e-Newsletter July-August 2007

By Richard Rashad Fields, Coordinator for Advancing Justice

Justice . . . social change . . . democracy . . . . freedom. These are concepts we are all familiar with; they are ones we are comfortable tossing around in conversations about the state of the world today and the way "other" people's behavior is making it more difficult for us to enjoy our life and all that we have worked hard for. We are more than happy to point out to others how "their" behavior, "their" beliefs or "their" lifestyle is the source of the pain, discomfort and problems we all have to deal with. We are eager to make clear to them that if they would just get their act together, the world would be a better place.

There may be some truth to these assertions, some validity to an attempt to define the quest for justice in that way. However, I have started to wonder whether we might make more progress and gain greater insight by looking at concepts like justice and self examination as being directly connected. I have started to think about what we might learn by directing the inquiries and accusations that often accompany a discussion of these concepts toward ourselves rather than another individual, another community, some "other" that we assume is so different from who we are. I guess, ultimately, I have grown curious about what might happen if we start to use these concepts to evaluate our own conduct either before we pass judgment on others or instead of judging others at all. Apparently, I am not alone.

During a recent lecture he gave at Georgetown University via telecast, scholar Tariq Ramadan indirectly touched on many of these points. In his discussions on the future of democracy in the Islamic world, he is challenging people from both inside and outside the Islamic community to do more than simply hurl accusations. Ramadan is suggests we open our minds and explore exactly what we mean by terms like freedom, justice, and democracy. He is daring us to reconsider - or consider for the first time - the various forms a democracy or just government may take. Beyond all of this, however, Ramadan is challenging us to view ourselves as responsible, as a key part of the solution, rather than just a spectator relegated to the role of offering commentary.

Yes, his words speak of democracy and the proper interpretation of Islamic law, but his message touches on something much deeper. Whispering, it softly asks each of us whether we are prepared to bring about change by changing ourselves; whether we are willing to eliminate the intolerance that lies within us to promote unity; whether we are able to listen as well as we speak and assume the role of student as frequently as we stand as teacher.

It is in this space, the quiet moments, where we empower ourselves to reflect upon our own actions, our strengths and our shortcomings, that we uncover the truth about justice - that the fight for justice begins at "home." By home, I refer not only to the physical dwellings and communities in which we rest our external selves, but also the spiritual "home," the heart, the soul where our deeper internal selves reside. This is the front line, for if we can eradicate greed, arrogance, hate and intolerance here, we are in fact taking the first and most important step toward preparing ourselves to be agents of positive change.

As it states in the Qur'an: "O you who believe, stand up firmly for justice, as witnesses to God, even if it be against yourselves, or your parents, or your kin, and whether it be against rich or poor; for God can best protect both. Do not follow any passion, lest you not be just. And if you distort or decline to do justice, surely God is well-acquainted with all that you do. (4:135)."

It is my reflection on this passage and Tariq Ramadan's lecture that led me to use the title "JUST-US" for my column. I did so after realizing that the real struggle is not in exporting what we consider to be justice elsewhere, but by working every moment of every day to create . . . well, a more just us.

If we can change and eliminate our bad habits and inclinations maybe we can help other individuals and communities do the same. Of course, getting there requires mustering the courage to recognize that we still have some serious work to do at "home."

By Mark Hoelter, Coordinator for Grassroots Interfaith Dialogue

"Hey, good-bye! Take a good risk now!" That's not what we usually hear, or say, when we part from a friend or a loved one. We usually hear, "So long! Take care now!"

"Take care, now." It's as if the world out there is too dangerous a place, or we are all just naturally irresponsible children running around heedless of the dangers. And often times religion-all the religions-have a general reputation above all for "taking care"-for guarding, safeguarding, for protecting, for conveying supernatural protection. Something bad could happen, so we say, "Take care now." But I want to say, "Something good could happen. So take a good risk now!"

Awhile ago, Richard Fields and I drove over to Georgetown University for a live telecast conference with Tariq Ramadan at the invitation of Melody Fox Ahmed. The United States won't allow Dr. Ramadan enter the country to take up the teaching post he's been awarded by Notre Dame University because-well, exactly why is unclear-but it seems he's been critical of the United States and our policies in the Middle East generally, and our actions in Iraq specifically. It's as though he's a clear and present danger, so we'll just "take care now."

By contrast, Tariq Ramadan was taking risks-is taking risks, actually, present tense. He is speaking the truth as he sees it as a simple human being and a wise and educated Muslim. It's not a "take care now" kind of Islam he speaks. He spoke openly, if also lovingly, of tangles and tears in the fabric of contemporary Islam, and he challenges Muslim brothers and sisters to help Islam grow yet again. He challenges it to become a proud generator of post-postmodern civilization as once it was the leading generator of new civilization in Spain; to become a sturdy promoter of democracy. He said enough to get criticized from several quarters in the Muslim world.

And to the Western world he risked suggesting that if Westerners had grown up in Arabic Muslim lands we might be wary of "democracy." Why? Because our experience of "democracy" would be of the Western world coming into our world, taking it over like colonialists, subjugating it in several ways, subdividing it in other ways, milking it of its riches, all done most emphatically in the name of "democracy." That's what "democracy" would mean to us, no matter what American Heritage or Webster's Third International dictionaries might say. So he challenges the mostly Christian West to be more patient, to pay deeper attention to Islam's people, to really hear them, to study what the western powers have done to them (interfaith scholar, Wilfred Cantwell Smith, said much the same in 1957).

For me, the main point was not so much any particular thing Tariq Ramadan said. It was that he was taking risks, some of them large, with both the Muslim communities and the Western world. M. Scott Peck says, "There can be no vulnerability without risk; there can be no community without vulnerability; there can be no peace, and ultimately no life, without community." That's the path-from risk to vulnerability, from vulnerability (and its concomitant humility) to community, from community to peace, to rewarding life.

Some people think that deep down all the religions are saying the same thing. That's an arguable position held by some distinguished inclusivists and pluralists. It's not the only position and it's not the one I myself hold-at least not in that form. I am a radical, deep pluralist, wary of the squishy "kumbayah" factor in that position-a subject for another column. But even for a radical pluralist there can be no doubt that there are significant commonalities among the religions of the world. The first part of interfaith dialogue is to search those commonalities out. I suggest one such commonality-one not usually thought of or proclaimed-is the virtue and the sacred path of taking risks.

Let us now praise holy risking. I think of Abraham following a voice into an unknown far country. I think of Moses leaving Egypt for Midian then returning to Egypt, on to the Red Sea and the inhospitable wilderness. I think of Nathan cozying up to Jewish King David with a story of someone who had stolen another man's sheep, then telling David, "It was you. stealing another man's wife." I think of Ruth leaving her lifelong Jordanian homeland and her family's Moabite tribe for an unknown land and people-Israel. For that matter, I think of all the risk-taking "bad girls of the Bible," as one seminary professor has called them. I think of the Hindus' confused warrior, Arjuna, going into battle with the ones he least wants to kill (or be killed by)-esteemed friends, teachers, relatives. I think of Siddartha Gautama leaving the lush, seductive comforts of his father's suburban palace before he risked death to become the Buddha.

I think of John the baptizer dunking people in the Jordan River and shouting out like a man who'd lost his head about the wickedness of Herod. I think of "Rabbi" Jesus from Nazareth rocking the Temple and the Roman ruling powers of the time with an extravagance of ruach-"spirit." I think of Muhammad listening with fear to the message of the Voice in the cave . . . and then heeding it, following it, proclaiming it, living it. I think of the "great soul," the mahatma, Gandhi, taking the risk of trying to discover and apply truths for himself from the Gospels, the Torah and the Qur'an, as well as from his Hindu Bhaghavad Gita. Then he took the risk of living out those same truths, usually better than the people of faith whose scriptures those were. Take a good risk, now.

"If we listened to our intellect, we'd never have a love affair. We'd never have a friendship. We'd never go into business, because we'd be too cynical. Well, that's nonsense. You've got to jump off cliffs all the time and build your wings on the way down." (That's Annie Dillard).

"Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure or nothing." That's Helen Keller.

And here is Keshavan Nair, a Gandhi student: "With courage you will dare to take risks, have the strength to be compassionate, and the wisdom to be humble. Courage is the foundation of integrity." Ah, integrity . . . worth a risk.

"Courage" proved to be the search term to use about risk-taking. We didn't find many really good blogs on "courage" (if you find some, do send them). But there are some good titles you might want to check out, listed in the left column.

The Way of Truth by H.E. Sheikh Ahmad Kuftaro, Ph.D.

Book Review by Richard Rashad Fields

This exceptional book is a collection of lectures outlining H.E. Sheikh Ahmad Kuftaro's life's work and commitment to traveling the globe discussing one topic: the need for religious understanding and human unity. In hindsight, it seems fitting that the book's format is unique, for Sheikh Kuftaro was a unique man.

More than an autobiography, The Way of Truth still provides some background about Sheikh Kuftaro, who was born in Damascus in 1915. He spent his formative years studying with some of Damascus' most well respected religious scholars, ultimately blossoming into one of the region's great scholars by the time he was in his mid-20s. In 1946, at the age of 31, he became one of the founding members of the League of Muslim Scholars. In 1954, with his participation in a Muslim-Christian conference in Lebanon, he began the work he would dedicate the rest of his life to: interfaith dialogue. By 1958, he was elected Grand Mufti of Syria, the highest religious authority in the country, a position he held until his death in 2004.

But The Way of Truth really begins with Sheikh Kuftaro's lectures in the 1970s, 80s and 90s calling for human healing and religious understanding. They clearly reveal his sense of urgency about recognizing that we owe each other kindness and mercy and we have more in common than we have differences. In a 1985 lecture in Rome he said:

Divine religion is essentially a guidance for all who are lost, a source of goodness for all, and a path of righteousness for those who struggle to live with dignity and happiness. In short, it is the perfect ideal to pursue. But personal interpretations, superficial reflections on texts or worn out literal translations have darkened true religion which used to illuminate man's path with love and peace.

While the book gives insight into the work of a religious leader who affected the lives of people around the globe, more importantly it reminds us we are responsible for the state of religion and how it is perceived in the world. Sheikh Kuftaro directly challenges us all to embrace that obligation and to make it part of our religious and spiritual identity. As he states in the same lecture from 1985:

Our job must consist [of ] elevating man's humanity and our role must be like physicians who dispense medicine with tenderness and sympathy. . . . If man is once again to realize the benefits that religion has to offer, then it requires a rekindling of a new lamp fueled by cooperation and religious tolerance. It is a light that must be carried by benevolent souls with powerful minds and extremely deep faith in God; with a responsible awareness of reality and profound sense of duty. In short, religion needs skillful and wise navigators.

Amen.