with minimum confusion, stress, uncertainty, or failure. At least, this is so often our goal—and the world of self-help, religious and ethical leadership, renewal retreats, and professional development often seek to impart new information and new practices with minimum risk or discomfort. And in our rapidly interconnecting world, where we bump up against new ideas and people dozens of times per hour, we can either choose to be paralyzed by fear of the new, or understand that exposure to difference can lead to learning that will transform us: body, soul, and nation. This book is intended for activists, practitioners, and leaders in religious and inter-religious work. They may have some academic background (like having an MDiv), but this book is intended to be both framework and toolkit. Definitions for “interfaith,” “alterity,” “disequilibrium,” and “resilience” will be given, and author’s original research on resilience as a key ingredient for interfaith learning will be shared. That said, this book is intended to be useful and to make a difference in general readers’ lives.
Seen on social media, February 2017:
“I’ve never unfriended a person for disagreeing with me, and I’ve even argued for why I should keep someone on my friend’s list with a vastly different worldview. However, when I’ve tried to be reasonable, show compassion, offer different ways of understanding, and he chooses to post something condescending and hateful about me specifically, I get to let him go and to let him live on in his echo chamber of ignorance. #selfcare #somepeopledontwantaconversation #letthemgo #breathe”
Underneath an Islamophobic video, a friend had written, tagging her publicly:
“Becky Smith1 is killing me with her Islamophobia! I’m tryin to find all the shit I can and jam it up her Muslim lovin ass!”
Another mutual friend approved, commenting:
“Keep it up! Lol!”
These messages were not from strangers. These messages were written by people she’d known for years. In recent years, after sharing news of her marriage to a Muslim man, she had remained “friends” with them. As an interfaith leader, and person who believes in compassion and the transformative power of education, she had tried to remain committed to being in relationship with them for two reasons. First, she believed it did her good to understand what others believed, especially those with different perspectives from her. Second, she believed that her friendship with them could help them learn about difference. As she pointed out, their friendship with her, and ability to see the posts and information she shares about Islam in America, might be the only accurate information they get about Islam, or immigrants.
Is all difference good? Are there limits to engagement?
Mail received, on paper headed with the Trump presidential campaign logo, (hand delivered by a neighbor in a suburban town in the American southwest), shared on social media, November 2016:
“Dear Terrorist-Bitch,
We are writing to you as the newly organized Neighborhood Town Watch. We understand that you currently wear a scarf on your head, and we would like to put you on notice that this will no longer be tolerated in our neighborhood. Now that America is great again, we would like to offer you two opportunities to avoid any consequences of your poor previous decisions. First, you can take your radical attire of [sic] and live like all Americans. Or, your second option, you can go back to the God Forsaken land you came from. America is Great Again, Neighborhood Town Watch.”
Note, the recipient of the letter was born in America. (Does that make a difference?)
People who are interested in doing interfaith work come to this arena for a variety of reasons. Some of us believe interfaith engagement is a natural outgrowth of our own spiritual commitments. For example, many religious systems include an imperative like, “Love your neighbor” or the Golden Rule.
Here are some examples of the Golden Rule from a variety of philosophical and religious systems:
Bahá’í Faith: “Ascribe not to any soul that which thou wouldst not have ascribed to thee, and say not that which thou doest not.”
Brahmanism: “This is the sum of Dharma [duty]: Do naught unto others which would cause you pain if done to you.”
Buddhism: “Hurt not others in ways that you yourself would find hurtful.”
Christianity: “And as ye would that others should do to you, do ye also to them likewise.”
Confucianism: “Do not do to others what you do not want them to do to you.”
Ancient Egyptian: “Do for one who may do for you, that you may cause him or her thus to do.”
Hinduism: “This is the sum of duty: do not do to others what would cause pain if done to you.”
Islam: “None of you [truly] believes until he or she wishes for your brothers or sisters what you wish for yourselves.”
Jainism: “Humans should wander about treating all creatures as they themselves would be treated.”
Judaism: “What is hateful to you, do not to your fellow human. This is the law: all the rest is commentary.”
Taoism: “Regard your neighbor’s gain as your gain, and your neighbor’s loss as your own loss.”
Zoroastrianism: “Whatever is disagreeable to yourself do not do unto others.”
Why are we emboldened online to be the worst versions of ourselves? It’s likely that the men and women who wrote the posts quoted above, and who wrote and shared the “neighborhood watch” letter, consider themselves Christian to some degree. Maybe they go to church, at least for Christmas, Easter, or for weddings and funerals. Part of what many Trump supporters believe makes America “great” is a return to a nostalgic yet nonexistent status as a “Christian” country. What do we, as a general public, believe that it means to be “great” or “Christian”? Is it possible that these two ideas might be at odds?
The Golden Rule seems, in every example, to be an exhortation to do two things. First, we must know or reflect on what we would want. Do we wish to be welcomed? To be safe? To have a home and a way to provide for our families? To have the rights to study, speak, and participate in community?
And yet, many of us don’t know what it is we want. Magazines, advertisements, and lifestyle blogs exist to help us determine our needs, our personal brand, the diet and exercise regimen that is right for us, and how we should marry and parent. Are we minimalist brides? Helicopter parents? Frugal, organic families? Soccer moms or tailgate dads? Who are we? Two of the most important therapeutic questions we can ask ourselves are: “How am I feeling?” and “What do I need?”
How am I feeling? Am I overwhelmed? Hungry? Angry? Nervous? Entitled? Jealous? Confused? Concerned?
When I see a high school friend sharing pro-Islam ideas on Facebook, how am I feeling? Am I afraid? Impressed? Jealous? Angry? Uncomfortable? Confused?
What do I need? To be the right one? To delete and retreat? To pray or meditate? To reassure myself that there are good people in the world? To lash out? To try and convince? To unfriend? To mobilize politically? To shame her? To be reassured that I am safe?
When I see that one of my neighbors has a good university job, a newish car, frequent NBA tickets to see the local hometown team, a pretty wife, and a healthy child—and he wears some kind of head covering and has a beard, how am I feeling? Confused? Jealous? Worried? Surprised? Afraid? Nostalgic for another kind of neighborhood? Competitive?
What do I need? A better job? A happier marriage? Reassurance that my community isn’t changing? Reassurance that if my community changes, I’ll still play an important part? Health care and good schools for my own children? A sense of certainty? To be reassured that the things that are important won’t change?
When I see that my pastor is being attacked on Facebook by anti-Islam commenters, how am I feeling? Angry? Surprised? Embarrassed? Self-righteous? Certain? Smug? Afraid?
What