Burning is not purging.
On September 11 of this year, members of a church named Dove World Outreach Center plan on burning the Qur'an as a protest against the religion of Islam, but also to convert Muslims to Christianity. Recently coming from the Middle East where I met Muslims as well as people of other religions, and while living in the home of a dear friend who also happens to be Muslim, I cannot remain silent on this issue of either burning the sacred text of others or converting another to my religion. In addition, since I am Christian, the idea that other Christians would think that this is right saddens me. But, why? Am I not a Christian that believes in the light of Jesus, His message to us as one that is to all? By defending Islam, does it negate my strong faith in Jesus?
First, my faith is not up for debate except with God. Currently, I am not winning any of the debates I have with God, but then God and I don't debate about whether one religion is better than another. We do, however, debate other things, especially about how to respond to issues that I take exception to. God still tells me, "Can't kill 'em." I argue for maiming or insulting, but well--I get the "gotta love 'em" response every time. Truthfully, I'm thankful for the call to Christianity, one from birth in all probability. I remember that call didn't come from a church or minister. No one laid hands on me and urged me to Christ. That call came one day after a drenching rain when I stood in a pool of water and saw my reflection with the clouds. I then asked my mother if I could be baptized. I had flown the air with God without ever leaving this earth. I knew it was real and once baptized, I committed. I was almost seven. At eight, I taught my first Sunday school lesson that Jesus loves the little children--all the children of the world. I've looked the world over, met people of faith and you know what? It has strengthened my faith in Christ. My faith remains unshakable, but it also makes me understand the unshakable faith of others. I understand the love of one's faith, but also understand that unshakable faith means unshakable compassion and grace. Faith does not hurt another and the more unshakable the faith, the more reason to reach out and share the faith, not the dogma, with others.
My friend and I recently talked about grace. She's Wiccan. If God's grace is sufficient why does it seem as if we have made grace a Christian-only concept? That's not exactly how she put it, but it is a point. Why the judging and feuding? If God's grace is sufficient, why do we need to burn books or denigrate another?
Some people see people who are Muslim as terrorists. Others may know that Islam is not synonymous with terrorism, knowing that there is conflict in many of the world about this particular people and that particular faith. The "others" include my own relationship with Islam and its people and loving them as part of God's own. Still, I know that not everyone agrees with me. Since 9/11, we have made the face of terror a Middle Eastern one, which is scary as some of my relatives look Middle Eastern (but I digress with this point). We have made people who are faithful, loving and giving people into villains. I don't like it. It bothers me and I won't stand for it. But, you know that debate thing that I have with God--can't kill them either, P.K. Grace. Given time, given grace and what it is, will we ever understand?
The idea of a world that is all Christian does not appeal to me anymore than a world of only black people or Democrats (especially not that). Somehow, like that moment when I stood and saw myself riding the clouds, I know that God's plan is simply awesome and that somehow, we've got to get in step with a hope that people of different faiths, cultures and races can live in this world together.
Some people see people who are Muslim as terrorists. Others may know that Islam is not synonymous with terrorism, knowing that there is conflict in many of the world about this particular people and that particular faith. The "others" include my own relationship with Islam and its people and loving them as part of God's own. Still, I know that not everyone agrees with me. Since 9/11, we have made the face of terror a Middle Eastern one, which is scary as some of my relatives look Middle Eastern (but I digress with this point). We have made people who are faithful, loving and giving people into villains. I don't like it. It bothers me and I won't stand for it. But, you know that debate thing that I have with God--can't kill them either, P.K. Grace. Given time, given grace and what it is, will we ever understand?
United Religions Initiative, an interfaith organization whose preamble, purpose and principles (the “PPPs”) guide the organization’s structure and work, is a decade old (officially) and more than 15 years in the making. There are many who have embraced URI’s work and have involved themselves wholeheartedly. Then there are those who have walked away and said simply, “I don’t get it.” There are probably as many in-between reasons why people involve themselves in URI, however. Those stories are missing and those stories are the ones that may be the most important.
When I think back on my first foray into interfaith, I’m amazed and full of wonder—still. I sat with Muslim, Jews and Christians to talk about the first five books of the Bible. As a storyteller, these stories are the ones I told the most. There was so much for me in these stories, but they were influenced by my Christian teachings. And then there was a door, no, two doors that opened my world and these stories took on new and greater meanings. I have never been the same.
Everyone has a question in their head that needs answering. I know. I also understand that there are hundreds of other questions, too, but that one question burns in each of us and must be answered, but sometimes never is. The question? What is the meaning of it all? The question may not be said exactly this way, “it” being the operative word, but the overall meaning is there. But, no matter how the question is asked, when the question is answered, life changes—for the good.
What draws me to URI? What keeps me here? What makes me want to leave sometimes and what makes me come back? What is URI? Those are part of the other questions that rise and fall, but the question that has been answered for me has to do with meaning. It means something, it answers the question in my heart and the rest—the struggle—is doable because I have the question answered.
I said that there were two doors I walked through that day as sat in the chairs of the studio taping the PBS special Genesis. I walked through the door of Islam and Judaism. That was 1995. Since then I have walked through many doors and continue to find the answer to my burning question. The answer? Love.
“God does LOVE the whole world—no exceptions”
