaks about inclusion and inter-connectedness as the reasons why we must learn to rewrite the stories we tell. She tells us that in order to heal, we need to be more honest and willing to name the "atrocities of colonialism, slavery, Jim Crow, segregation, and current racism." But she cautions us to not just focus on the negative pieces, but to write stories of survival that can empower communities today. She reminds us that to move towards healing and forgiveness, we cannot rewrite these stories in a way that ignores the fact that "racism is a disease that afflicts and affects both the offender and the offended." That is not an easy task, but it is indeed a necessary one. The purpose of rewriting our stories, of bearing witness to the oppression in our past and present, is not to vilify. It does us no good to create new reasons to hate or divide. The purpose of rewriting these stories is to move towards wholeness. By using the gifts of forgiveness, humility, and love, we can begin to be honest with ourselves about what has happened to and through all of us in the past. By recognizing the effects of these truer stories on the present, we can begin to heal the brokenness that every one of us experiences in systems built upon discrimination and oppression.

The prompt for this fourth day also included a link to the UU curriculum "Who Are Our Neighbors," describing it as a program intended to "heal racial divides." The name of this curriculum reminded me of a video for a sermon delivered at Middle Collegiate Church on July 14, 2013. Interestingly enough, this sermon re-entered my life just two days ago, after I followed a chain of links from Day Two's reflection invitation. In this sermon, titled "Are You My Neighbor?," Adriene Thorne spoke very poignantly and honestly about the recent "not guilty" verdict in the trial of George Zimmerman for the murder of 17-year-old Trayvon Martin. Weaving in reflections on the parable of the Good Samaritan, words from Toni Morrison, and the paradoxical limitations yet potential of human nature, her sermon challenges us to consider not only "who are our neighbors?" but also how we respond to our neighbors when to love them feels like an impossible task. In one part of this sermon, she says:

"There's no artistry in hate. But there is great artistry in love. What if George Zimmerman had been an artist, like the Good Samaritan? What if we were? As creative beings made in the image of a holy god, we are capable of great artistry in love. When we consider the beauty, the sheer beauty, wrought with the human hand and voice - the literature, the music, the scientific breakthroughs, the business medical, and agricultural triumphs, can we not also consider the numerous creative human responses that have met hatred with love?"

On this day, as we re-imagine the stories we tell about race from our history, her message reminds me of the need to also consider the ways in which we view and tell the stories of today. How are we telling the story of Trayvon Martin's murder? How are we telling the story of the thousands of black and brown men who are unjustly targeted by "law enforcement" and "court system" officials simply because of the way they look? How are we telling the story of the thousands who have died in a senseless collection of wars and military attacks overseas? How would you tell the story of the child in a Philadelphia public school who does not have a nurse to go to when she has an asthma attack or a textbook for any of her classes? How would you tell the story of the thousands of people who are losing access to necessary healthcare because of Medicaid cuts? How would you tell the story of the families who are forced apart because of a corrupt and broken immigration system? How do we tell these stories in a way that bears witness to the injustices experienced, that demands changes to the systems and cultures that feed their continuation, but does not encourage hatred towards the groups or individuals who have contributed to them?

Are we brave enough to tell those stories in ways that are honest about the suffering experienced by our neighbors? Are we willing to take the risk of being criticized and rejected to show new windows into these unjust pieces of our present? And are we willing to recognize the brokenness that every person experiences within these stories? Are we creative enough to still show love for all of our neighbors? Are we creative enough to write new narratives, ones in which we heal with love, rather than continue the division of hatred?

“Are You My Neighbor?” :: Jul 14 @middlechurch from Middle Collegiate Church on Vimeo.

30 Days of Love: Day Three

Day Three: How Far Have We Really Come?

"Our growth as religious people happens when we engage with pain--our pain and the pain of others--in ways that help us expand compassion and a deep sense of our interconnectedness."

~ UU Metro NY District, "Contemporary Racial Inequity: A Statement of Faith"

Today we honor Martin Luther King, Jr., a man (and in my opinion, prophet) who gave his life to challenging systems of racial injustice, and inspiring others to do the same. Dr. King lived during a time when racial injustice was practiced openly - it was the visual norm of our society. Many argue that things have changed, that such racism and the devaluation, the dehumanization, of people of color is a problem of our past. But is it?

Today we are asked to read a statement from the UU Metro NY District (linked above), released in July after the verdict of the George Zimmerman trial. We are asked to read "Building a New Racial Justice Movement," an article from Colorlines that describes the new work that needs to be done if we are to truly bring healing and an end to systemic racial injustice in our world. There is a call to no longer be afraid to name the injustices we see for what they are, to understand that this fight goes beyond legislation to practices embedded in our social and economic culture, and to embrace the need for solidarity by joining our individual movements into collective action.

The words in this statement and article, their calls for all people to commit themselves to justice, are not new. They are echoes of what has been said by leaders and members of civil rights movements for decades. The need to remain committed is a need that has been voiced time and time again. As part of today's reflection, we are also invited to watch or read Dr. King's "I Have a Dream" speech. His words, in this speech and others, are sadly equally, if not more relevant today. The injustices he describes are still present today, though some may wear a new mask. The "bad check" he speaks of, the "defaulted on" "promissory note" within our Constitution has not yet been rectified.

Racial injustice has not gone away, it has simply found new ways to stay alive, deeply embedded in systems that are framed to "protect." When we see the disparities in income, housing, healthcare, education, criminal prosecution, employment, wealth, it is impossible to deny that there is still much more work that needs to be done. When we see cultural misappropriation in the media, and the subsequent disregard and disrespect for the voices that dare to point out its devaluation of entire peoples, it is impossible to deny that there is still much more work that needs to be done. Work that we as individuals are capable of completing in our everyday lives. Work that we as members of a religious movement are called to pursue if we are to live out the principles of our faith. Work that as a human family must commit ourselves to if we want to heal the divisions that prevent us from being whole.

"But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we've come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice." ~ Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

What are you willing to do to join the movement for change?

30 Days of Love: Day One

Today's Question: Why do we want to be multicultural?

On Saturday morning I posted the following response on the Facebook Group I opened up to my home congregation in Philadelphia. 

We each see the world through the window of our own individual lives. But that's not the whole picture, and we will never understand the full reality (and potential beauty) of the world if we don't connect to people whose windows show a different story. Being multicultural lets us expand our understanding of what is possible, what is just, what needs to be changed, what more we can celebrate. By creating a multicultural community, we take down harmful assumptions, form new pathways for learning and loving, build relationships that strengthen our commitment to necessary anti-oppression efforts, and come to expand our understanding of our "self" as interconnected and inseparable from the stories of those around us. Being multicultural helps us better understand ourselves in relationship to the world, and the ways in which we are called to transform it into a "community with peace, liberty, and justice for all."

That is only my partial answer. While I agree wholeheartedly with what I posted, there are a few more thoughts I would like to share that are more suitable to my own personal blog.

I feel like it cannot be said enough - multiculturalism is not about diversity for diversity's sake. Yet, we can so often become easily trapped in that mindset of achieving "diversity" without actually considering why it is a necessary element of the ever-sought-after beloved community. And when our understanding of the "why" is missing, our efforts, though well-intentioned on the surface, are misguided, ungrounded, and lazy. Frankly, if we do not have a reason to build multicultural communities besides "diversity is good" or "multiculturalism is good," than we should not be trying to build them. Not yet, anyways. But unfortunately, this mindset is one that I have encountered on a few too many occasions, and it leaves me feeling as though some communities see "cultures" as something to collect. Difference becomes a commodity, and what can at first feel like appreciation for one's experience turns out to be tokenism for the sake of another's desire to feel good about including "other" people. The result is pain, frustration, and disappointment for all members of the community. Some might wonder what they are doing wrong. "We believe everyone is welcome!" they exclaim with confusion. "Diversity is one of our guiding principles!" Some might wonder if they will ever find a community committed to inclusion. "I thought this place would be different," they sigh with fatigue. "I thought the people here would actually listen."

So why do we want to be multicultural? My answer is as simple as it is difficult. To heal. For so long, we have been divided into groups that create an "us" and a "them;" categories that create a sense of competition for allegedly limited resources; identities that are assigned different levels of worth within systems designed to maintain the power and privileges of certain "kinds" of people over others. Our social structures were not originally built to encourage connection and appreciation between these groups, categories, or identities. Instead, many were created to separate and isolate, generating and perpetuating a fear of the "other" that encouraged a culture of protection from anyone who was different from oneself. For those with greater social and economic power, these structures and this culture of protection worked, and continue to work, in their favor - they maintain a privileged position in society and can define its rules, its norms...and its alleged threats. For those on the other end of the spectrum, they are faced with a history and mentality that automatically defines them as lesser beings, and social structures that ensure they are treated that way.

For many of us, what I have just described is nothing new. It is "oppression 101," and if you're reading this blog, chances are you've heard me use the aforementioned "p-words" countless times. Many of you have probably used them yourselves. So how can multicultural community help to bring the healing needed to end these oppressive divisions? Why do we need multiculturalism to change these power-protecting structures? Because without true multicultural community, we would never know the depth of impact these structures have. Without true multicultural community, we would never need to look within ourselves and understand what role we play in allowing those divisions to continue on - what responsibility we have in bringing them to an end. Multiculturalism brings us the healing we need by allowing another person's story to change how we understand ourselves. That may sound a bit counter-productive and self-centered, but it is a necessary part, and result, of true multicultural community. Our interactions with people whose stories are different from our own challenge the assumptions in our daily narratives, add a layer to our identity that is in relationship to those around us with different windows on the world, and push us to reconsider how our attitudes and behaviors may not be as inclusive as we once thought. "Multiculturalism is good" when we are willing to let the diversity of experiences within our community teach us, grow us, change us, even dismantle us. Rather than see that process as a destructive one that takes apart the individual, we need to reframe it as a constructive one that builds the individual in community.

One of my favorite poems is On Being Woven by the Sufi poet Rumi. While the entire poem speaks to the importance of human relationship and companionship, it is the very first line that captures the essence of multicultural community.

"The way is full of genuine sacrifice."

The healing we require in this world demands genuine sacrifice within the context of multicultural communities. Until we are willing to sacrifice our preconceived notions of what is justice, our false self-assurance that we are in no way contributing to systems of oppression, and our belief that we are too good or learned to carry harmful assumptions, we will not heal those divisions. Until we are willing to sacrifice the power and privilege that we have when we encounter someone in our community whose story shows us that we do in fact benefit from a system that holds them down, we will not heal those divisions. Until we are willing to sacrifice the comfort of a community that accepts the status quo for the challenge of a community committed to the struggle of taking down the status quo, we will not heal those divisions. This idea of sacrifice does involve taking a risk on behalf of another's well being, and it does involve accepting a loss for the sake of someone beyond oneself. But what we lose through this genuine sacrifice is not our inherent worth or even our security. What we lose is the mindset that there is, as described by Anita Farber-Robertson, "a scarcity of the holy," a scarcity of love.

For me, the question is not "Why do we want to be multicultural?" The question is "Why do we need to be multicultural?" Our personal and spiritual development depends on the commitment to let ourselves be changed by stories different from our own. Our efforts to create a world community of "peace, liberty, and justice for all" require that we continually build relationships with people who will show us the ways in which we have been compliant to systems that divide and oppress. We need multiculturalism if we hope to move forward together, sacrificing our individual and competitive goals for the sake of generating communal and cooperative ones. We need multicultural community if we hope to be fully invested in the struggle to end injustice. We need multicultural community to heal. 

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?