Looking through the faith lens of others
BY KIRRALEE NICOLLE
World Interfaith Harmony Week has just ended, and if we’re being honest when looking around the world, harmony between faith groups feels far from possible.
With politics and religion engaging in an unholy dance marked by power, oppression and control, faith groups feel in many ways more divided than ever.
But, of course, it isn’t the first time religious groups asserted power over one another. The Crusades of the 11th to 13th Centuries were a dark time in Christianity’s history. These horrifying attacks followed the Arab Conquest, which began in the 7th Century under the rule of Muhammad, the founder of Islam. More recently, religion of all kinds has fuelled more terror attacks, colonial takeovers and occasions of tribal warfare across the globe than we can stand to count.
In my own life, treating those of other faiths with not just dignity and respect, but as fellow sojourners through life who carry their own wisdom has been something I’ve had to learn as an adult. My upbringing in a rigid, fringe and legalistic version of Christianity for many years blinded me to the wonder and grace within those from other faith backgrounds and points of view. It took me until I was well into my twenties to realise that while I had been taught to evangelise, I had never been taught to stop and listen.
Sometimes, I hear a point of view, and in thinking over it, I come to believe it is harmful or wrong. Other times, I am unsure.
About a decade ago, a friend from the Latter-Day Saints (still a close friend, I’m pleased to say) and I set about trying to convert one another. We had both been raised in families where our faith was paramount, so it slowly dawned on us that our efforts were futile. But we both learned something: we could put our assumption about the other’s needs first, or we could simply pay attention to who the other person was and why they saw the world through the lens they did.
When we stopped our conversion efforts and instead just connected as fellow sojourners in life, a beautiful friendship based on mutual appreciation developed. Our faith perspectives shared similarities and differences, and that was ok. I’ve learned a lot from her about faith and life as we’ve both faced ups and downs, and even though she now lives in a different country, we talk every week. It's now a bit amusing to reflect back on the people we were at that time.
I found it deeply embarrassing to be confronted with my own assumptions about others’ points of view. Why did I so firmly believe that everyone who wasn’t the same kind of Christian as me hated God? Why had it never occurred to me that the same devotion I applied in my own faith, someone else might be applying in theirs with full integrity?
Black-and-white thinking is a trait shared by several mental health disorders and is also consistent with legalistic thinking in any religious context. Black-and-white thinking starts from an assumption that there is a correct way to think about everything, and by definition, all other perspectives must be wrong. While I believe truth exists and is there to be discovered, I’ve found a more helpful practice for myself: withhold judgment.
Sometimes, I hear a point of view, and in thinking over it, I come to believe it is harmful or wrong. Other times, I am unsure. For me, it’s about counting the cost and always starting from a place of love and compassion. Who might be harmed through this belief? If there is possible harm, am I sure it is a harm Jesus would approve? Why might he not? How can I draw from Scripture and from my relationship with Jesus to understand what a Kingdom view might be? Is it what I always assumed, or could it be radically different?
I’m a lot more comfortable with feeling unsure these days. I’ve stayed on the fence for years about some things and remained quiet until I knew what I might say. But whenever I can follow the way of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control – all the fruits of the Spirit – that’s when I know I’m on the right track, even if I’m bumbling along it.
And I know others – maybe those I might not have formerly expected to be – are right there, too.
