I am from the 30-year old keyboard that sits in the corner of my living room, that my dad bought for me when my parents divorced so that I could still play the piano no matter which parent’s house I was at.  It made me feel a little less torn apart.  I used it to figure out how to play church hymns and video game music from memory. And still do.

I am from the picture of Jesus by my bedside, old and wrinkled and torn in places, that my grandma gave me when she was alive, when I was about 5 years old and having nightmares, as a reminder that Jesus is always with me.  I’ve taken this picture everywhere with me—from my bedroom in Pittsburgh to my college dorm in DC to my three years living in Japan to my current apartment in Arlington.  He has gone with me everywhere.

I am from the pile of smiling stuffed animals in my bedroom that I’ve been collecting since I was three.  In particular, I love the smiling stuffed food—smiling pineapples, smiling French fries, smiling sushi.  It makes so me so happy to imagine that there’s a smile and a bit of love in everything around us, human or not. J

I am from the one-bedroom apartment where I live in the DC area—the first place I’ve ever lived without chronic insects, which finally has both a working heater and a working AC (at the same time!!) I am from the objects all over the walls from all my different overseas travels and the Nintendo/Star Wars shrine in the corner.

I am from the sky, that I’d lie in the grass staring up at when I was younger, watching the clouds, wanting to fly.  Still do.

I am from the trees in the courtyard I can see from my balcony, a bit of nature even in the city.

I’m from the Italian Christmas Eve feast of my father and the Native American mandala made by my mother.  I’m from my mom and dad—people sooooo different that I’m surprised they stayed married as long as they did, but somehow I have so many traits of both of them.  I’m from praying before a meal on holidays in Japanese, Arabic, Spanish, or English—whichever my dad asks me that day—and playing the old eight-bit video game Streets of Rage 2 with my dad and from watching sappy Hallmark Christmas movies with my mom whenever I visit home in Pittsburgh.

I’m from my mom saying, when I was so young we spent Mass in the cry room at the back of church, coloring and not understanding much of what was going on, “It’s almost time to go up and see Jesus”, when it was time to walk down the aisle for Communion; and from my dad telling me, “They’ll know we are Christians by our love” when I called a classmate a name in fifth-grade; and from the lullaby “Tender Shepherd” that my mom would sing me as I went to sleep.

I’m from visiting our grandparents in Florida every summer.  I’m from Pittsburgh, the country’s friendliest city according to some studyJ, and from the Pequot tribe in the northeast as well as a bunch of other places—a proud Native American and a proud multi-immigrant-ancestry American, and from homemade Italian meatballs and gnocchi passed down from grandparents and great-grandparents.

From my mom who had a rock band that rehearsed in our basement three times a week when I was growing up and who would greet me coming off the school bus dressed as a mermaid or a princess as she would go off to do children’s birthday parties.  From the picture of my college graduation on my wall by my bedside—one of the few pictures I have of both my parents together, with my brother and me, and from the crucifix my mother gave me and engraved for me after I lost the beloved one I’d worn for 16 years.

I’m from so much love that I’ve been blessed to have been given—through good times and bad, from family and friends, and most of all from our dear Lord who has never failed to be right beside me.

Well, I’ve already gone over the word limitJ, so will keep the rest short, but the question remains—what does it mean to be a brave and resilient Reconciling Leader?  To me, it means above all, to do everything with love—love for God and love for other people.  To approach those who have hurt us with love. To listen to those we disagree with with love, and with openness to learning and receiving wisdom even in the midst of disagreement. To love others enough to recognize the dignity of their nuances and complexity, to understand that ways they may frustrate me needn’t define them and are not the only part of their story, and that even those who perpetrate great evil and injustice are still beloved children created by a good God who longs to welcome them back like the Prodigal Son. To be a loving bridge between people or groups who are in conflict, to try to help them reach a reconciliation of peace and justice for all, not only for those someone has deemed more worthy. To approach each encounter and process with loving patience, without beating myself up if I can’t accomplish everything I want to in the way and the time I want to. To be loving and compassionate with myself, understanding that I don’t need to be perfect to be enough—more than enough—for God, and that He created me for a purpose that is uniquely mine, and that, as my granddad used to say, ‘The Lord don’t make mistakes.’

Like many, I sit in the morning’s quiet to be reminded of my Belovedness in God.  Fortified with that love and strength, I listen for the ways God invites me to see what is happening RIGHT HERE, and then, to act with compassion.  I listen to hear how God will spark my compassion that I might be moved by what I see and respond with love.

This morning I heard the story of the Good Samaritan at church.  The story is one that has become so familiar that I can fade off in my consciousness.  Almost. Today I was halted by the way it ends: Jesus says, “Go and do Likewise.”  He didn’t say, “After you get your education…” or “After you retire from this job…” or “When you get the chance…”  He said, “Go and do Likewise.”

What if I did?  What if I recognized that I already have everything I need to  “Go and do Likewise”?  I had been searching for the ‘how’ and the ‘where’ and for the ‘new thing’.  Then at Corrymeela, I came to know that my reconciling work has been happening throughout my lifetime.  I credit it to my invitation to sit each morning in the Presence.  Through those morning rendezvous God gave me the gift of healing and reconciliation.  God met me in the silence and reminded me of God’s love and my Belovedness.   I trust it won’t stop.  Because I sit in that space I see it in my life and in my work.  It is manifested within me when I meet people, pray with them, or connect with them–primarily because I am connected to myself and God first. 

When I forget my Belovedness my work becomes a checklist, and my heart is living in a space of scarcity and separation rather than abundance and love. When I remain in an inner space of ‘Oozing Belovedness’ I have what I need to “Go and do Likewise.”

I believe my identity as a reconciling peacemaker encircles entirely around belovedness–in me, and in recognizing it in others with whom I connect.  I must be open to another’s sacred journey by receiving it within me and in my prayer. 

Because God loves me first, I give space for mistakes and own them.

I am grateful for and claim my God-given power, and use it for another’s benefit.

I use affirming language–about myself, others, and my situation.

I ‘make it my business’ to listen with heartfelt compassion to pain, fear, and suffering–however it manifests–and allow it first to inform me, and then lead me through uncharted, scary situations.  I SEE suffering, and respond in quiet ways to acknowledge its depth so hope can birth something new.

I dance unexpectedly, because silliness is good.

And, after considering this question, I realize that what gives me courage to be a Reconciling Leader is knowing that I have done it before and others are doing it also.  Through my experiences I have had the support I need to find strength in the middle of trials, to be vulnerable in the sharing of the story, and to be open to how hope arises from trusting that I am never alone on the Reconciling Journey of Hope.

I am a daughter of educators. From the woods with a stick horse then a real horse. Horses have literally carried my fullest joys and heard my fullest fears and angst.

I am a third culture kid, transplanted halfway around the world.

I am a good girl. A very good girl. I followed the scripts.

A world traveler in a foreign country yet still trapped within the confines of 90s purity culture. Youth group MVP. Make all the right choices and you’ll get God’s best for you.

Mom has a Master’s and has always been high achieving. Egalitarian parents in practice but don’t call them feminists, that’s liberal.

I do the right thing. I have integrity. I choose right even when it’s unpopular. I am honorable. Principled. Reliable. Honest. Hard working. Chaste. Modest. A leader. I have too much self control. Everyone’s favorite. Everyone’s so proud. She followed the rules. She did things right. In the right order. She didn’t question the script.

Except that my intuition did. But nobody ever taught me to cultivate intuition. Now I’m grieving the years of following the rules, and imagining what it might have been like to make some “mistakes.” Be independent. listen to the divine intuition that was always in there.

I am a product of a Christian College. Christian Summer Camps. Christian music. But I draw the line at Bible competitions.

I am affected by depression, anxiety and PTSD. I do my work.

I am a reluctant mother. I love my kids. I don’t love being a mother. I knew I would struggle with this. Nobody believed me. I was right. Thanks, Intuition. I won’t lie to my kids about this.

I’m an exvangelical. I don’t know if hell and damnation are what I was taught they are. I’m fine with the mystery. I’m not fine with the patriarchy.

I’m a worship leader. Like,.. not just a song leader. It’s a gifting. But I relentlessly criticize myself- is my heart in the absolute right place to have integrity on stage and own that? Because I overthink it. And don’t want to be another American Idol wannabe masquerading as a worship leader to get attention. That’s not me. Let’s get in the throne room together. My intuition says yes, my Enneagram 1 inner critic says that’s too prideful.

I am a food eater. I am a gardener. I would rather shovel manure than binge on netflix. I wish I could ride my horse into the sunset and away from this world, and all its pain and horrible politics.

I am terrified of being a mediocre person.

I am a healer by trade and training. Maybe gifting. I will wash the maggots from beneath toes, bathe abscesses, wipe tears, and hold space for the most unloved by our society. And I will relentlessly criticize myself for this, for the possibility that it’s self aggrandizing. But I can’t do anything else. I wish I could go be a ceramicist and rescue horses, but I won’t sell out.

I am an improver. This should be better. This should all BE BETTER. But I’m a counter-type. I don’t know the answers, just that it could all be better than it is. I’m not trying to be a judgy, critical bitch but I am always going to ask hard questions. I don’t hold a lot of space for hope that things will be better, but maybe I actually do since I won’t stop asking hard questions.

I was meant to be raised in a faith tradition that taught prophetic prayer. I was meant to be raised in mystery.

I didn’t learn of James Baldwin, and Audre Lorde, and Bell Hooks, and,. and,. and,. until I was too far into adulthood. I was raised to be suspicious and condescending towards churches that emphasized “social justice.” I hold my parents responsible for this bullshit. But I don’t know how to talk to them about it. Where were they during the Civil Rights Movement??? “Earning all their privileges by hard work and merit alone,” I suppose. I sometimes am intense. I can’t talk to them about this either.

I am a reader. I distrust fiction even though I can enjoy it. Shouldn’t I be learning something? Studying something? What could some story from some author’s make-believe teach me? I’m wrong about this of course. I need to read more fiction.

I’m an ambivert. I can recharge alone, and with people. But, jobs that consist of people needing from me all day, and a spouse, and kids that need from me all day has pushed the accelerator down on my introversion. I often just wish I could be left alone these days. This is when I crawl out on the wing towards 9.

I am suspicious of making space for and seeking joy. That in this world we will have trouble, but we are to take heart because Jesus has overcome the world, makes sense to me. I just understand “take heart” to be, “gird your loins, this is one long battle.” I know this is poor theology, it’s protective. Maybe I can be surprised by joy, but I’m hesitant to seek it because no fights are over yet. Many parts of The Body are suffering, so it’s hard for me to relax.

I don’t know if we can experience full healing this side of heaven.

I can be intense. I also know I am a good friend. I’ve been told I have the gift of discernment. I won’t tell you what to do.

I am willing to get before the Pearly Gates and be accused of being too compassionate, too merciful, making the table too big, prying the eye of the needle wider and wider. I’m willing to take that chance, even if I can’t scripture-splain it all.

I’m a ruminator. I will ruminate on whether this list is good enough. Complete. Honest yet humble. True. Was it too long? Was it too much? Should I have not cussed? Should I have been more poetic? Did I go too dark? Did I make myself seem like Eeyore? I’m not Eeyore all the time,… should I go edit this?

I am from a family with too many children.
I am from hopscotch and foursquare and Jax on the porch. 
I am from a bedtime routine of “Kiss, Eskimo Kiss, Head rub, and a SQUEEZE!!” 

I am from Mystery before I had words to explain. 
I am from Holy Cards, 1st Reconciliation, uniform skirts, nuns and May Crowning. I am from Church with no place for women, and women who still find a way.  I am from Tradition.

I am from corruption by a sexually-curious, more powerful brother.
I am from ‘protectors’ who replied, “You’re only dreaming…”
I am from Resilience. 

I am from unhealthy athletic ‘perfection’.

I am from suspicion until I met Him…and he saw me.
I am from a box of Cracker Jax and a hidden ring. 
I am from (reluctant) Navy Wife,  and the (even more reluctant) Gold Star Widow.

I am from stolen Courage, Advocacy, Witness and Love seeking my own.

I am from Autopilot-Midnight-Nursing, and Barbies ALL day long.

I am from Courthouse Arraignment’s Compassion for a weeping mother and her only son; guilty as charged.

I am from strength, courage and joy for:
3 trusting babies…
curious toddlers…
insecure pre-teens…
spirited adolescents…
successful adults: 
alone to the task but rising to it every day on my knees.

I am from a maturing faith from “God who Protects” to “God who Sustains”.

I am from the Narrow Way

To forgive…to restore…to redeem…albeit imperfectly. 

I am from holding hands with history formed in imperfect love remaining tenaciously hopeful.

I am from Reconciliation, abiding until God’s kin-dom come.

Blessed Be.

The trees full of buzzing cicadas on hot, summer nights

I am from dial-up internet

From Neil Diamond and Kenny G drifting from the CD player

I am from the home that hosted Bible studies

The cul-de-sac where we road bikes and played games with neighbors

And ran barefoot across the burning asphalt

I’m from honor roll and failed piano lessons

And blisters on my toes from hours of ballet rehearsals

I’m from Arizona and other lands long forgotten

I’m from Dominoes with Grammy and Cribbage with Grandpa

From family reunions at the cabin, seeing new faces each year

While never missing the pink stuff

I’m from roast beef and mashed potatoes

From family dinners every night and church every Sunday

And ski trips every spring

I’m from memories documented in photo albums and home videos

And love that’s held close to my heart

Featured Image by Rirri on Unsplash

For as long as I can remember, my dad has said that the Christian church has always been at its best when it has not been in power, in fact, when it has been under the heat of persecution. It is no secret that even the most well-meaning Western Christian efforts to help and provide hospitality for “the least of these” have been tainted if not lead by patterns of colonialism and white-supremacy. And if you are the host of the table, your power permeates into who you invite, what the house rules are and the guests look to you to meet your customs lest the welcome sour. Even the act of dispensing power itself has a way of retaining the upper hand. We may claim to love Jesus, but maybe we also enjoy being near the power associated with the Divine.

Meanwhile, I came across a quote stated by a fictional character in a novel having very little to do with these discussions, but it has stayed with me: “When you have everything, someone else getting a little something feels like they are stealing from you.” (from Daisy Jones and the Six by Taylor Jenkins Reid)

We’ve all seen this lived out. Only about a week ago, our community made national news when the local police force arrested 31 White males that were poised to inflict violence and chaos at the local Pride parade. As a result, the police force has been threatened from around the globe. These 31 men are among those feeling their era of White dominance threatened. Does it feel to them like the world is stealing from them? Power is a drug that is hard to clean from our systems. Once we have it, it seems we depend upon it to live. What would it mean for those of us accustomed to power and privilege to examine Jesus posture to his own divine power? As Paul writes to (the persecuted) church in Philippi, unity with Jesus should unite us towards an inside-out power dynamic that strips us of a privileged identity allowing us to be other-oriented. (see Philippians 2:1-8)

I am curious what downward mobility looks like for those of us in areas of greater power, especially when one can still maintain control of the direction of the fall and make a soft landing. What, of the nature of my 8-year-old exists in us, that until a revelation of suffering can open us up to the suffering of others we cling to power as if our life depended upon it. Can we actually follow Jesus closely enough to come to a table with power dynamics turned inside out? And if my dad is right, how does the Western church collectively purge itself of centuries of power alliances in order that we may be more like the incarnate Jesus we say we follow?

At the intersection of my Western, White, and Evangelical identities, I inherited a worldview in which I saw myself as the one with something to offer. Underneath the pretense of generosity was a belief that I had more resources, more knowledge, more faith, and more wisdom than others. Why, I was even in possession of the way, the truth, and the life. It was my duty to share it all with those less fortunate – or perhaps less blessed – than myself.

But this mindset doesn’t actually honor the recipient. It reserves the honor and the comfort for the host. It allows me to see myself as the altruistic hero and the benevolent savior while perceiving the other as destitute and downtrodden. It reinforces the hierarchy of power and upholds the supremacy of my perspectives and my culture. It is this mindset that has led Christians to become the chaplains of world domination, in the words of Rabbi David Jaffe.

Though it may seem drastic to draw the line from being the perpetual host to world domination, the threads of pride and power hold it all together. But Jesus showed us a different way. Reverend Rene August describes the way of Jesus as one of self-sacrifice rather than self-preservation. Jesus was not one to hold onto power, even though it that was rightfully his. Instead, he modeled humility for us in taking on flesh, in becoming the servant rather than the host, and in considering the interests of others above his own.

Canon Sarah Snyder reminded us that Jesus was always the guest. He entered into our world, sat at the tables of both Pharisees and tax collectors, received financial support from women, and relied on the kindness of strangers as he traveled around. In doing so, Jesus honored those who hosted him. He upheld their dignity as he drew out their hospitality. When others had disregarded the people on the margins of society, Jesus affirmed that they were worthy and that they had something to offer.

Through the years, I’ve spent a lot of time interrogating my own motivations and deconstructing my long-held beliefs, but I recognize that it’s hard to fully release my savior complex. It’s hard to let go of the notion that others need me while I remain self-sufficient. It’s hard to hold back when I think my education and my experience produce the wisdom that is needed. It’s hard to draw out the leadership and insight of others when it would require less time for me to just take charge. Even as I seek to love my neighbor by offering what I have, I acknowledge the ways that I maintain the status quo by holding onto power.

Now I’m left contemplating these questions…What does it look like for me to draw out the hospitality of others? How can I humble myself to recognize that others have something to offer me, something to teach me? How do I embrace my own discomfort and inconvenience in order to affirm the dignity of those who have been disempowered? How do I embody a life of hospitality that reflects Jesus’ example?

Featured Image by Libby Penner on Unsplash

Self-Reflection Prompt for JOH Blog:

A thread throughout Module 4 was the link between power and the Christian faith. How did the faith that you inherited impact your relationship with and proximity to power? How did that relationship impact your approach toward our interfaith relatives? What might it look like for you to leverage, divest, or redistribute power as a practice of interfaith or intrafaith peacemaking?

I don’t even know where to start- Yes- I was born into a conservative American Christianity, without women in pastoral leadership or LGBTQ inclusion. Then, when we moved to Cairo, all of the sudden I was no longer in the religious, ethnic, or cultural majority. But power dynamics are very, very tricky, when you’re overseas as many in JOH are familiar. Being a white Westerner ascribes unearned privileges and power. You get to jump the line ahead of locals. You get preferential treatment often. First choice access to medical care and nicer hospital rooms. You are seen as more important. You have an embassy to protect you. You are “rich” even if in America, you are middle income range. You have desirable skin and eye color. You are glamorous or exotic- like the Americans on TV. This grooms foreigners to believe this. To believe we deserve to cut in front of locals, who perhaps are poor, dirty, uneducated, “unimportant.” To believe our prerogative is clearly more important than that of the throngs of over people vying for the same bus, or plane, or services. People assume you’re Christian, because most Americans “are.” So here’s the thing- we can wield our power for good things- we CAN pay better, so others in the service industry have more income (markups at the vegetable stand, employing housekeepers, drivers, cooks and gardeners- luxuries beyond reach in the US). We can tip the guys who fight to carry our suitcases to the taxi. My parents employed one housekeeper for over 18 years. Saida divorced her husband when he wanted to take a second wife. Moxie! My parents put her kids through university and gave her a retirement. Power. For Good. But I definitely believe the air of superiority is inescapable for most Western families in this position, mine included. We had access to services in Egypt that local Egyptians would never have access to. We had the audacity to believe that we could disregard the feelings of those who, truthfully, we devalued- poor, don’t speak English, unimportant. If we had a medical emergency, we’d get med-evacuated.

Flipside- I share this with this caveat- this is my truth, and I’m still unpacking it as I process power, white supremacy, implicit bias, etc. But- I DO think I can say I know how it feels to be discriminated against for being white, and being a woman. And this sounds odd, because for all the experiences I described above, as having significant power, I was also devalued and defrauded on the regular. Charged more for goods and services when I wanted the fair price. Haggled and harassed by folks hoping for additional tips or bribes. Constant incidences of “the man with the key isn’t here.” Being “randomly selected” to have luggage searched, and additional questioning. My parents having to make multiple, multi-hour trips to the government bureaucracy building, where they had to get stamps from at least ten guys behind desks, in order to secure a visa for this or that situation. Having to pay someone just to have a few squares of toilet paper. And the more sinister- constant, daily sexual harassment, and worse. Since I was ten. To adulthood. Can’t go anywhere without being stared at, whistled at, followed, hissed at. No matter what I was wearing, no matter what I was doing, no matter how friendly or culturally appropriate I was being. The stereotypes of white, American women are dominated by porn culture. So, we are objectified as such. And I should say- this is a violent, patriarchal culture that victimizes Egyptian Women to all extremes as well, and has been a major point of contention bubbling to the surface since the uprising of the Arab Spring. It’s not safe to travel on public transportation, emotionally or even physically. Many Egyptian women have no option. But, we walked, biked and taxi’d most places. My family didn’t have a car, like most Embassy, military or oil families did. I’ve had a lot of therapy to work through the trauma of years of harassment, etc. for something I was born with- a white, female body and blue eyes.

Segueing into the religious power dialogue. So, I actually loved living in a diverse environment. The call to prayer was both beautiful, haunting, and annoying- remember I was just a kid trying to get some sleep when the early call goes off outside my window! But mostly I loved seeing how the culture lived out its predominant faith in all the expressions we see of American Christianity. The hyper-orthodox. The hyper-zealous. The daily mosque crowd because it’s just “what we do.” The meh crowd. The wealthy who would eat pork while traveling, drink alcohol…. Those who fasted during Ramadan and those who only sort of did. Teammates who would step off the court to eat if the sun went down during volleyball practice. Not all Muslims are the same. Christianity obviously predated Islam in Egypt (in fact, the Coptic Orthodox Church has a looong tradition of holy sites where they believe Jesus performed miracles as a child, stories we in the West know nothing about.) But, there is significant tension and discrimination from the dominant Muslim powers over the minority Coptic Christians (and evangelicals, there is a small but healthy population of Evangelical Egyptians). You can build a mosque virtually anywhere, but if you want to renovate a bathroom in a church, saddle up for months even years of bureaucracy and roadblocks. So, while in the US, Christian v. Muslim relationships are predominantly a white v. brown situation, in Egypt, the ethnic situation was different. Muslims in Egypt are historically Arab. Christians are historically of the Coptic ethnicity, not just religion. They are derived from Ancient Egyptians, Greeks, Macedonians,… everyone else who traversed the land. Their Coptic language is also a mix of those ancient languages. So, the power dynamic is similar to tribalism as much as religion, as is the source of much conflict around the world. I could say more, but my church was an English speaking, multi-demoninational congregation with folks from all over the world. We also had a large African refugee population, who fled violence and landed in Egypt. People with darker skin are seen as less in the eyes of the dominant culture (which is brown). So, African refugees flee violence, to come to Egypt, to be further discriminated against for their darker skin and often Christian roots. Those that came to our church were welcomed, however, I’d be lying if I didn’t say that the tentacles of racism infiltrated there as well. It was not very common for American families and African refugee families to comingle. So, again here we see racial division within an international church, within a country context of religious and racial discrimination as well… so complicated.

Fast forward, I also lived in Utah for several years, again, a religious minority amongst a predominantly Mormon population, where there is clear discrimination from Mormon majority towards non-mormon neighbors, even if you have the same skin color. Sorry, your kid’s not invited to the birthday party because you aren’t Mormon.

Where do I find myself in all this? I think my big takeaway from all my years within these different contexts is that it seems that human nature is for the dominant group to withhold power from the minority groups. Whatever and whoever they are. I FULLY affirm and agree that Christianity has a sordid history that we must account for, and I do not exempt myself from White Privilege just because I know what it’s like to be the minority elsewhere. I think Rene’s charge to pay attention to who benefits from policies, decisions, and institutions, and call those into question. In terms of dismantling Christian Nationalism and its stranglehold on our country,… I’m struggling with where to start. Because I can’t gain traction yelling with strangers online, but I also can’t have productive conversations with family members without significant pain. Power ultimately does corrupt, and there are so many layers.

When I think of power in the Christian context, what comes to mind are the words of St. Paul that “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” Often I feel so much weaker and inadequate compared to the problems of the world and the healing they seem to require. Sometimes I feel inadequate to the tasks in my own life. Yet God tells us that we don’t need to be powerful; rather, we need to be channels and mechanisms through which His power of love and grace can touch others.

The Church also continually talks about ‘the preferential option for the poor’—that those who have less and are struggling deserve special care and support from those who have more. Jesus told us through His parables that to whom much is given, much is expected, and that whatever we do to ‘the least’ of His children, we do to Him. Whatever our situation in life, we always have some power to help others.  A kind smile or a compassionate word do not require high social position or finances.  Love is a gift God freely gives to us and which He wants us to freely give to others.

I first became active in interfaith engagement after 9/11, a life-changing trauma which spurred me to enter the field of peacebuilding and to work for greater understanding and friendship—and dismantling of negative misperceptions—between Americans and people in Middle Eastern and Muslim-majority countries. While I subsequently spent much time in the Middle East, I also realized that there is much we can do to promote interfaith friendship and understanding here in our own diverse American backyard as well. I helped to found the Interfaith Committee at my church, and for about 7 years, we hosted an iftar (dinner to break the Muslim fast during Ramadan) at our church for our Muslim neighbors, our own parishioners, and some guests of other faiths. I saw the iftars as a way not only to extend hospitality to our Muslim neighbors, but to support them on their own walk with God by providing a space for them to pray and practice their own faith traditions (while also providing a wonderful opportunity for mutual learning). Many wonderful friends and memories came out of these events, and I felt they provided a way for me to more deeply live out my Catholic faith through this way of expressing love for our neighbor.

Having done a lot of work in Pakistan, I heard a story once of a Pakistani Muslim man who saw a news broadcast about an American church which provided space for local Muslims who did not have a mosque to worship. He said he was so inspired by this that he went out, gathered other Muslims in the community, and went to visit and help repair a church in his community in Pakistan. Each such act of love like this can have a ripple effect of inspiring other acts of love, even far across the world, and how much that must please God.

The misinformation campaigns of the big tobacco industry in the 70’s came with a high personal cost, with my father’s premature death from disease resulting from tobacco addiction.  Misinformation about sustainable agricultural practices has led to degradation of soil – the essential skin of our planet. Misinformation through the greenwashing of big oil has huge implications for climate change.  All are alive and well today through mainstream news media, social media, and government policy decisions. 

Over the last two years, Covid misinformation has been evident, with governments saying one thing and other “experts” opposing, with each side adamant they are “right”.  We saw this divide lived out in Canada a few months back, as the truckers convoy literally paralyzed our nation’s capital for weeks as protestors parked their large trucks blocking city streets, blew air horns for several hours a day, flew flags with crude messages, and harassed residents wearing masks. The stated reason for the protest was to oppose covid health regulations, including mask wearing, but in Canada health regulations are set by provincial, not federal governments.  Ottawa does not make the health rules.  Ultimately, the protest was deemed a national security threat, special measures were enacted to enable police to end the protest, and protest leaders were arrested.  Was this in fact a protest to protect the freedoms of Canadians, or was it an attempt to overthrow the sitting government? What roles does misinformation play in creating such polarizing divides? How do we move beyond the reality that has been magnified throughout our time of covid – one person’s misinformation is another’s God given truth? How do we move to a place of respectful dialogue and a mutual working together?

Knowing people on both sides of the covid divide, I can clearly see the influence of social media in misinformation campaigns – not only through the effects of algorithms and echo chambers but also through Clare’s assertions that Russian troll farms fuel conflict in both directions. But misinformation is also alive and well through the mergers of mainstream media providers into a few, concentrated corporate entities with great influence over what stories become news and how those stories are told. How do we bridge divides resulting from these outside influences?  How do we find truth?  What are the effects of these divides on our collective souls, and how does that impact us moving forward?

In the end, I am left with more questions than answers.