Billy, my Krishna Devotee Doppelgänger

Earlier this semester, I took a class trip to the Shri Radha Krishna Temple down the street from the seminary. Although it was my first visit to a Krishna consciousness worship space, it was my second to a Hindu temple. During much of the worship, I kept thinking about how different it was from my first trip, which was organized by the non-denominational “born-again” church where I had been attending Bible studies. Before we left, the leader gathered the group and told us two things. First, he warned us not to eat anything the Hindus offered us because it had all been offered to the “demon idols” they worshipped. Second, he read Romans 1:20-25 (on worshipping the created rather than the Creator) and asked that we pray for these Hindus to stop rebelling against God and repent. 

As facilitators, my class's professor and the leader of my first visit couldn’t have been further apart. When we arrived, some of the worship had already begun, and while I spent several minutes in a state of discomfort, I noticed my professor putting his hands near the flames that were being brought around the space and wiping his face with his hands. Later, I saw a few of my classmates bowing to the ground when the Krishna devotees did. As accepting of other religions as I am, and as much as I knew that many Hindus claim to worship the Supreme Being rather than the statues or individual deities themselves, I said to myself:  “This is still idolatry, isn’t it? How are my professors and some of the other students doing this?” With time, I became more comfortable and joined in with the singing and clapping. I came to really enjoy the simplicity of the songs, as well as the fact that the walls of the worship space served as a sort of replacement for our Lutheran hymnals. 

For me, the real value of the visit began after the worship and Q&A. While outside waiting on line for food (which ended up being some of the best Indian food I’ve ever had), I started talking to a young devotee named Billy. What began as interested small talk became a long, intense conversation. Early on, he told me that he lived and studied Hinduism on the temple property, which immediately brought out parallels between us in our minds. At one point, he joked that he was a “Krishna devotee seminarian.” When the conversation drifted to our faith stories, we both found them remarkably similar, even in some of the details. The only significant different between us was where our fervent quests for spiritual truth had landed us. After about two hours, we exchanged phone numbers, recommended some books to each other, and promised to get together when he returns from a stay in Canada in February. The experience is one of my favorite that I’ve had at seminary.

As I somewhat reluctantly walked away from the Krishna temple, I couldn’t help but think, “If things in my life had been a little different, if I had been interested in Hinduism in college rather than Islam, that could have been me.” (Although, to be honest, I would have had a real struggle with the no meat/no alcohol/no coffee aspect of the devotees’ faith.) If I had converted to Krishna consciousness instead of Christianity, would that have made me an idolator? Is my friend, Billy, an idolator? Do the love for the Supreme Being and passion for helping other people that he expressed during our conversation bear any resemblance to the idolatry railed against so often in the Bible? Has Billy’s sincere search for truth left him under the wrath of God, and if so, will that always be the case? 

We Christians might answer these questions differently from each other. For example, many of the participants of my previous trip to a Hindu temple would say “yes” to each of them, pointing to many books in the Old Testament and to Romans to show that people like Billy are in willful opposition to God’s will. Personally, I would lean toward answering them in the negative, not because I don’t believe that God was specially revealed in Jesus Christ, but because I do believe that. In Jesus, I see a god of unimaginable mercy. I see the One who knows the hearts and intentions of all people. I see a deity who, I believe, would not allow physical death to be the cut-off point to having a relationship with such a gracious God. 

In his love, Jesus Christ took hold of me two and a half years ago. I wish everyone would know that love. But my years of searching for spiritual truth that led me to accept Christ were propelled by a powerful sense that there is an underlying meaning to our lives, and that the world consists of more than we can see and hear. I can’t help but see in Billy that same sincere yearning for relationship with the Divine Reality. I can’t help but recognize the worshippers at the Krishna temple as my brothers and sisters in desiring a connection with the force that underlies all things. May God lead them wherever God wills.

Is Allah the God of Christians and Jews, and Does it Really Matter?

In the summer of 2010, I revisited my favorite mosque in the world:  the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem. I spent about half an hour walking around and around the exterior and interior of the mosque, in awe of its beautiful tile work, glittering dome, and unusual shape. (It is, I think, the only octagonal mosque in the world.) While inside, I tried to get as much of a peek as I could of the large rock at its center for which it is named. The “Foundation Stone,” as it is called, may be the most important rock in the history of the Abrahamic faiths. According to Jewish tradition, it is the first rock ever created by God, the site of Abraham’s near-sacrifice of Isaac (or Ishmael in the Islamic tradition), and the rock upon which Jacob had his famous dream about the ladder. It is believed to have been the site of the Holy of Holies, upon which the Ark of the Covenant was placed. And finally, Muslims believe the rock was one of the main destinations on their Prophet’s “Night Journey.” 

Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to stay inside for long. It was Ramadan, and since the number of Muslims praying on the Temple Mount was typically so large that month, the religious authorities had assigned the Dome of the Rock for prayer for women, and the nearby al-Aqsa mosque for men. I wasn’t disturbing any ritual prayers, but my presence there amongst women and children raised a red flag. A Palestinian Muslim escorted me outside and began grilling me a bit, asking how I had gotten onto the Temple Mount in the first place. (Only Muslims are permitted access to the Temple Mount during Ramadan.) His response when I explained that I was Muslim was one that I had come across a lot in the previous months:  surprise and joy. He asked me which Prophet I followed. “Muhammad,” I responded, to which he added, “And all the others before him, right? Adam, Moses, John the Baptist, Jesus, and all the others?” That day was a day of gratitude for me, gratitude that Allah had led me to officially become a Muslim in April of that year, and gratitude for leading me to a faith that was built on the foundation of the prophets and God of Judaism and Christianity. 

Those months in 2010 were what I refer to as my “honeymoon period” with Islam, when I saw Allah’s last revelation to humankind (the Qur’an) as a necessary addition and correction to the Christian beliefs that I had been brought up with. That was before all of my problems with the theology and morality of the Qur’an, my struggles to live as a practicing Muslim, and my inability to truly love the messenger and god of Islam as depicted in the Qur’an and the Hadith. These doubts and struggles led me to a reconsideration of both Islam and Christianity, hours of talking to friends and praying for guidance, and research into Jesus and his context that climaxed in my acceptance of Christ in April of 2012. 

Since then, the question of whether I had been worshiping the same god while as a Muslim as I do now has occasionally crossed my mind. If worship is dependent on or made effectual by how we clothe God, or in which clothing of God we accept as true, then I would have to reply, “I don’t know.” As a Christian, I reject the claim that Allah revealed the Qur’an to Muhammad via the angel Gabriel. I can’t ignore the differences between the god clothed by Muhammad in the Qur’an, and the god I see revealed in the life, teachings, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Neither, however, will I dismiss the similarities in these faith traditions’ teachings, bemoan the years I spent as a Muslim, or characterize Muslims as devotees of a god of hatred and violence. I find the question of what/whom Muslims and Christians worship as immaterial or even impossible for us to answer, partly because it seems to force us to either erase or maximize differences between the theologies, the “God-talks,” of these religions in a way that does disservice to the lived-out faiths of both groups. 

For scholar Miroslav Volf, though, the question of common worship is an essential one for the future of relations between Muslims and Christians, in the US and around the world: “Whether Muslims and Christians worship the same God is also the driving question for the relation between these two religions globally. Does the one God of Islam stand in contrast to the three-personal God of Christianity? Does the Muslim God issue fierce, unbending laws and demand submission, whereas the Christian God stands for love, equal dignity and the right of every individual to be different? Answer these questions the one way, and you have a justification for cultural and military wars. Answer them the other way, and you have a foundation for a shared future marked by peace rather than violence.” 

While I respect Volf and his work, I would oppose his presentation of the life-or-death significance of the question, about which he has written an entire book. Perhaps, instead of “Do Christians and Muslims worship the same god?”, more meaningful questions might be, “Are we Christians sole possessors of truth and knowledge?” and “How can Christians and Muslims engage each other with humility, including our beliefs and religious practices, in ways that encourage us to treat each other with love and dignity?” 

As Christians, we believe that God was made known in Jesus, and that we are saved and live through him. This does not mean, however, that we have a perfect knowledge of God or of how to worship God. Nor does it mean that we can’t learn or mature spiritually by looking at aspects of other faith traditions. This fact should make us more humble and compassionate towards people who have striven to know and enter into relationship with God and have reached conclusions other than our own on how to do that. I became Muslim because I was searching for the truth about God and thought I had found what God wanted me to believe and how to live my life. Giving Muslims the benefit of the doubt that they love God and want to be good people should be our default position. More important than the question about worship, then, is that we are able to see ourselves in each other, as people in general just trying to get by, lead happy and meaningful lives, and be in relationship with our Creator. 

Note:  The long quote is from Miroslav Volf, “Do Christians and Muslims Worship the Same God?”. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/miroslav-volf/god-versus-allah_b_829955.html

Names in the Multitude: Reflections for All Saints Day

“It’s so incredibly quiet in here.” That was the main thought running through my head as I helped my dad carry some furniture out of my grandma’s house shortly after she passed away in 2013. That house, which had been the site of countless family gatherings and holidays over several decades, seemed empty. I missed my grandma’s whistling, loud, constant whistling that had echoed through the rooms. Usually, she was whistling hymns and spiritual songs, the same kind of music that she would play on her organ when I was a kid.

Though my grandma's passion for music was perhaps the most outward expression of my grandparents' faith, I had experienced it in other ways as well. It was rare for them to miss a service at the local church they had attended every Sunday for most of their lives; it was at their urging that my siblings and I were often forced out of bed by my parents to join them. Copies of the Bible could be found in almost every room of their house, of all kinds of sizes and translations. 

But when I was a kid, I didn't care about stuff like that. Sure, I loved my grandparents a lot, but the music and the Bibles, the sayings of grace before meals and the occasional references to God or Jesus Christ, were just the background to family visits. To be honest, I was more interested in making sure I ate as much of my grandma's homemade apple pie as I could, than talking to them about their beliefs. I didn't think of my grandparents as individuals who had had their own spiritual journeys and experiences, with unique wisdom and insights about God that I could learn from. They were simply my grandparents. 

By the time I put my faith back in Christ in 2012, my grandpa had passed, and my grandma was pretty ill. I couldn't remember having a single conversation with either of them about God, and I regretted that. I felt like I had taken their stable faith for granted as a child and young adult. I was convinced that I had lost out on some wonderful opportunities for learning from them as Christians. 

After my grandma's passing in March of 2013, I was blessed to acquire many of the Bibles, hymnals, and religious objects that had helped make their home the place of love and warmth that it was. (Including, by the way, the cross that I wear every day.) Leafing through the Bibles, I noticed a few bookmarks, underlined passages, and notes. There weren't too many of these; I got the impression that they had really meant to highlight their favorite verses and passages. 

Almost immediately, I realized what I had in front of me. This was my chance to talk to them, to find out what really mattered to them, what drove them to live out their faith day by day. For the next few hours, reading the verses they had underlined and commented on, I finally got to have that conversation with my grandparents that I had wanted. I like to think I learned a lot about them that day, about their relationship with God, about the comfort and peace they received from Him, about why they chose to live and love as joyfully and passionately as they did. And just like that, any feelings of guilt or regret about my grandparents were gone. 

I believe that this re-encounter with my grandparents was a gift from God. Among other things, the experience helped me to see this week’s passage from the book of Revelation differently. (Revelation 7:9-17) This passage had always seemed so abstract to me. I could never really relate to it on a spiritual or emotional level. But my thoughts about what John describes as a “great multitude that no one could count,” who cry in a loud voice declaring the salvation of God, have changed a lot in the last year or so. 

The reason? That great multitude, those believers who will never hunger or thirst again, is no longer faceless or nameless for me, because I know two of them. Their names are Ruth and Eugene Smith, and they are my grandparents. And standing beside them are some of your loved ones, the family members and friends who have left us in order to sing their never-ending hymn of glory to our God. 

And as much as we may miss them, as much as our hearts may feel close to breaking because of their absence, we can take comfort in two facts:  that God Himself has wiped away all the tears from their eyes, and that the bond of love that connects God’s Holy Church cannot be broken by something as weak as death. In spite of what we humans see as the huge chasm between Heaven and Earth, we are one Church along with the loved ones who have passed. We are all one body, created through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. We continue to learn from these people, and we attempt to echo their song of praise to God in how we live our lives.

A few months ago, I moved to Philadelphia to start seminary. After driving me here and helping me move in to my apartment, the last words my dad said to me before he left were, “I know your grandparents would be proud of you right now. Me and your mom are, too.” I walked away a bit choked up, feeling grateful and hopeful. Grateful, for the love that the departed saints so often displayed while they were with us, for all the lessons they have taught us and will teach us about discipleship, and for the sure knowledge that they are now under the personal care of our Lord and Savior. And hopeful, that we will be able to live up to the example that they set for us, and that one day we will be able to continue our conversations with them in a place where death will never again be able to separate us. Amen.