What We Do

Morrow McCombs Lecture

Co-sponsored by California State University
and The Center for Scholarship and Spirituality
at California State University, San Bernardino

March 8, 2005

Christopher M. Leighton

Some years ago Peter Berger, the sociologist of religion, made the following observation. If India is considered the most religious country in the world and if Sweden ranks as the least religious country, then America is a nation of Indians ruled by Swedes. While the Bush administration certainly does not embody Scandinavian religious sensibilities, there remains a serious disconnect in the wiring of the United States. Most colleges and universities do not educate their students to hear the sounds of the sacred, much less to decode their sig-nificance. Most newspapers and television stations are run by individuals who associate religion exclusively with clergy abuse, Islamic extremists, and know-nothing fundamentalists who champion creationism within faith-based flat-earth societies. Hollywood and corporate America, as well as the intellectual elite who dispropor-tionately call the shots, simply do not get it. They cannot imagine that religion plays a vital role in shaping not just the ethical but the political landscape of this nation. They do not grasp the fact that the health of the United States, indeed the globe, is inseparably bound to the health of our religious communities.

For better and for worse, religion is determining to an unprecedented degree the kind of world in which we live. Insofar as we educate students who do not know how to interpret the uses and abuses of religious symbols, insofar as we graduate students who do not know how to make sense of sacred narratives, insofar as we distribute diplomas to students who cannot unravel the entanglements of religion and public policy, we are doing an exquisite job of educating students to enter a world that does not exist and never did. The fragile world that we occupy cannot long endure without leaders who can break the grip of this ignorance, who can decipher and mediate the complexities of religious conflicts, and who can bring the wisdom of our different religious traditions to bear on the democratic ordering of our nation and the international community. Without leaders who know how to harness the healing power of religion, we will end up with demagogues who know all too well how to enlist religion in the service of deadly political agendas.

To add insult to injury, not only do our high schools, our colleges, and our graduate schools routinely ignore "the complications" of religion because this subject is too controversial, too divisive, and too explosive to handle responsibly, most of our religious institutions, our churches, our synagogues, and our mosques serve as sanctuaries where people retreat from the confounding encounter with irreconcilable theological differences. What Christians learn in church is to regard non-Christians as outsiders who need to be saved, sincere seekers perhaps, but folks who are spiritually incomplete -- because after all, the only way to God the Father is through His only Son, Jesus Christ. What Jews learn in synagogue is to pay little attention to non-Jews, to thank God that they were not made like the heathen, and to wonder every now and then why God needs so many of them. What Muslims learn in the mosque is that Islam has absorbed the best of Judaism and Christianity, that the imperfections of ethnocentrism and Trinitarian idolatry have been overcome within Islam, and that Allah's truth will ultimately triumph.

I am speaking hyperbolically, knowing that there are stunning exceptions within all three of our traditions and they are no doubt well represented here and now, in very this place. But the point is that these parochial, if not chauvinistic, attitudes are deeply enshrined within all three of the great monotheistic traditions of the West. The habits of congregational life in the vast majority of cases tend to reinforce our ignorance of other religious traditions. They tend to license our isolationism and keep us settled within comfortable temples of the familiar. As a consequence, congregational life tends to perpetuate indifference, or breed contempt for those who dare to disagree with us. In short, our religious institutions by and large are a major part of the problem.

Wasn't it Harry Truman who said, "I never give them hell. I just tell the truth, and they think it's hell." Well, I am not sure my panoramic survey is a truthful representa-tion of the local terrain, and you can dismiss my grim musings as the incorrigible ranting of a curmudgeonly Presbyterian. It will come as no surprise that I do not sleep soundly at night. Nor will it strain the brain to understand why I leapt at the opportunity to launch a national essay writing contest approximately one year ago with a young Jewish philanthropist from Boston named Liz Goldhirsh. It turned out that Liz and I were sharing the same closet of anxieties, and we both wanted to take dramatic measures to shrink the square footage of imaginations tormented by the release of Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ. What we saw was not just a film that recapitulated some of the most noxious anti-Jewish stereotypes within the Christian tradition, but a public debate that was driving a wedge between Christians and Jews, progressives and tradi-tionalists, devout and secular Americans. The shrill discourse was intensifying an already troubling polariza-tion in America, and we were both eager to see if we might somehow reverse the downward spiral, most espe-cially among younger Americans.

Here is what we did. We developed three different questions for students between the ages of 16 and 22. They were provided the option of writing about a biblical passage, a historical event, or the uproar generated by the Gibson film. Their task was to explore how these biblical stories and events are read and interpreted differently by people from divergent religious perspec-tives. Their task was to explore what these people might learn from the very people with whom they disagree. In other words, their job was to sift through multiple points of view, to analyze arguments and counter-arguments that touch on fundamental religious truth claims, to explore what the current debates reveal about the con-tent and character of American society, and then to offer suggestions about what steps might be taken to enable people to bridge the theological and ideological divides.

The three essay questions and the invitation to enter the essay contest were posted on the Reaching Common Ground Web site, and announcements were published in full-page ads around the country -- including The New York Times, the Boston Globe, and USA Today. To generate a significant buzz and motivate robust partici-pation, Liz Goldhirst designated $100,000 in prize money, with $25,000 to go to the contest winner. Given the fact that the news of the contest broke just as stu-dents were getting out for the summer, we had high hopes of attracting 1,000 entries. On July 30, when we reached the contest deadline . . . we were sitting on, no let me restate that, we were sinking under almost 4,000 essays. During the next five months, every essay was read by, at the very least, a Jewish and Christian schol-ar. The winning essays were read and assessed by no less than eleven scholars. Given the fact that the essays came from across the country and represented a remarkably diverse cross-section of religious perspec-tives, we were offered a remarkable snapshot of many young Americans. In the time remaining, I want to profile a few of the central challenges presented to those of us who are concerned about the future role of religion in America, specifically the prospects for creative interfaith encounters.

At one end of the spectrum, we were inundated with essays that were written by committed individuals who simply could not step outside of their own religious affir-mations and make room for divergent points of view. Many of these students acknowledged that works of literature and history are open to multiple interpreta-tions. Yet they are convinced that religious truth claims exist in another realm, a region where there is only black and white. They insist that when you boil things down to their essence, you either have it right or you have it wrong. Without question, this binary imagination is deeply etched into our religious traditions; and from all that we saw, this disposition continues to dictate the perceptions of many young Americans. This mental habit has everything to do with the oppositional practice of constructing a religious identity. We need to remember that every religious tradition was born in the heat of conflict. In other words, the generative truth of one's own religious community, its original revelation, was established in adversarial relation to the surrounding cul-ture. Jews defined themselves over and against pagans. Historically, Buddhists defined themselves over and against Hindus. As the Church became a predominantly gentile movement, Christians defined themselves over and against Jews. Muslims followed the pattern with respect to polytheists and, subsequently, Jews and Christians. These are the conflictual waters out of which we first emerged. We all belong to religious traditions that began their spiritual ascent in an ideological battle. We are anchored in legacies that were once locked within the logic of a zero-sum game. God plays favorites. So if God is on my side, he ain't on yours. If I win, then you must lose. It was stunning to see that this logic continues to animate the religious mind set of a sur-prisingly large number of American students.

So, the essay contest provided us with sobering evidence that an education does not necessarily trans-form or even challenge the attitudes and behaviors that emanate from this problematical inheritance. In its starkest form, students of this persuasion declared that we can overcome religious conflict in the world if we can just help everyone abandon his or her own views and convert to theirs. In its more common and benign form, the arguments acknowledged that peoples from other traditions may have good intentions. They may even achieve good things and embody genuine wisdom. Yet the truth of these other traditions points to a higher reality that is most fully expressed in their own religious community. This kind of triumphalism, with its alluring offer of unalloyed certainty, was particularly well-represented by Christians -- although we had a fair number of Jews operating with the following sub-text: What is good about Christianity is really Jewish, and what is bad about Christianity is really pagan.

Now, I will return to this religious mind-set in my con-cluding remarks. Suffice it to say that these essays did not demonstrate a refined aptitude for self-criticism. This is to say, none of these papers gave the slightest evidence that the authors have a sense of humor. There was no capacity to expose one's own foibles, to identify and poke fun at the excesses of one's own tradition, or to playfully try on alternative points of view. Every jot and every tittle was composed with deadly seriousness. Now what is of concern here is not just the fact that these essays were consistently dull and unimaginative. No, the issue is that these students are frozen into theological postures that allow little or no movement. They hold truth claims so tightly that they are unable to bend down and pick up anything new or different. Their triumphalism gives them the warrant to dismiss everyone who does not share their religious assumptions.

To buttress this religious outlook, young people will need to retreat into isolated enclaves or religious cliques, tak-ing solace within the confines of a bubble. Such people become victims of arrested development because their faith is never contested by peoples from divergent reli-gious perspectives. Safety and security are the promise that certitude appears to offer, but immunity from doubt is purchased at an exorbitant cost. This core group of religiously committed young people is marching down a road paved in ignorance. They are absolutely convinced that they have nothing of value to learn from their neighbor, and so their continuing theological education grinds to a halt at an intellectual level appropriate to a seventh grader. Now, here is the rub. Self-proclaimed defenders of ultimate truth are all too susceptible to simplistic ideological appeals that frame the issues in black and white, right and wrong, good guys versus bad guys. In short, they are primed for manipulation and ready recruits for the next bloody culture war.

At the other end of the spectrum, we received a good number of essays from individuals who maintain that religious belief is as subjective and as arbitrary as our taste in food. Some like it hot. Some like it cold. In their opinion, religious faith is really just a matter of opinion. These students are champions of tolerance, and they insist that it does not really matter what you believe as long as you are sincere and as long as you don't inflict your personal feelings on others. Live and let live. I'm OK. You're OK. In fact when it comes to Jews, Chris-tians, and Muslims, these students insist that there are no differences that really make a difference. To be sure, we have a troubled history. But it's time to get over it. It is time to recognize that all three of these traditions share core ethical teachings. They all recognize that we need to be nice to one another. Or, to use the Zen Buddhist image, there are many ways to climb the moun-tain, but they all converge at the top. These students crafted essays that tried to solve the problem of reli-gious differences by arguing that there is a deeper level of truth underneath all the idiosyncratic rituals and practices. If we could just come to recognize this com-mon core, then we would understand that the mystical basis of our oneness is shared. We would cease to squabble because we would understand that our tradi-tions are in the final analysis interchangeable.

The advocates of this more inclusive vision may seem to offer a more promising prospect for a civil society. They wear their religious convictions lightly, and there is little likelihood that they would die for their beliefs . . . and so little likelihood that they would kill for them. Since reli-gion is confined to a private domain of personal feelings, its advocates largely ascribe to a vague spirituality that encourages individuals to pick and choose religious ele-ments with which they feel comfortable. e.e. cummings once noted that you can be so open-minded that all your brains fall out. This religiosity is very open-minded, and it tends to position the individual as a spiritual con-sumer who moves through traditions as though one were in line at a smorgasbord. A little of this. A dab of that. Load up the plate. If something does not taste pleasant, then you can push it aside and move on to something else.

Some of my best friends and many of my closest rela-tives subscribe to this approach. Yet I find myself deeply troubled by a process of spiritual homogenization that waters down, indeed dumbs down our religious tradi-tions. The emphasis on the individual undercuts the communal demands and discipline that are classically associated with religious affiliation. More often than not these spiritual seekers are deep on the surface, but they do not really know the traditions well enough to access ancient, medieval, and modern voices who can contest and counter the ethos of the dominant culture. The dispositions that are shaped through struggle and study within a religious tradition atrophy. Furthermore, if it does not really matter whether you are a Buddhist or an animist, a Gnostic or a shaman, a Christian or Sufi, then why break a sweat and do the heavy lifting required to hold a congregation upright? We saw plenty of evidence in these essays of a lazy spirituality championed by people who have in point of fact been assimilated into the popular culture. They can chant platitudes in a variety of religious keys, but they have not acquired the intellectual, moral, or spiritual muscles to carry the wis-dom of their ancestors into the future.

This is the bad news! The essay contest indicated that the majority of American students cluster at these two poles along the religious spectrum. One group is inter-ested in spiritual uplift, but they have neither the patience nor the commitment to put up with a commu-nity that demands anything more than deep breathing from them. They certainly do not want to sit on a liturgy committee and argue with Sister Jane about this Sunday's hymns. Nor do they want to serve on a board that has to raise the money to pay Rabbi Berg's salary. When they discover that the maintenance of a congre-gation is not much fun, that it does not add much luster to their resume, and that the costs often exceed the rewards, their interest fades. Of course, the militant believers are camped at the other end of the spectrum. They have put on the armor of faith and are impervious to doubts and questions. More importantly, they know how to wield the religious truth like a hammer and are ready to pound others into submission.

The enormous challenge brought to light by this national essay contest revolves around the capacity of our syna-gogues, churches, and mosques to reclaim the center. Most people who are concerned about the vitality of their religious communities know that they face a mas-sive educational problem. We know that the ranks of fundamentalists are swelling at the very same time that many other kids are giving up on institutional religion. The impression that I get from most of my progressive colleagues, whether they are ministers, priests, or rabbis, is this. They are struggling to keep things going. They are saddled with big buildings that need lots of upkeep. They are confronted week after week with an aging congregational base, and it takes more time and energy simply to stay in place. They are besieged, ex-hausted (particularly my colleagues in Roman Catholic priesthood), and they are locked into a survival mode.

Now it may be an altogether different climate out here   -- where there is lots more sunshine and good cheer. But what I am seeing among the clergy back east is a turning inward. More and more time and energy are directed to the maintenance of one's own community, and there is less and less interest in inter-religious programming. Even when education is identified as a top priority, the question that is asked is this: Why should we teach Christians about Judaism when they do not even know their own tradition? Why should Jews learn about Christianity, or Muslims about Judaism when our congregations are occupied with people who are largely clueless about their own heritage? Interfaith relations are fine. It's nice. For a brief moment, after the trauma on September 11, it even appeared urgent. But most clergy are in agreement that with all the confounding demands, it simply is not a high priority.

Well, here is the good news. We encountered a good number of students who have not drifted to either end of the spectrum. These students are striving to find solid footing in the center, and they see their own religious education and their own religious commitments as in-separably bound to their religious neighbors. They have no desire to withdraw into insular enclaves, even if such an implausible move were possible. Lamentably, they did not constitute the majority of contestants. Yet there were enough to give us heart, and they were the most thoughtful and articulate advocates of an emerging possibility. A distillation of their concerns might take the shape of the following counter-intuitive message.

"We can no longer live in isolation from one another. Our friends and our classmates increasingly come from different walks of life. What we are learning late at night over a slab of pizza is that our thinking is sharpened in the rough and tumble exchanges with each other. We discover what we really think about the meaning of our lives, what we want to do, and how we want to do it when we rub against contrasting, sometimes conflicting points of view. We better understand what we believe when we have to go back, re-examine the teachings of our ancestors, and explain ourselves to those who do not share our own assumptions. We thought that our faith would be weakened if we were questioned by the Muslim down the hall or interrogated by the resident atheist. Not so. But what we need is a safe place where we can honestly and rigorously explore the core affir-mations of our traditions and consider each other's questions without fear that we will embarrass ourselves or our friends. We need encouragement and some gentle guidance when we stumble over our ignorance or bumble into uncertainty. Neither our churches, nor our syna-gogues, nor our mosques provide such an educational meeting ground; and for the most part our colleges and universities do not either. When it comes to serious and sustained engagement with our religious diversity, we are pretty much on our own. We do the work informally and without benefit of mentors who can guide us into the areas where we learn how to disagree and how to conduct a passionate and informed argument that main-tains civility and respect."

The students who won the essay contest had one thing in common. They had formed friendships with people who are anchored in other traditions. They have ventured into unfamiliar terrain and forged bonds of trust that ran deep enough to invite vulnerability. We often think and talk in terms of lofty abstractions, and God knows political as well as theological discourse is overflowing with heavily loaded concepts like "freedom, democracy, peace, justice, love, empire, hate, and evil." We have not parsed this language in the public square, and more often than not we are speaking past each other when we take refuge in these largely ungrounded categories. What these students showed us is that we only figure out what we really mean, what we really think and be-lieve, and what we can realistically hope for when we get to know how these categories live in us and in our communities. And we discover this most powerfully through friendships with the other.

In the Plato's dialogue The Meno, one of the dialogue partners described a conversation with Socrates as analogous to shaking hands with a stingray. Speaking personally, I have found that many of the most bracing interfaith exchanges deliver a similar jolt. One of my most trusted friends asks: "You know, as a rabbi I just don't understand what you mean by the Trinity. It sounds like gibberish." Now understand, we are sitting at the table having a perfectly enjoyable lunch, and he waits until I have my mouth full. Then he asks me to expound on the Christian notion of the Incarnation. "How can you claim that God was fully and uniquely manifest in the person of Jesus? At best, this strikes me as unintelligible, because you cannot universalize this truth claim . . . or at worst, it is idolatrous because it ascribes attributes of the infinite to a finite being." It took me a while to discover that this kind of interrogation is good for the system. In turn, I have learned to make him chew his crème brulée. I ask my friend, "How can you claim that the land of Israel embodies the sacred in ways that distinguish it from every other land? This assertion strikes me as either unintelligible because the affirmation cannot be universalized. Or it is idolatrous because it attributes infinite value to a finite piece of real estate." And so we talk and we argue, we moan and we groan, and we refuse to give up on each other even when we disagree sharply or somehow can't even reach the clarity needed to have a coherent disagreement. Simply put we need each other to see beyond ourselves.

Interfaith dialogue is all too often a rather banal and anemic activity. The work of inter-religious engagement needs to be ratcheted up to another level and given the intensity of a late night bull session. What we learned from this national essay contest is that this searching and hard-hitting encounter is essential for two reasons. One, we cannot disarm religious hostilities in this country and around the world unless we learn how to engage each other in rigorous and sustained educational en-counters. Two, people discover the power and wisdom of their own traditions not by retreating into isolated enclaves but by stepping into the thick of heated con-versation, by forming relationships with neighbors, and by debating the pressing issues of the day in the light of our distinctive traditions. The health and vitality of our different religious communities depend upon this apti-tude, and so does the health and vitality of the larger society to which we belong.

What we learned from reading almost 4,000 essays is that our churches, synagogues, and mosques are failing to prepare their congregants to step outside of their sanctuaries. They are failing to equip their members for serious interfaith encounters. And our colleges and uni-versities surprisingly are not doing much better. In the United States we have an opportunity that might enable us to emerge as world leaders: We can demonstrate that religious pluralism enriches and ennobles us as indi-viduals, as communities of faith, and as a democratic nation. If we are to realize the promise, we will need to counter the current slippage and the disturbing polariza-tion of our citizenry. We will need to reclaim the center, and we will need to risk the transformational power of surprising friendships. This educational initiative is no longer an optional course, an elective that we can avoid in school, in the congregation, or on the streets. I entreat you, no matter where you are situated on the spectrum, to take the risk. It is the risk that Lillian Morrow and Ray McCombs took some years ago, and it now belongs to us.

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