Scarcity Model for Justice

 

This really is about Interfaith as a spiritual practice.  You’ll just need to be a bit patient.

 

I had the privilege and great pleasure today of attending a friend’s Master of Divinity presentation.  One more week, and all the schoolwork will be at last behind her on her path to ministry.  There was much said that was personal and I won’t speak of it here.  But one thing, really a rather small thing, caught my attention and engaged my heart and mind.

 

She mentioned a class where it was reinforced for her how women had been largely left out of the “white male European” version and vision of our history, and how African Americans had also been left out.  How this needed to be remedied.  And immediately it leapt to my mind.  You’ve forgotten the Jews!  And I flashed on my own career in seminary, and how “easy” it seemed for so many otherwise caring people, in this case my teachers and fellow seminarians,  to have no concept of what growing up Jewish, “even” in America, was like immediately after the Shoah (or Holocaust).   And what it still is.

 

But then I flashed on my shock when I had first learned at age thirty (and after studying not only California history but U.S. history) of the interment camps set up following Pearl Harbor to incarcerate Japanese Americans, including, in his youth, the wonderful minister who became a friend and mentor to me.  And more recently my conversations with Native Americans.  And just a week or two ago, the words of Senator Jim Webb, who spoke of the Scots-Irish and their need for justice.

 

But my initial and most powerful reaction to hearing about the plight of women and African Americans was, what about me?!  And in that, I think,  lies a problem that we really don’t address very often – if at all.  A scarcity model for justice.

 

The ominous words of the 19^th century French poet and writer Baudelaire, were recast by the movie “The Usual Suspects into “The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist.”  I think that the greatest trick the powerful ever pulled has been to convince those on the receiving end of the stick that there is only so much justice to go around.  Thus Jews tend to look out for Jews.  African Americans for African Americans.  Women for women.  And on and on.

 

And this triggered a memory of when I was teaching, when the Hispanic students seemed to square off against the African American rather than unite in common cause against their mutual experience of discrimination.

 

Divide and conquer.  At some level we have been sold a bill of goods and I think we keep it close to our hearts.  There is only so much justice to go around.  We see this manifested not only in an African American/Hispanic rift, but in a rift made clear just a few weeks ago between African Americans and “whites” on the bottom of the ladder.  Some have called it racism, and I’m sure racism is a factor.  But I have come to believe that the biggest part of it is a reversion to “us and them.”  And at its heart is the belief that if “they” get up a rung or two on the ladder, there won’t be room for “us.”

 

Friends of mine sing together in a trio called Real Folk.  They weren’t the first to sing it, but it bears repeating.  “Injustice for one is injustice for all.”

 

Martin Niemöller famously wrote:

 

"First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out – because I was not a Socialist.

 

Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out – because I was not a Trade Unionist.

 

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out – because I was not a Jew.

 

Then they came for me – and there was no one left to speak for me."

 

 

Which brings us back to Scripture.  “Am I my brother’s keeper?”  Yes!  I am my brother’s keeper, my sister’s keeper, my neighbor’s keeper. 

 

If I, as a Jew, require respect and justice, then you as a Muslim, and you as a woman, and you as an African American must have respect and justice. 

 

It is not a question of “is there enough justice for all?”  It is that if there is not justice for all, there can be no justice.

 

Interfaith as a spiritual practice demands that we honor and respect “the other.”  Jesus would undoubtedly say we must love “the other.”  But for now, I’d settle for honor and respect.

Diversity: How Much Is Too Much?

 

Being asked to give a sermon is a wonderful luxury and privilege.  In a way it’s like asking a kid, “Would you please, please go play in the mud?”

 

I get to pick a topic that challenges me and for which I have no ready answer, get at least a week and sometimes longer, to think about it, read a book or two on it, ponder it and then write about whatever it is that percolates up into my heart and mind.  Over the past ten days I’ve read two books and reviewed several others, trying to prepare for this Sunday: “How much diversity can a faith community stand?”

 

So, how much diversity can we stand?  Why pick that topic?  Is diversity a problem?  I recall a minister I both like and respect greatly cautioning me about “too much diversity”  in a worship setting.  Anything this wise and caring minister tells me I take seriously.

 

But it is, of course, not so much mere “diversity” as it is diversity in something rather specific.  After all, we have diversity of hair color, eye color, and while Sunday still contains the most segregated hour of the week, we at least begin to have more diversity of skin color.   We have diversity of age groups, we have diversity of economic groups and, while some of the more conservative of our religious gatherings still maintain prejudices, we begin to have more diversity of sexual orientations. 

 

Diversity of belief.  That’s what’s meant.  The thought is that “too many” differing beliefs, too much latitude in what an individual believes and a faith community must shatter.  That is the fear behind the question: “How much diversity can we stand?”  It has been a truly uniting, and thoroughly dividing fear for thousands of years.

 

Given my Interfaith bent, it should surprise no one that the books I read were oriented towards interfaith and interfaith dialogue.  And I had read several before them.  And as I read it occurred to me that while in our minds some, perhaps many of us may have moved towards “religious pluralism,” in our hearts, where we truly live, if you will, we still cling to an ancient paradigm.  There is one right belief. 

 

Some will cling to this and say that his/her belief is the right one.  Period.  The more generous among those will teach tolerance of other beliefs.  Others THINK they are moving away, and being oh so “post-modern” in doing so, by saying we will never know which belief is “right” so we must respect them all.  But that’s an intellectual exercise.  Interfaith as an intellectual exercise gets us nowhere.  It leaves fully in tact the embodiment of “right belief” in the person who believes it. 

 

I’ve stated more than once my belief that “right belief” is a cancer, and deadly to our humanity.  But it has survived these thousands of years for a reason.  We cling to it for a reason.

 

Recently, in Seattle, we had the “Seeds of Compassion.”  It was well attended.  The Dalai Lama spoke well.  But how will those seeds take root?  What is the nature of the soil in which they are asked to take root?

 

As I finished reading the last book it occurred to me that we urgently need a theology of Interfaith.  Not a philosophical treatise, but a theology… and with that theology a way to move to the embodiment of Interfaith.  And as I write this I realize that almost everything I’ve been seeing, doing, reading and saying has been moving me in this direction.  It’s why I keep talking about Interfaith as a spiritual practice, though the paramount importance of this is only now becoming clear.  The paradigm shift is to see our personal value, and indeed what is sacred, in terms of how we make this world better, not in why we believe it should be better. 

 

Unity of purpose as against unity of belief.  If we are ever to change the world as we have dreamed of changing it for thousands of years and more, we must build our community based on unity of purpose.  And to succeed in that, we must embody that unity, not intellectualize it.  Which means naming and facing our attachment to “right belief” … and then, letting go.  And to do that, we need full and explicit theology of Interfaith embodiment.

 

This may take more than one sermon!

Race Matters

 

Serves me right.  Last week I was late posting my blog.  So this week I tried to get ahead of the curve.  Then I heard something on the radio and realized that I needed to throw out the blog and start over.

 

The radio was about Obama, and what had happened in West Virginia, and the frankness of the people interviewed who had said they’d never vote for a “black man.”  The commentator went on to discuss the racially charged (not necessarily racist, I can’t look into another’s heart, but certainly racially charged) statements by some of the people, Democrats and Republican, who oppose Obama.   And the reports of some of the blatant racism and foul language that some Obama campaign workers have experienced.  The commentator stated that he was shocked and saddened by what he had been hearing.

 

Saddened I can understand.  I am saddened too.  Deeply saddened.  But shocked?  What planet, I wondered, did this well-meaning gentleman live on??

 

And then there flashed through my mind the comments and commentaries that I’d heard over the past year really.  Racism is no longer a big thing in this country.  The big hurdle is sexism!  I’ve heard it from male commentators (white, of course) and female commentators (again, of course, white).

 

Now there is no question that sexism still exists in this country.  Does it ever.  It is real.  It is obscene.  And it needs to be faced and dealt with.

 

But the comments about how racism has abated, how it no longer really exists in this country, that it is no longer a huge problem in this country.  Now that DID shock me.

 

So as I listened to this well meaning commentator, who was shocked, shocked, that there was still racism in the United States, I began to think that there is a side to the vileness and sickness bubbling up from this campaign that is not appreciated.

 

Since the late 1960's, we really haven’t had to look at the ugly face of racism in the country.  Not eyeball to eyeball.  Now, particularly as it appears that Senator Obama will be the nominee for the Democratic Party, the disgusting, brutal, ugly face of racism may perhaps be exposed.  We’re going to see it on our TV sets.  We’re going to hear it on our radios.  We’re going to read about it in our papers.

 

And folks, IT WAS ALWAYS THERE. It never left.  It has remained and thrived in no small part because it has been kept away from the light, for the most part in the shadowlands.  It will now be exposed to the light of day.  This country may actually have to face itself.

 

I’m not saying vote for Obama because he’s African American.  And I’m not saying don’t vote for him because he’s African American.  But I do urge us all not to turn away from the ugliness of racism as it rears its head.  Let us face it.  Let us shine light on it.  And, hopefully, let us at last truly move forward.

 

What has this to do with Interfaith?  EVERYTHING!  I mean it.  Everything!  Interfaith, as a spiritual practice, moves us to our common humanity.  Interfaith, as a spiritual practice, allows and indeed invites us to respect the “other.”  Interfaith, as a spiritual practice is about tearing down the walls we set between ourselves: walls of gender, walls of race, walls of faith.

 

We share a common humanity.  Until and unless we truly face our self-imposed  obstacles to seeing that, to embracing each other, not as perfect, but as perfectly human, we are indeed condemned to look through the glass darkly.

Interfaith in Song

 

I became aware of a very musical, well written song by composer and long time social activist Holly Near.  The song is called, “I Ain’t Afraid.”  The refrain is…

 

I ain't afraid of your Yahweh
I ain't afraid of your Allah
I ain't afraid of your Jesus
I'm afraid of what you do in the name of your God.

 

I can understand what I believe is the sentiment behind it.  That it’s not God, and whatever name we give to God, that causes the problems, the hurt and all too often the hate we have suffered from for so many years.  It’s what we DO in the name of God that has caused so much division, so much pain and so much death.

 

And yet, I couldn’t help but react to what seemed to be yet another wall that the lyrics set up.  Another division.  Another “us” against “them.”  I wish I knew Holly Near.  For one reason because she’s led a wonderfully engaged and caring life and is clearly an amazing woman.  And the other reason would be to urge her to consider changing the lyrics to the song just a little.

 

What if, instead of singing:

 

I ain't afraid of your Yahweh
I ain't afraid of your Allah
I ain't afraid of your Jesus
I'm afraid of what you do in the name of your God.

 

What if we sang:

 

We ain't afraid of our Yahweh
We ain't afraid of our Allah
We ain't afraid of our Jesus
We’re afraid of what we do in the name of our God.

 

Suddenly it’s not accusatory.  Suddenly it’s not what YOU do, you small person.  Instead, it’s what we do, as humans.  It’s what we do, what we’ve done, and, if we’re not very, very careful, what we’ll pass on to our children to continue over and over again.

 

Hate.  Walls.  Accusations.  Exclusivity.

 

Nor, though one web site cited this song as a kind of "Humanist Anthem," is Humanism immune.  There could just as easily be a verse that includes:

 

We ain’t afraid of our Humanism

We're afraid of what we do in the name of no God.

 

The millions murdered by Stalin in the name of “no God” are a stark example.  Wait! you may say, should all Humanist be tarred by that?  Of course not!  And that’s the point.  The crucial point.  The point that keeps getting missed.  It’s not our faith or non-faith that gets us into trouble.  It’s what we DO in the name of our God or non-God.

 

 

I written a poem about it and asked some very talented friends to try to put it to music.  We’ll see if it goes anywhere.  It begins:

 

So you are a Muslim and I am a Jew,

Do I really think God isn’t talking to you?

Christian and Humanist, snared in a fight;

With emphatic pronouncements on who’s really right!

 

Respecting each other is only a start.

Compassion is more than a casual art.

Our mind’s pretty useless cut off from the heart.

If we can’t come together, we’ll all fall apart.

 

(revised -- the section on Humanism added Sunday, May11)

Interfaith in Action

 

Some days just do the heart good.  Today was one of those days.  I attended a lunch, lecture and discussion with Father Thomas Michel, S.J..  More about him in a moment.  The event was held at Seattle University and sponsored by the Acacia Foundation.

 

So, you may ask, what’s the “Acacia Foundation.”  I’m no expert.  I’ve now been to three of their functions.  I can tell you I’ve met a wonderful, warmhearted and open group of people, largely of Turkish and Islamic background, who are truly interested in dialogue.  Indeed, quoting from their mission statement:

 

Our mission is to promote cross-cultural dialogue by emphasizing universal values such as love, truth, faith, brotherhood, solidarity and sharing; to encourage strong family values, high morals, and ethics among community; and to help establish a society where individuals love, respect and accept each other as they are.

 

And they do a wonderful job of it.  Here’s a link to their website.  Acacia Foundation. 

 

Now, on to Father Thomas Michel, who among other titles, was appointed to the Asia Desk of the Vatican Pontifical Council for Interreligious Dialogue as well as holding a Ph.D. in Islamic thought from the University of Chicago.

 

The topic was “Interfaith Dialogue’s Contribution to Peace Building.”  I will NOT inflict the totality of my notes from this warm and erudite man, but here are a few points that I found salient and important to me as a practitioner and advocate of Interfaith.

 

Fr. Michel proposed that most efforts at interfaith dialogue fail, not from malice, nor even from intransigence, but because of lack of patience.  This is a message to take to heart, for we live in an EVER so impatient culture.  We want instant food (and then instant weight-loss to get rid of it!).  We want instant friends, instant knowledge.

 

By odd coincidence I came upon a quote recently from the poet John Ciardi.  “Patience is the art of caring slowly.”

 

Ah, yes. If we are to have meaningful interfaith dialogue, if we would contribute to peace building, we must indeed cultivate the art of caring slowly.  Such a simple but profound thought.  And I must confess that the art of caring slowly is not one I have mastered as yet.  Room for work here!

 

Another tidbit.  Father Michel referenced Said Nursi, who had identified three huge challenges for modern humanity. 

 

1) Ignorance

2) Poverty

3) Disunity

 

I can’t help wanting to leave this blog entry with the thought that these three are not unrelated.

 

Now, if I could just get the media to stop blathering about who was or wasn’t under sniper fire in Bosnia, and which candidate for president is backed by the crankiest minister, and instead cover, oh, I don’t know, the war in Iraq, the collapse of the housing market, and perhaps our economy … but on such a lovely day, why ask for more miracles?

 

This was an empowering day, filled with wonderful caring people – most of whom I’d never met before.  I feel recharged.