In my current job, I can't post too many details.
This week, I traveled for work to Kenya and went to a conference. Where it was and
what it was about, I will not write here. It was a really good conference,
filled with fascinating sessions and good people. My boss came, so there was
good facetime with her too. She and I tried to and nearly did meet everyone
there…all 300 people!
A favorite unexpected moment during the conference was being invited to a
discussion on interfaith and human rights. This is something that greatly interests me. Religion can,
rather unfortunately, amplify and instigate discrimination and even violence,
using God as an excuse to hate rather than love all people. Having been raised
a Christian in a loving and supportive environment accepting of all people and
focused on social justice, I take personal affront at this form of “religion.”
It is fiction. It is hate. And, it is not what Jesus Christ would do.
Instead of discussion, I arrived at a circle of chairs with
a pitcher of water in the middle. Toni, someone I admire and who I am trying to
find a way to support, was there and asked us to sit. There were about 15 of us
who came – from across Africa, well, and me.
She started the meeting by settling us in to silence and
asking us to take breaths and relax into a space of solitude and reflection. As
someone who used to lean Quaker, this was at once a familiar and deeply
spiritual practice for me.
The next hour was not a discussion, but a deeply personal
sharing amongst us about faith, God and human rights. Everyone around the
circle had been persecuted and hated for who they are – by their communities,
their preachers or imams and even by their families. When a person finished
sharing, we poured water on their hands to signify life and continuity and
whatever else water signifies.
I thought about what I would share, in the face of these sad
but resilient stories. I thought about my dad and wished he was here
in that moment. My dad is the President of the Interfaith Network of Care, a
group that volunteers to drive elderly and sick people around to run errands or
fulfill other needs as a practice of their faith and love for God. I thought he
would love to meet the people who were sitting with me and that he would love
to pray with them. I thought he would be as eager as I felt in that moment to
share with them a message of love and allyship.
I told this to those gathered in the circle. I apologized to
them for the fear and hate spurred by evangelicals in my country. I shared that
there are other messages too: of love and tolerance, of people like my dad and
his interfaith network, and of his church. They love and accept them for who
they are.
I wanted these brave people, who have been so excluded from their
churches and mosques and temples, to know that. I hoped it might add even a drop of solace and peace to their lives as they travel back home.
