Culture Quote of the Day

“the first step in multicultural living is hospitality” - Conde-Frazier, A Many Colored Kingdom

Conversations between Christians and Muslims: Jesus, witness and "conversion"

I have recently been part of a fascinating email interchange among a group of people which includes both Christians and Muslims. We have been talking about the issue of conversion, and the fact that within most Muslim contexts, Muslims are not free to change their religion. I would like to pick up on a particular strand of thought that for me has central connection to the issue of faith in context. To quote from our email discussion, from the views of one of the participants:

… several of you… have pointed out that “conversion” is the real issue… No one wants to feel targeted for conversion by another. Here are [some further] thoughts on this....

1. Jesus came full of grace and truth according to the gospel of John (chapter one verse fourteen).  We need both grace (love, compassion, understanding) and truth (integrity with who we are, freedom, directness).  I try to live this way (in the context of this discussion) by saying something like “my religious heritage is Christian, but I’m working at believing in and following Jesus Christ. You are free to believe whatever you like about God and his messengers and books, but I’ve found there to be something very special in Jesus that I think you’d miss if you didn’t explore.”  That feels both graceful and truthful to who I am and who the person is I’m talking to.  

2.  We’re going back and forth in the discussion as to how we use the word “conversion.”  If conversion means – as most think it does – to change your religious identity, then we have problems.  I imagine most of us on this list agree that it’s not about changing your religious identity (although that itself is a hugely controversial topic).  But if by “conversion” we mean that God wants to change (convert) our hearts from the inside out – I think we’re open to that.  Right?  So it’s not that we’re “against conversion” - I need to be converted every day...
Therefore, in a perfect world, we might like the freedom in each country to convert from one religion to the next if someone so desires – we don’t have that and we don’t like to see that happen. What we DO want to see happen in our lives and in the lives of all 6.8 billion people on earth, is a true conversion to God by his spirit.  All of us on this list think Jesus has something to do with that. A classic Evangelical position is that it is by the death and resurrection of Jesus that this sort of conversion is made possible.  Our Muslim friends on this list (and many others among them) would agree that there is something special and unique about Jesus the Christ and that he shouldn’t be ignored.  

And my response:

As an Anthropologist who follows (seeks to follow) Jesus, one perspective I have on the issue of conversion is that we as human beings live in community with others (generally, who are "our people," who are like us). We grow up within a community, learn the culture and ways of life, internalize the "worldview" of that particular people, etc. We are all, naturally, "ethnocentric" - i.e., we see everything from the vantage point of our particular people; and we don't realize that there are other ways of "being human."

All of us tend to think that other people will be better, more fully human, if they become like us. We may not say this out loud, but we act as if it is true. The only way we know of being human, or of being "Christian" or "Muslim" or whatever, is to be like us. And so, if we share our faith, we tend to do it by trying to draw people into our community (and this can be with the best of intentions). But as we all know, most Muslims don't want to become Christians, or vice versa (and you can insert most peoples, most religions - E. Stanley Jones, when he went to India to evangelize the Hindus, found their response to be, "we don't want your religion, we have our own; we don't want your civilization, we have our own," etc. - this had a great impact on how he ended up sharing his faith there, as related in Christ of the Indian Road.)  In fact, Christians do this to each other, too - Protestants try to get Catholics or Orthodox to be Protestant, evangelicals try to get everyone to be evangelical, etc. And again, people don’t appreciate this attempt to change what is (in the deepest sense) their culture, their way of being.

It can be very different though, if rather than trying to get people to become like us, to become part of our community, we acknowledge the fact that they are and have a right to be who they are, part of a different community, and share (mutually, both ways) what we have found to be significant (e.g., in our following of Jesus, our faith in God, our religion) that they can take into their lives in their context, if they so desire.

Another way I think about this is that no one has to become like others to follow Jesus. No one has to follow Jesus, in the way that I do (in fact, that would be impossible, because my following of Jesus is inextricably bound up in my total sociocultural identity – it is only possible to follow Jesus in a specific context). Jesus, rather, enters into any and all human contexts, and walks our roads with us (this became Jones' message in India, that Jesus would "walk the Indian road" with people there). And what it might look like for Muslims to follow Jesus, in their context, could be very different from what it looks like for “Christians” (or any others) to follow him in theirs.

(With Christian groups I often ask, “Do Muslims have to “become ‘Christian’” to follow Jesus?” to which I argue, no, they don’t. What it might mean or look like for Muslims to follow Jesus in their own sociocultural context, is a matter for further discussion.)

Thus, as the author of the above email advocates, conversion is not about changing religion; conversion is about God changing our hearts, so that we can live out his life in the particular sociocultural context in which we find ourselves. And that, to me, is what faith in context (or contextual living) is all about.

In addition to the above, one of the things that makes this discussion and process hard (between Christians and Muslims, or Christians and anybody) is that many of us have come to a personal conviction and experience of Jesus as the source of life (in his own teaching, he said he is the bread of life, the way, the truth and the life, the resurrection and the life, etc.). With that conviction, our call is to bear witness to Jesus as the giver of life. And given our makeup as cultural human beings, that tends to get translated into an invitation to "become Christian," because it is in our context as Christians (for the most part) that we have come to know Jesus as the giver of life. So I want to say, while everyone is free to think what they want of Jesus, and responsible to respond to him (or not) out of their will and choice, we who know him also have an obligation to bear witness to what we have found in him (but need to learn to do so in a way that is good rather than bad “news” to people – this taking off on the fact that the word gospel means “good news”). And I would also maintain that knowing Jesus as the giver of life has nothing to do with being "Christian" (i.e., Muslims or anyone else can know Jesus as the giver of life, within their context).

Can we become penitently human?

On a couple of occasions in Minnesota, I’ve had the privilege of hearing Pastor Jin Kim of The Church of All Nations (www.cando.org).  One of his phrases especially caught my attention.

He was decrying denominationalism, and the process of splitting off from other Christian groups because of thinking they are wrong or we are better, thinking and acting as if we have the “best” and sure-to-succeed brand of Christianity. As opposed to this triumphalism, he presented the idea of being what he called “penitently Presbyterian.” Being “penitently Presbyterian,” to him, means recognizing that that is his identity (his people), and that it wouldn’t help the unity of Christians to break off in protest against whatever is wrong in Presbyterianism, to start another “better” or more “pure” church. It means admitting that there are plenty of things wrong with the Presbyterian church (and with Presbyterians), to be repentant, and to seek change for the better. And it means relating well to other Christian denominations.

It strikes me that this attitude can be powerfully applied to just about any group or category that I am part of. Can I, for example, be “penitently Christian” in relation to those of other religions? Recognizing that I am “Christian,” but not relating to others in a way that puts them down, minimizes their humanity, acts as if I (we) have a corner on the truth? (This raises an issue that is a core religious issue, that of truth claims, which I will leave for another time; but in being “penitently Christian,” I mean, for example, that we should not persecute and mistreat others for not being Christian - something which happens far too often when Christians are triumphalist.)

Can I, likewise, be “penitently American” in relation to people of other nationalities? My experience would indicate that people of other nationalities like individual Americans well enough, but very much dislike when we act as if everything American is the best, as if we own the world, as if we can fix (or even understand) everyone’s problems, etc. (i.e., when we are triumphally American). Is it possible to be a different kind of American, aware that I don’t have all the answers (or even know what the problems are), that my country has both good and bad, and that I have a lot to learn from everyone else I encounter?

Those two categories (Christian and American) resonate the most with me, due to my experiences of the past 25-plus years living in the Middle East. But one can easily find other applications (for example, being “penitently male,” in relation to women). And I see a definite connection to the movement from ethnocentrism (seeing my people, my group, as the center and pinnacle, and everyone else as a lesser kind of human being) to ethnorelativism (or ethnosensitivity), experiencing myself / ourselves as one among many, and others as every bit as real and significant as myself / ourselves, and in fact, people (those others) that I can learn and benefit from, if only I will be open.

Nationalism, by the way, is clearly rooted in triumphalism. And if one considers the Palestinian-Israeli conflict (or any other intransigent conflict between different peoples), one always finds a stronghold of national, ethnic, and/or religious triumphalism (again, this reflects the “defense” or “polarization” stage of Bennett’s DMIS). For peacemaking (another interest of mine, and which requires healthy coexistence and interconnection based on mutual respect as human beings), being “penitent” is essential for all parties.

"You will be my first Palestinian friend!"

On our trip in Israel and the Occupied West Bank, and since returning from the trip, I have been asking the questions, what are roadblocks and barriers to peace (what keeps peace from happening)? and what does it take (and mean) to pursue peace?

One day on our trip we stopped in to visit the Holy Land Trust (http://www.holylandtrust.org/), and to hear about their work. We started our time by viewing the documentary film, "Little Town of Bethlehem" (http://littletownofbethlehem.org/), which highlights the stories and peacemaking efforts of three men: Sami Awad (a Palestinian Christian), Ahmad Al’Azzeh (a Palestinian Muslim), and Yonatan Shapira (an Israeli Jew). It is an excellent film, which should be viewed by anyone who has concern for understanding and resolving the Palestinian-Israeli conflict.

One of the barriers to peace that the film highlights is fear. The film argues that the Israelis are so militaristic, worshiping strength, because of their fear. They view themselves as weak, surrounded by enemies. They live with the memory of the Holocaust (as well as a long history of mistreatment by "Christians" in the West), and see and use it as a symbol of what Arabs want to do the the Jews now (rather than as a symbol of what should never be allowed to happen to anyone, anywhere). Their fear leads them not to know the Palestinians (in their midst, or under their occupation), and not to trust them.

And the fear extends to those on the Palestinian side, as well. In a situation of conflict, especially, people on both sides fear the different other, who they usually do not know (or who they know only in caricature, as a stereotype, and based on the worst behavior and actions of someone on the other side, like a suicide bomber, a religious fanatic who opens fire on praying people in a mosque, etc.).

The question, then, becomes how to break through the barrier of fear? "Little Town of Bethlehem" highlights Yonatan Shapira's journey into the Courage to Refuse movement (http://www.seruv.org.il/english/) - a group who, in pursuit of the IDF mottos of "human dignity" and "purity of arms," came to refuse to attack civilian areas or to serve in the occupied territories. In addition, Shapira highlights the need to "reach out to your enemy," to "try to correct the wrong" that has been done.

This is another step in "fighting" against violence and for peace (and highlighted in the film) - working against the dehumanization of the other, working to reclaim your understanding and commitment to their humanity. And for the Palestinians, they emphasize that a point of their nonviolent resistance to the injustices of the Israeli occupation, is to help the Israelis recapture their own humanity (since oppressing others always dehumanizes the oppressor as well as the oppressed). But that's another story, another theme.

To return to the theme of overcoming fear: one of our Palestinian guides told a story that changed his life. He was invited to attend an event at a kibbutz. The invitation, he said, stirred his fear. Growing up, he had always seen the kibbutzim and those who lived on them as the most dangerous of Israelis, the most anti-Palestinian. He felt certain, as he considered the invitation, that if they found out he was Palestinian, they would harm or even kill him. But on the other hand, he believed (in theory) in working for peace...so in the end he decided to attend the event. While he was on the kibbutz, though, he avoided talking to people, not wanting to be discovered as a Palestinian. His worst fears seemed about to be realized, near the end of the time, when one of the leaders of the event came to him, introduced himself, and asked where he (the Palestinian) was from. He said he swallowed hard, prepared himself mentally for whatever horrible fate awaited him, and said he was from Beit Sahour. The Israeli's response totally caught him off guard - he thrust out his hand and said with a large smile, "then you will be my first Palestinian friend!"

Needless to say, something changed for our Palestinian guide that day. A fear was conquered, as an unknown "enemy," in the form of a real person, offered to become a friend.

How can peace be achieved? By individuals facing (even walking into) their fears, stepping into the unknown, and establishing human contact, friendship, with those on the other side of the barriers (whether real or imagined).

A final thought from "Little Town of Bethlehem": the Israelis must come to the point of deciding to take down the wall. How many small steps of relationship building, of overcoming individual and collective fears, will it take to get to this point?

Now for another question - what does all of this have to do with the theme of this blog, "contextual living," or "faith and culture"? One of the things which fascinates me is our human tendency, in creating our own individual and group identities, to not relate well with others who are different from ourselves (the "other"). I see this, as an Anthropologist and as a follower of Jesus, as rooted in our inherent self-centeredness, which on a communal scale Anthropologists refer to as "ethnocentrism." In the heart of ethnocentrism, in Milton Bennett's "Developmental Model of Intercultural Sensitivity," is a phase of "defense" or "polarization," in which our experience of those who are different from ourselves is a negative one. We polarize, generalize and stereoptype (ourselves as good and the other as bad), and in the extreme, especially in situations of conflict and violence, we villianize and even dehumanize the other. 

This, unfortunately, seems to be rooted in our nature as human beings. And, also unfortunately, religion, race, ethnicity, and other aspects of identity (including gender) often get "used" as markers to distinguish between ourselves and others.

We also have it in our capacity as human beings, though, to grow through and out of our ethnocentrism, to stop fearing and dehumanizing others, to step out of our particular context (our home context), and enter into the context of others. We can learn to accept others who are different than we are. We can experience crossing barriers and boundaries, entering in, developing relationship, and changing. The unknown "other," even the "enemy," can become our friend. And, fortunately, religious faith can play a positive role in this movement. The question is, I think, how do we construct (understand, interpret) our faith (rooted in our interpretation of our religious texts), in relation to other people? Do we believe in the shared humanity of all people, even those different from us, even those of a different religious faith than us? Or do we believe that we, of all the people in the world, are "the people," the only ones right with and acceptable to God? This question is extremely important to me, as a human being, as an Anthropologist, and as a person for whom Jesus is my life. 

In the world around us, we see - in every faith - people who I would call "extremists," who (in their ethnocentrism) use religion to villianize, dehumanize, and oppress others; and we see - also in every faith - people who see every person created in the image of God, a friend, a brother or a sister, and who, while being true to their own faith, do not use it to oppress or mistreat others.

The question I find myself pondering, and that I leave with you, is what leads to either of these extremely different paths? And what can we do to pursue, and to encourage those around us (especially in our faith communities) to pursue the path of peace, of life?

Another "man from Galilee"

"God is Love. God does not kill."

These are the words that Father Elias Chacour writes whenever he signs a book.

I first encountered Abuna Chacour (now Archbishop of the Melkite church in Israel, which is the largest church in the land) in Tunisia, around 1994, when some friends working with Suha Arafat and the PLO leadership in Tunis arranged for him to visit - his first trip to an Arab country, and the first time that Tunisia had been visited by an Israeli citizen.

Abuna Chacour, for those who do not know, is a Palestinian Christian whose family was driven from their home in 1948 (when he was 8 years old), but stayed within what became Israel, and so ended up as Israeli citizens (the so-called "Israeli Arabs"). You can read his stories in Blood Brothers, We Belong to the Land, and Hope Beyond Despair, so I won't relate them all here.

Meeting Abuna Chacour back in Tunisia was one of my first notable memories of having my boundaries of what it means to be "Christian" messed with. I am from a background and community of "evangelical" Christians (that's a story for another time). Father Chacour is Melkite, i.e., eastern (non-Roman) Catholic, and not "evangelical." But in meeting him, I remember being struck (and have been each of the 4 times I have met him) with the fact that he clearly knows Jesus (a central concern of "evangelical" Christians) if anyone does, and that his life clearly displays the presence and the values of Jesus. (Meeting him, then, was a step in my growing from an ethnocentric to what Bennet calls an ethnorelative perspective on what it means to be "Christian" - but again, that's another story, for a different post.)

Father Chacour is one of my heroes. He is a hero to me because he knows and loves and serves and displays Jesus, my number one "hero" and life model. He talks about when his family had to leave their home when he was eight years old, how they spent two weeks camping out in the fields, and how he has wonderful memories as a young boy of "hanging out" in the trees with Jesus (it was interesting to me that he spoke of having a "personal" relationship with Jesus, which is a key evangelical concept). In relating to others, he makes the statement (rooted in his faith) that we don't need tolerance, we need welcoming acceptance (this resonates with Miroslav Volf's emphasis in Exclusion and Embrace). And he says, the closer you draw to Jesus, the more you open your arms wide to welcome and embrace others, like Jesus (with his arms spread wide) on the cross.

He is also a hero because he fights injustice, day by day, in small and big ways. He fights injustice by building when the Israeli government will not give him building permits (his whole ministry through the Mar Elias schools has been one long sequence of acts of what you might call "civil disobedience," in this regard). He fights injustice by speaking the truth to power, in Israel and elsewhere (he once traveled uninvited and unknown to the home of Secretary of State James Baker, to ask for help in facing an unjust action of the Israeli government). He fights injustice by seeing every human being, man or woman, Israeli or Palestinian (or any other nationality), Muslim, Jew or Christian, and including soldiers who are not treating him kindly, as individuals born as babies (nothing more), created in God's image, and worthy of respect and kindness and all other virtues, simply because of that.

Father Chacour still comes across as a simple "man from Galilee," a man with humble village roots. But he speaks with authority, an authority rooted in how he lives his life.

In contrast to people who construct barriers, who build walls around their own community (religious, ethnic, national, racial, or otherwise), and who use aspects of identity to feed an "us" vs. "them" mentality, he takes down (or does not recognize) barriers and boundaries. He is deeply connected to Jesus, and to his own religious community (the Melkites), but he does not oppose or speak badly of other Christian groups, or of Muslims, or of Jews, or of Israelis. He is an example to me of someone who is truly "for" all people, for humanity. He is a great example, in this, of being rooted in one's own community and identity, one's context, and yet not being exclusive or parochial in it.

Two final words from Abuna Chacour, along these lines. Speaking to us as an international group, he emphasized that we, all of us, both in regard to the injustices of the Israeli government against the Palestinian people (both Israeli Arabs, who are treated as second class citizens within Israel, and Palestinians in the Occupied Territories), and in regard to the rest of the world, need the courage to stand against privilige for any group against any other. And he emphasized that he as an Israeli Arab needs for us to be friends with the Jewish people, to be for them. And to be friends with the Palestinians as well. In a sentiment echoed by many of the people we met with, he urged us not to take sides, but to be for all people.

If we could find a way to do that, to be for all people, the world would be a far different and better place.

"Try peace - you can always go back to war"

Our next stop was with Elias Jabbour of the House of Hope Peace Center in Shefa-'Amr (or Shfar'am; see http://www.middleeastproject.org/house-of-hope-international-pe/).

We enjoyed warm Palestinian hospitality in their home which also serves as the Center, where we shared a meal together and talked about peacemaking.

Elias is 75 years old, and was 13 when the state of Israel was founded and life changed for his family. He founded the House of Hope in 1978, and pursues opportunities to work for peace in relations between Christians, Muslims, Jews, Druze, and all who visit. (He has written a book, Sulha, which relates the traditional Palestinian approach to making peace between people in conflict.)

He made several noteworthy statements, based on his experience. I relate them, not because they are unique to Elias, but because they are the kind of statements we heard over and over again from a variety of people that we met with, in what adds up - for me - to a chorus of voices bearing witness to how we need to live, how we need to be, if we are going to discover how to live together peacefully in the world.

Some of his statements:

* "Try peace - you can always go back to war. Who knows, you might actually like peace..."

* For peace, we need to learn to enjoy our differences (rather than letting them divide us).

* The problem is, we don't know each other; and as the Arab proverb says, "we are afraid of what we do not know." We need to get to know each other, build relationship. We need to come together, and to listen to each other's narratives.

* To be a peacemaker, you cannot take sides.

* Sharing a meal is making peace.

Our trip was an experience (or a series of experiences) in the process of peacemaking. As a group of outsiders to the area, we had the opportunity of entering into the lives of people we did not know (Muslim, Christian, and Jewish, Israeli and Palestinian), sharing meals with them, listening to their narratives, and beginning to build relationship and gain understanding of different perspectives. Small things, in a way, but potentially powerful steps toward peace.

Travels in the so-called "Holy Land"

Note: I am also posting this on the site http://salemshalom.blogspot.com/. Though these posts (there will be more to come) may seem more readily relevant to the issue of Peace in the Palestinian-Israeli conflict, I also see a clear connection to life in human context, especially as all parties in the conflict - Christians, Muslims, and Jews - are seeking to live out religious faith (with the idea that they are knowing and following God) in their context, one in which they often are clashing with each other. A question we might ask as we reflect on the conflict is, is the problem with God, or with the people who are seeking to follow him? The Sheikh who I talk about in this post sees that the problem is not with religion, but with religious people, how they understand and work out their religious faith. Now on to this post...

I don't necessarily subscribe to the concept of a "Holy Land." In fact, the more time I spend observing how people fight over the so-called "holy" - places, relics, etc. - the less I like the concept (as used to things and places in the world).

I recently spent seven days with a group of doctoral students (of 8 different nationalities, residing in 10 different countries) meeting with Christian, Muslim and Jewish leaders (both Palestinian and Israeli) who are working for peace and justice in Nazareth, Jerusalem, Bethlehem, Ramallah and elsewhere. It was an intense week, full of emotions ranging from deep sorrow to frustration and anger, and with some glimmers of hope, the latter inspired by many of the amazing people we met.

We saw and experience too much to relate at one time, so I will highlight several of the people and groups that we met with, and some of the perspectives and convictions and actions that both instruct me and give hope.

Our first visit was with (Sufi) Sheikh Ghassan Manasra, who leads the Lights of Peace Society in Nazareth. As with other leaders that we met, I came away inspired and wishing that I could spend more time with him.

Many in our group had not previously met a Muslim face to face, and I think they were a bit taken aback. I would describe Sheikh Ghassan as a man whose countenance is radiant - in his face (and in his words) you see light and joy and peace.

My "peace quote of the day" from the Sheikh is this: "We have created you male and female, and appointed you races and tribes so that you may know one another." His application of this verse from the Qur'an is that human beings are all one family (descended from Adam and Eve). We do not need to agree, but we need to respect each other. Renewal, he said, comes through our differences; the other is our mirror - we know ourselves through the other. His mission in life is to change people from being his enemy to being his friend. He also emphasized that the person you meet is you with a different language, religion, nationality, culture...; i.e., we share the same essence as human beings.

What a contrast between Sheikh Ghassan's heart and perspective, and the actions of a few violent extremists (who in his view and that of many other Muslims, are hijacking Islam). His emphasis rings true to that of the majority of Muslims I have known over the years, though he is deeper than most in the mystical tradition and the spiritual life. Sadly, this perspective on Islam is rarely highlighted in the Western press.

One of our group asked him about jihad. He related the teaching of his Sheikh (the leader of their order) that the greatest jihad is against your ego, your evil inclinations. The most dangerous enemy, in his view, is the enemy inside you, and the process of learning to fight against and conquer the evil inside of you is at the heart of their religious life. He related an incident in which he was treated badly by Israeli soldiers, and became angry. Then he remembered the teaching of the Sheikh about inner jihad, and he fought to return to a state of peace and joy (and seeing the soldiers not as enemies but as fellow human beings).

I know that many religious people do not feel that they have anything to learn from someone who is a member of a different religion. I think that the members of our group, all Christians, came away from our time with Sheikh Ghassan feeling that he has insight into life principles that resonate with the teachings of Jesus, and that we all can benefit from.

It was also clear to me that if more Muslims, Christians and Jews followed his example, we would be closer to peace.