One day a few months ago, I was leafing through a book in the chaplains’ office at the hospital where I volunteer. The book was called God’s Breath: Sacred Scriptures of the World (Da Capo Press, 2000).
As I perused the “The Book of Rumi” section, which contained short essays and historical anecdotes, my eye was caught by an essay called “Another Tyrannical Jewish King.”
It went like this:
"A certain Jewish king, the same who is referred to in the Sura ‘Signs of the Zodiac,’ made up his mind to utterly exterminate the Christian faith, and with that view he set up a huge idol, and issued commands that all who refused to worship it should be cast into the fire. Thereupon his officers seized a Christian woman with her babe, and as she refused to worship it, they cast the babe into the fire. But the babe cried out to its mother, ‘Be not afraid, the fire has no power to burn me; it is as cool as water!’ Hearing this, the rest of the Christians leapt into the fire, and found that it did not burn them. The king reproached the fire for failing to do its office, but the fire replied that it was God’s servant, and that its consuming properties were not to be used for evil purposes. It then blazed up and consumed the king, and all his Jews with him." (God’s Breath, p. 170)
I thought: How strange. Strange to think that Rumi, the poet of love, could have written this bizarre and hate-filled little piece (assuming he actually did); strange to think that the editors of a book on the worlds’ sacred scriptures would have included it in their anthology; and strange to find it on a shelf of resources for interfaith chaplains. I also felt the not-unfamiliar sense of being both angered and repulsed by the ugliness, cruelty, and hypocrisy that always seem to pop up in religion.
Then I thought, why can’t I get over my mistrust of religion and what it can do? Why do the twisted parts always catch my eye? How can I possibly be a chaplain when the very notion of organized religion often sends a chill up my spine?
Religion is a double-edged sword. It embodies the deepest, finest aspirations of human beings. But, having been built by human beings, religious structures exist within historical time and embody human flaws.
Now, as I delve into the study of Sufism—with its amazing mystical poetry and universal philosophy—I am faced with a conundrum: How to go about seeing the beauty of a religion in an interfaith context when I keep running up against these sharp edges? Do I pretend I didn’t read what I did? Call it an aberration, perhaps? Or do just I shut down and turn away from all of the other things this rich tradition has to offer?
Last week, I went back and looked again at the “Book of Rumi” section of God’s Breath. In the introduction, I found this short piece by the Sufi philosopher, Ibn Arabi:
"My heart holds within it every form,
it contains a pasture for gazelles,
a monastery for Christian monks.
There is a temple for idol-worshippers,
a holy shrine for pilgrims;
There is the Table of the Torah,
and the Book of the Koran.
I follow the religion of love
and go whichever way His camel leads me.
This is the true faith;
This is the true religion." (God’s Breath, pp. 152-153)
Can these beautiful words be reconciled with what I read earlier? Do they need to be? Is it possible to appreciate, and find sustenance in, the incredible beauty and meaning that exist in this and all religious traditions, while still acknowledging the painful and destructive aspects?
Perhaps the questioning is just part of the journey. I give thanks for the existence of this interfaith seminary, for this sacred space that is large enough to encompass connection and joy as well as doubt and fear, a space that allows us to truly explore every corner of ourselves even as we explore the great religious traditions of the world. This, to me, is the opportunity of interfaith—to be honest and open, willing to acknowledge that we are works in progress, as we move toward an embrace of both the individual and the universal within religion.
May ChI remain a sacred place for struggle and questions and growth, within a community of trust and support, for us and for future students. And may we in turn embody that expansive acceptance we have practiced here as we go forth into the world.