Ramadan is a time when Muslim communities traditionally come together - to fast, to pray, to reflect and to encourage one another.

In that spirit, this Interfaith Ramadan series aims to extend that sense of community to people of all faiths and none. The series provides an inclusive platform where people from around the world share their experiences and offer their perspectives on interfaith issues.

While recognizing the deep connections among the Abrahamic traditions, this series seeks to include a range of faith traditions - including groups often marginalised, overlooked, or ignored by society, the media, and perhaps even the interfaith community itself.

Alongside this diversity of faiths and beliefs comes a broader range of topics, including LGBT advocacy in faith communities and efforts to empower minorities and women. It is my hope that the diversity of opinions included in the series will serve as a springboard for honest and open debate.

Developing mutual respect, rather than merely tolerating one another, is not something that can be learned overnight. Through reaching out and speaking openly we can begin to nurture genuine appreciation for the ways others express their faith and beliefs. We begin to appreciate the many lenses through which people perceive the world - the Bible, the Torah, the Qur'an, the Bhagavad Gita, to name just a few. There are a wealth of religious and non-religious texts which guide people in their daily lives - just as the Qur'an acts as a moral compass for Muslims.

Through interfaith, an all-encompassing and inclusive way of interacting with one another, we endeavour to transcend human-made boundaries and make personal connections with people from all faith and non-faith backgrounds. Interfaith invites us to come as individuals with personal stories rather than being burdened with collective responsibility and representation of an entire community. Through sharing we gain greater understanding and become more inclusive in our interactions with the people around us.

Although interfaith dialogue invites us to share our personal experience of faith and belief, we should recognise that there is a fine line between education and evangelism. Trust is crucial for open dialogue but it cannot develop if we suspect the other party is trying to boost their own numbers.

It is on this issue that some may question why a Muslim, like myself, would wish to engage in interfaith during Ramadan, the highlight of the Islamic calendar. Some may even suspect the motives of such an undertaking as a ploy to proselytize. However, interfaith co-operation is not a foreign concept to Islam. In fact, it is an intrinsic aspect of the religion. Within the pages of the Qur'an, for example, Muslims are called to protect "cloisters and churches and synagogues and mosques, wherein the name of God is oft commemorated" (22:40) and Muhammad (pbuh) himself was actively engaged in interfaith during his lifetime, signing peace treaties with other faith communities and advocating tolerance of religious minorities.

Without education, we can all too easily develop an irrational fear and mistrust of those we deem to be "other." This is especially true between people of different faiths, and when political groups, individuals and certain factions of the media so often seek to divide by exploiting and exaggerating religious difference. Fear and mistrust of people based on assumptions of race or faith are at the core of countless acts of discrimination. To overcome this, we need open and constructive communication - the foundation of all positive relationships.

At a local level, interfaith helps us to develop new and comprehensive ways of speaking in our daily lives that respects differences, and brings people together based on shared values. This inclusivity feeds into all our relationships, with family, friends and co-workers. Interfaith offers us a safe space where we are able to come together, explore our similarities, challenge stereotypes and build relationships based on honest communication.

This online series reflects my hope-filled vision of inclusion and co-existence, rooted in the belief that when we come together with open heart and minds we can make life better for all. I hope that you will share it with me.

***

Wednesday, 15 July 2015

Include Interfaith Families in the Interfaith Movement

Susan Katz Miller

I experienced my first Ramadan on a trip to Morocco, and my second, third and fourth Ramadan while living in the predominantly Muslim West African country of Senegal. I have had the great good fortune to live on four different continents, and I have been welcomed into participating in rituals or festivals from many different religions. I like to think that my travels have made me a more educated and open person, determined to build bridges of peace.

But the driving force for me as an interfaith activist, working for greater understanding between religious people of all backgrounds, and between religious and nonreligious people, was being born into an interfaith family. Having one Christian parent and one Jewish parent was not such a common occurrence in the United States in the 1960s. Now, our globally interconnected world is filled with families that span two or more religions, whether through interfaith marriage, or through adults who make new religious (or nonreligious) choices but remain tied to their families of origin. As family members, we fit ourselves together into a complex tile mosaic of multi-religious patterns.

And those of us in interfaith families engage in interfaith dialogue on a continuous basis: with our spouses, with our parents and in-laws, with our children. We are, by necessity, and through thousands of hours of practice, interfaith engagement experts. Unfortunately, the experiences of interfaith families are often ignored or excluded or muted during official "interfaith dialogue" events and panels. Religious institutions may fear that interfaith families pose a threat of blurring boundaries.

And yet, we are here. We are here, sharing our practices, gently educating each other, contributing to interfaith peace and understanding on a daily basis. It is time to encourage those from interfaith families to speak up and tell their stories.

Tuesday, 7 July 2015

Interfaith Education for Kids: Why not Start with Ramadan?

Vicki Michela Garlock

Vicki Michela Garlock is founder of Faith Seeker Kids, which provides churches and families with interfaith ideas and tools. @faithseekerkids

Maybe you are concerned about the world's violence. Perhaps you just want to raise global citizens. Or maybe you want to provide your kids with multiple ways to express the divine presence in their lives. In any case, you end up in the same place: our kids need to know about the world's religious traditions. But we need to move beyond dry facts and theological musings. We need for our kids to understand, in a way no other generation has, that the connections to be made across institutional boundaries are limitless.

Unfortunately, religion feels like a quagmire to be avoided, especially with kids. Those of us with issues surrounding our own religious upbringing don't want to pass that baggage along to our children. We worry about mispronouncing words, providing inaccurate information, or being asked difficult questions. Faith also deals with abstract - even unfathomable - concepts. How can we expect our kids to handle all that? Avoiding houses of worship and the topic of religion altogether, seems like the only sensible option.

Luckily, kids don't care about all that stuff. Those are your issues, not theirs. What kids need to know is that people have different ways of honouring what is sacred. They celebrate certain holidays, wear distinctive clothes and eat special foods. They make crafts, read from their own sacred texts and participate in specific rituals. They struggle with questions about our place in the world - our relationships with one another and with nature, our attempts to remain kind and compassionate in a seemingly capricious world, and our efforts to deal with raw human emotion. In short, kids need to know that underlying all the apparent differences are real similarities.

Ramadan - the Islamic month of fasting from dawn until dusk - hardly seems like a kid-friendly celebration or an interfaith opportunity. In fact, it's the perfect place to begin. Do a quick internet search to find kids' books on Islam, Ramadan and Eid al-Fitr. Find craft ideas, tips on fasting techniques for kids of various ages, and iftar recipes from around the world. Read blog posts by Muslims who approach Islam from a variety of perspectives. Find an interfaith iftar in your area to attend.

It has never been easier to teach your kids about the world's religious traditions, and there's no need to reinvent the wheel. As parents and caregivers, we must be committed to one, and only one, thing: the willingness to explore along with our kids in an open-minded and open-hearted way.

Tuesday, 7 July 2015

It's the Most Miserable Time of the Year: A Convert Explains Ramadan to Non-Muslims

Leanne Scorzoni

Leanne Scorzoni holds a BFA in Creative Writing from the University of Maine at Farmington. She is currently pursuing her Master's degree in Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages (TESOL), and her most recent work can be seen in AltMuslimah, Muslimah Montage, Huffington Post and various news interviews regarding convert issues. She is the only Muslim in her family.

Muslims before Ramadan are like parents bringing home their new baby from the hospital. They've practiced for every potential emergency; cleaned the house, filled the fridge, bought cases of bottled water. Both are energized and smiling, making Facebook postings that proclaim: "Together we are so blessed! This is such an exciting time in our lives!" "We couldn't be happier with what God has given us!"

Go visit those same parents in two weeks. The house is in shambles; both are half-washed and have taken up residence in sweatpants and reading glasses. The only time they eat is when they're gnawing food like wolverines in the dark in front of an open fridge, and you're pretty sure they haven't slept more than three hours a night. Even though they love their screaming, high maintenance bundle of joy, there are still secret moments when they wonder, "Is this even worth it?" Why are we doing this to ourselves?"

Explaining Ramadan to non-Muslims can be bizarre because, although there are fasting rituals in religious groups such as Catholicism, Mormonism, and Judaism, Ramadan is and isn't about not eating. It is and isn't about being pious and praying. Second chances. When we grieve and let go. It's the best and the worst month of the year. Thirty days of Ramadan is mile 17 of running 26.2 miles. Finishing the second to last board exam to get into medical school. You are simultaneously accomplishing something, while still having a long while to go.

Friday, 3 July 2015

Lasting Change is Gradual

Lee Weissman

Lee Weissman is founder of the Facebook group Abraham's Tent. He will be travelling on an interfaith tour of the east coast of the United States this summer. @JihadiJew

The nature of the natural world is that nothing becomes something else without gradual changes and transitions. A caterpillar does not suddenly become a butterfly. Even a foetus, hidden from all sight in the womb, goes through many stages of development. Change in our world is not sudden but gradual. What is true in nature is also true for the character of human beings. This observation was made by the great Jewish scholar Rabbi Moshe ben Maimon in the Arabic classic of Jewish philosophy, The Guide for the Perplexed.

I have little trouble imagining a similar statement from the pen of Imam al-Ghazali or Thomas Aquinas. It is a tangibly true commentary on the human condition that for us change is slow. Sudden transitions, lightning-bolt insights and speedy conversions tend to be short-lived. Like the foetus in the womb, we come by new states of wholeness gradually, and I would add, rarely without challenge or pain. I have yet to meet anyone who is truly great who has never suffered.

The Abrahamic tradition of "The Spiritual Stretch, Elul and the Days of Awe" for Jews, Ramadan for the Muslims and Lent for Christians are profound responses to the reality of the human condition. They are ladders in which each day is a step. Sometimes we climb, sometimes we hold still, sometimes we lose a rung or two. If have not given up, then we have not failed. We find success when who are at the end of the process is just a little bit different than who we were at the beginning.

Friday, 3 July 2015

Encounters with Unfamiliar Rituals

Josh Heath

Josh Heath is the co-director of the Open Halls Project, an advocacy organization for military heathens. Josh is a graduate student at American University where he is studying International Peace and Conflict Resolution. He is an advocate for dialogue and his studies have largely been focused on ethnic identity creation.

Imagine walking through a local park and you come across 7 or 8 men and women standing in a circle. Each in turn holds up a curved object that you soon realize is an animal horn of some sort. They speak briefly, take a swig from the horn and everyone else shouts, "Hail!" What would you think?

What about walking through a densely populated city on the East Coast, when you see a procession of people yelling at a man carrying a large, long piece of wood? Or, you're taking a pleasant trip to London and you spot a group of individuals bowing their heads to the ground, all facing the same direction, and they do this for several minutes?

The truth is, you might be familiar with the second two rituals, as they are more commonly known. But what do these situations mean for those not participating in them? How should we react to them, if at all?

The first ritual is a Heathen one, called Sumble (Symbel). Sumble is an ancient rite that is should be familiar to those who have read Beowulf. Sumble includes the ritual passing of a drinking horn, with the idea that those who participate in the rite are making a deep commitment to each other; effectively, they are deepening friendship and evoking connections to the gods and all others that have participated in Sumble in the past. It's often emotional, because honouring one's family who have died is often an essential part of Sumble.

How would you know this? Would you be scared of a group of (often) tattooed and long-haired people standing and shouting in a public space? I might be - and I'm a Heathen myself! The fact is, we are often unsure of what do to when we encounter a ritual of a faith group to which we do not belong. We often don't know how to act, and sometimes, we want to be respectful and we end up making mistakes any way.

There is no shame in asking polite questions, and sometimes that is the only way to ensure we are doing the right thing by others. However, asking questions while the people are participating in any of these three rituals might be very rude. So what do we do when we encounter these rites? If you really need to know, wait. Be polite and listen and wait for an obvious break in the ritual, or for an individual who is willing to speak. If that isn't possible, then Google is your friend, and making assumptions is your enemy.

The simple key, as in many human interactions, is to try to respect others while they are engaged in their ritual, and to be open-minded to what you are seeing and hearing. If you make some faux-pas, apologize sincerely. Remember, some of the most beautiful moments in life are unknown to you before you experience them.

Friday, 3 July 2015

Is Prayer a Waste of Time?

Jeremy Rodell

Jeremy Rodell is Dialogue Officer for the British Humanist Association.

I'm a humanist. And like most humanists, I'm an atheist. So if you ask me, "Is prayer a waste of time?" and you mean "a solemn request for help or expression of thanks addressed to God or another deity" (as the Oxford Dictionary defines it) - and especially if I'm in a hurry - the answer would be "Yes, obviously." But the question deserves more consideration. What do you actually mean by "prayer"? What do you get out of it? What's the purpose? Is there anything here that non-believers could learn, or is it irredeemably time-wasting?

Christians sometimes classify prayer into Adoration, Confession, Thanksgiving and Supplication (ACTS). It's easy for a humanist to dismiss all of them as a waste of time. In particular, there are two problems with Supplication - and its sibling, Intercession. Firstly, the most authoritative study on Intercessionary prayer for alleviation of ill health concludes "prayer is neither significantly beneficial nor harmful for those who are sick." In other words, it doesn't work. Secondly, it seems not only futile but also ethically dubious to pray that I, rather than someone else, gets the parking space or wins the lottery, or that one army is victorious over another army when both think they have God on their side.

In Islam, of course, not only is prayer one of the Five Pillars, but the frequency, timing and details of how to do it are prescribed to a far greater degree than in other religions. This is clearly a powerful way to reinforce believers' faith - a waste or not depending on your viewpoint - and to provide the comfort that, for some, comes with familiar ritual.

But beneath the surface, perhaps there are human needs being met here that are shared by both the religious and non-religious. Professor Alice Roberts recently received the British Humanist Association's "Humanist of the Year Award" for 2015. She grew up in a religious family and now says that a takeaway from her past is "the need for time and space to step back," which she still tries to build into a busy life.

Some religious people also look for a sense of transcendence in prayer, the subjective feeling of connection with something greater, which they associate with God. But that sense is as open to the non-religious as much as the religious. The fact that I don't think it has anything to do with a supra-natural realm outside my own head, and believe something like it can be artificially stimulated in the laboratory, doesn't make the experience any less life-enhancing. Music, art, nature and - yes - quiet contemplation can all take us in that direction.

A quiet few minutes set aside each day for thought and appreciation of life is surely a good and healthy thing - a mental muscle worth exercising, and a practice some humanists might usefully adopt. If it sometimes comes along with a sense of transcendence, that's a bonus. Just don't call it prayer.

Tuesday, 23 June 2015

A Month of Mercy toward Mental Illness

Akeela Ahmed

Akeela Ahmed is an equalities campaigner specialising in youth and gender issues. You can follow her on Twitter: @AkeelaAhmed

Fasting is difficult and challenging for most of us. Every year in the run up to Ramadan, I start to worry about how I will cope with fasting, being a busy working mother of three. However, I can't imagine what it must be like for someone who, as well as leading a busy life, is also dealing with ongoing mental health issues. Ramadan, far from being a time of solace and spiritual reflection, can become a burden, and for some, a time that exacerbates their illness.

One in four of us, will at some point in our lives deal with a mental health issue; more often than not, this will be an episode of mild depression which will usually pass on its own. Despite this, many are surprised to discover that Muslims suffer from mental health problems. This is mostly because it is still very much taboo to discuss these issues openly at the mosque or with family. Many British Muslims are suffering in silence, with little support from mental health services, and in isolation - due to a culture which places a considerable amount of stigma on those dealing with mental health difficulties.

Traditionally Ramadan is meant to be a time for spiritual rejuvenation and nourishment for the soul. A time to reflect on the true nature of God and emulate his attributes of mercy and compassion through charity. Yet, as a community we are denying ourselves an opportunity to extend this compassion and kindness towards a significant number of our fellow Muslims, who also happen to be dealing with a mental health issue.

Asiyah was diagnosed with clinical depression and describes what it is like to deal with a mental health issue during Ramadan:

"It's like being under hail, and then it starts to thunderstorm because days are hard enough when you can eat and drink, and then so much harder without being able to. Then you can't even recognise when it's too much or too hard because you feel too guilty to stop. So you just have to carry on which makes it even harder."

Ramadan is the month of mercy, so let's use it to change our attitudes towards mental illness and open our hearts towards its sufferers.

Tuesday, 23 June 2015

So You Believe in Interfaith - Then Where Are the Heathens?

Karl Seigfried

Karl E. H. Seigfried is the author of The Norse Mythology Blog, which was named the world's best religion weblog for 2012-2014. He has taught Norse mythology and religion at Carthage College and Loyola University Chicago, and he currently teaches religion, literature and music for the Newberry Library's Continuing Education Program.

Interfaith most often means intra-Abrahamic. The three large monotheistic faiths share a heritage that provides a starting point for dialogue. For those who belong to faith traditions outside the Abrahamic sphere, fundamental assumptions of interfaith conversation don't apply.

Well-meaning interfaith activists declare "there are many paths to God." This progressive position brings together Christians, Jews and Muslims. However, it leaves practitioners of polytheistic faiths outside the tent. Strangely, the atheist asserting "there is no God at the end of the path" is more welcome in interfaith dialogue than the polytheist stating "there are many gods along the path."

My tradition is Asatru, the modern iteration of pre-Christian Germanic religion. The worldwide Heathen community encompasses wide diversity of belief and practice. The record of the religion's roots includes a great variety of material from the past 4,000 years: Bronze Age rock carvings in Scandinavia; records of interactions between the Roman Empire and Germanic tribes; chronicles of Heathen-Christian clashes during the Viking Age; myths preserved in post-Conversion Iceland; and folk practices that survive into modern times.

What place is there for Heathens in interfaith? I have found no national interfaith group in the United States with an Asatruar on its board, advisory panel, administration or staff. The rabbi who co-founded an interfaith journal told me that his "Board of Scholars and Practitioners" (with over fifty members) had no place for a Heathen. There was no room at the inn.

Advisory boards have little impact on the organizations they supposedly advise. The editor-in-chief of a religion news agency covering the intersection of faith with politics and culture told me her "Advisory Council is (as is the case with many non-profit orgs) in name only. It has absolutely zero to do with our coverage. We don't talk to them, or they to us."

Why do organizations have advisory panels of faith leaders? Ask what a religion think tank, an interfaith journal and a religion news organization have in common. There is a clear path to the answer: follow the money. They receive grants from government agencies, corporate foundations, anonymous donors and others attracted by the inclusive idea of "interfaith." By pointing to advisors across a religious spectrum, organizations claim a multicultural approach attractive to granters.

Cash influences inclusivity. I asked the organizer of a global conference on world religions if he included speakers from minority faith communities. He answered, "Financial requirements limit the things we can do. But that's the case with everything it seems. We aspire to better things, and then money has its say."

Money indeed has its say. As the U.S. Supreme Court's Hobby Lobby decision shows, members of religious traditions with cash and votes can influence public life. Those without such assets - like members of the Native American Church who were less successful in their own Supreme Court case - cannot break into the nation's dialogue on religion.

The young man handling "mass communications" for an interfaith youth organization told me: "You're spot on about many interfaith groups keeping mostly within the Abrahamic traditions. Whether or not this is a result of those religious groups already being very large and generally privileged is up for debate, but I think that plays a big role."

How do minorities break into interfaith dialogue? The solution depends on the dedication of those within existing organizations and on their commitment to real interfaith work. Several things must to be done immediately and with sincerity. Tokenism and superficial fixes will make no lasting difference.

Interfaith organizers must examine their programming. In the second decade of the twenty-first century, it's no longer enough to book an imam for a Passover celebration at a Catholic church and think you've checked off all the boxes. The dialogue must be taken out of the Abrahamic box and opened to all traditions.

A sincere move must be made to include those who have been shut out. It may be difficult for organizers to find members of minority faiths. Time must be spent searching for organizations, small groups or individuals and then reaching out personally. It will take time to convince people that you want to hear their perspectives and that aren't seeking greater ticket sales or another faith to pencil into a grant application.

Interfaith groups must engage in affirmative action. The Interfaith Conference of Greater Milwaukee's board of directors has thirty-two Christians, three Muslims, two Jews and two Buddhists. All are identified with an established church or religious organization. The requirement to become part of the system is that one must already be part of the system. Where does this leave Heathens, many of whom are lone practitioners, worship with their families, or belong to unaffiliated kindreds?

Organizations must include minorities on boards, administration and staff. Maybe boards are often nothing more than names. However, to minorities who look into an interfaith organization and see a list like that of the Milwaukee group - 95% Abrahamic with no polytheists - there is no reason to imagine they would be welcome. If a group's administration has no one from a non-Abrahamic background, programming won't change. If no voice on a planning committee argues passionately for inclusion of minority perspectives or questions inherent Abrahamic bias in interfaith presentations, nothing will improve.

Now is the time for all good people of faith to fight for the inclusion of underserved communities at all levels of their organizations. If you believe in interfaith, it's time to act.

Monday, 22 June 2015

Friendship Seeking Understanding

David Burrell

David Burrell, C.S.C., is Hesburgh Professor Emeritus of Philosophy and Theology at the University of Notre Dame. He is the author of Towards a Jewish-Christian-Muslim Theology and Questing for Understanding: Persons, Places, Passions.

The best way of trying to convey the dynamic attraction of Islam is to point to the faith of my Muslim friends in very different societies. What excites me about these exemplary men and women is how their faith-filled lives challenge my own religious practice, revealing dimensions of my own failure to be more human.

These men and women stretch my own sense of what it means to grow in faith, hope and love, yet in a direction intimated by the best of what I know and believe. But what is so interesting - and critical - in encountering another, if somewhat foreign, faith, is our response to it. And from my own experience, I can vouch that learning about Islam has usually been a challenge: a mix of fascination and fear, of expansion and contraction.

That ambivalence, albeit on a grander scale, has marked Western encounters with Islam from the very beginning. Within a century of the Prophet Muhammad's death (A.D. 632), Islam came to dominate much of the world, from the borders of Europe to China. In Europe, this provoked the Crusaders' military response, the failure of which was reversed only five centuries later, when, in the mid-eighteenth century, a tide of Western colonization reached new levels with British victories in India and Napoleon's 1799 conquest of Egypt.

Let me begin to explain the theological and cultural attractions of Islam by sketching what Muslim friends have taught me. Bukhari, one of the early collators of stories relating the Prophet's life, explains that the Muslim way has three facets:

islam, or the response to God's revelation of returning all to the One from whom we receive all;

iman (or "faith"), our belief and trust in what God has revealed; and

ihsan, the appropriation of this revelation in a life reflecting the goodness of God.

Given these religious convictions, it is not surprising that Muslims begin each undertaking with the invocation b'ism Allah ar-Rahman ar-Rahim ("in the name of God the merciful and compassionate"). In hearing these tenets of belief, what quickly becomes evident is the parallel between Islam and the central Christian statements of faith - a parallel that yet displays a profound difference.

Think of it like this. While Christians believe that Jesus is the Word of God made human, Muslims believe the Qur'an is the Word of God made Arabic. Understanding this similarity-cum-difference is crucial for any relationship with Muslims. Christian revelation is in a person, not a book. Nonetheless, we can appreciate the parallel between book and person in the Muslim practice of dhikr (or meditative recitation of Qur'anic verses), which is akin to our receiving Communion. In fact, the Muslim story of humanity in the face of God's gift of the Qur'an parallels Paul's declaration in the Letter to Titus (3:2-5):

"We ourselves were once foolish, disobedient, and led astray, slaves to various passions and pleasures, passing our days in malice and envy, despicable, and hating one another. But when the goodness and kindness of God our Savior appeared, Christ Jesus saved us, not because of any works of righteousness that we had done, but according to his mercy, through the water of rebirth and renewal of the Holy Spirit."

Substitute "Qur'an" for "Christ Jesus" and "community" (umma) for "Holy Spirit" and you have the story Muslims tell of God's graciousness to them - and to anyone graciously shown the way to return to his or her creator.

Furthermore, focusing on the decisive parallel of Qur'an to Jesus avoids fruitless wrangling about our respective books while it allows us to draw analogies that recognize differences. Salient features of our own faith can be understood while respect for theirs is maintained.

What might motivate Christians to seek such an understanding of Islam? Haven't we got it right? Haven't they gone wrong? And why should we be interested in conversing with Muslims? Haven't western society and values triumphed, our economic and military hegemony been extended across the globe? Isn't Islam itself beset by violent paroxysms of cultural and theological self-understanding?

The fact is, while western military and cultural influence may seem to be on the rise, liberal society's much-vaunted individualism and materialism are eroding the moral foundations of the West from inside. That is why there is such a palpable spiritual thirst in the West. Some Christian groups are struggling to find out how to respond to this inner disintegration and to temper the West's global over-reach. Others have adopted the contradictory stance of condemning the West's social ills while celebrating its hegemonic goals.

In this context, a cool yet passionate voice addressing our religious ambivalence and malaise comes from Jonathan Sacks, formerly Chief Rabbi of the United Hebrew Congregations of the Commonwealth. In his classic book Dignity of Difference , he suggests that it is courageous people of faith and their allies in other religions who can jointly understand and perhaps redress the ills of the world. Pushing Sacks's thesis to the next logical step: I believe it is the lived encounter with persons of other faiths that can reveal why the West so often alienates others. Part of the reason for that alienation, I believe, is that the transforming power of our original revelation - be it Torah or Jesus - is no longer available to many of us. Muslim piety and practice can help open our eyes to God's real presence among us.

How might this work? I would suggest that it is more likely to come through friendships than through official "dialogues." For example, living in Jerusalem some twenty years ago, I first experienced the Jewish shabbat (Sabbath) in such a way that I was able to reappropriate the ancient Christian perspective on Sunday as the "eighth day" - a true celebration of the original gift of creation made luminous in the Resurrection. At that same time, I was initiated into the embrace of Muslim hospitality - a dimension of Islam that, with its emphasis on generosity and community, never fails to impress Westerners.

If we want to understand the attraction of Islam, we must first acknowledge our own shadow side. For the attraction of Islam can most often be traced to the palpable sense of community in the umma, an attraction not unlike what the early Christian communities exerted in the Roman Empire. Paul alludes to this in his letter to Titus. The yearning for community that pervades much of western society today stems from our corporate economies and how they affect the nature of work and family life.

Many find this yearning for community met in a palpable way in Islam. In the umma, divine revelation offers a "straight path" to a life that accentuates what is noble over what is base. In contrast to leaving people to fend for themselves, Muslim families are both encouraged and supported by the larger family of faith. One cannot help but think of early Italian or Polish immigrant communities in the United States, of the Mormons, and of the historic black churches. Ask African Americans what attracts them to Islam and they will frequently respond in these terms: their daughters find respect, their sons an honourable way to make a living, the elderly are honoured.

The observance of the month-long fast of Ramadan, which began this week, offers another palpable example of Islam's communal attraction. The fast lasts each day from sunrise to sunset, and the entire community takes part. When the fast is broken each evening, groups gather for a hearty meal followed by communal prayer.

I had always been amazed at the upbeat attitude of Muslims toward Ramadan (I certainly never approached Lent that way) until I took part in the fast-breaking meal one July evening in Cairo. (Since the Muslim lunar months travel around our solar year, Ramadan can come, as it did this last year, when days are shorter, or during the long hot days of summer.) As my hosts drove me home in a midnight traffic jam, I reflected on how much the children had enjoyed the evening: not being old enough to fast, they still got to stay up nearly all night as the family feasted.

So Ramadan has for Muslims something of the children's delight toward this religious obligation, much as Christmas does for western Christians. Yet Ramadan also focuses on the practical needs of the poor, and in so doing touches a more substantive communal chord than our current obsessively materialist observance of Christmas. For the holy month culminates in a prescribed annual almsgiving, amounting to a tax on one's wealth and property, to be distributed in the coming year to those in need.

Indeed, for Muslims - as for Torah-observing Jews and some Christians - these obligations are felt as privileges that mark observers as recipients of a gracious revelation from the merciful Lord of heaven and earth. This asceticism presents both a personal act of gratitude and a communal enactment of social life that the revelation itself portends. Similarly, being obedient to the Qur'an and to other guidelines stemming from the teaching and practice of the Prophet (hadith), helps create a community that models the serene, peaceful act by which God freely created the universe.

While one can hardly claim that all Muslims advert explicitly to these theological connections in their religious practice, the fact remains that Muslim society is marked by a palpable sense of the presence of God. That is reflected in the in sh'Allah ("God willing!") which attends referring to any future event. The hadith instructs Muslims to attend each decision in life in the light of Judgment Day.

Now, it stands to reason that those who find these practices enlivening will be proud of their community (think of the Christian urge to evangelize), and that the more assertive will want to share their belief, sometimes even with an unnerving militancy. Still, even this can spur a conversation in which proselytizer and listener learn something about each other's faith in practice.

Conversations of this sort often prove taxing. They challenge us to acknowledge and to neutralize the shadow side of our respective faith traditions, long abetted by flirtations with power and fanaticism. Yet they can also return us to a living appreciation of the ways in which our faith can sustain us in a critical posture vis-a-vis our respective societies, and prevent us from falling into a collective reaction against "the other," especially one hardened by "religious" justifications.

A final example should help make clear how fruitful I have found the interaction among the Abrahamic faiths. The American philosopher Charles Sanders Peirce reminds us how useful a third party can be when any bipolar relation reaches an impasse (marriage counselling offers perhaps the best example). It behoves Christians now to cultivate those relationships with our Muslim neighbours, so that we may come to serve more fully as mediating partners in the three-way conversation among Muslims, Jews and Christians.

We all need to combat stereotypes and chauvinistic passions. In coming to appreciate Islam, Christians may learn how to reappropriate neglected aspects of our own tradition - and in so doing, to enrich all parties.

Friday, 19 June 2015

It's Time for Community in Ramadan

Saadia Faruqi

Last Friday at congregational prayers, I had an eye-opening experience. As I entered my mosque parking lot, I saw two Caucasian women, possibly a mother and daughter, holding up a sign that read, "Please Help, Need Money for Food and Rent." I found it disturbing, even though my hometown of Houston is ridden with poverty and homelessness. So what was wrong with this picture? The mosque I attend is a Pakistani community, with the occasional Indian or Bangladeshi standing out like a sore thumb. Yet here were two white women standing outside practically begging.

What was worse, most of the Muslims attending the Friday prayers ignored the women altogether. When I went inside, I heard several ladies grumbling about the visitors outside. "Who are they? Every year when Ramadan starts people start coming to the mosque to beg. Do we look so gullible?"

It was a small incident, but it affected me deeply. In the evening, my husband asked me about the women, and we had a long conversation about the need for inclusion, not just of Muslims but of the entire community surrounding our mosque during Ramadan. For what is Ramadan but a time for charity, patience and neighbourly love?

I went back and gave the women some money, but more importantly I began an effort within my mosque to encourage an inclusive Ramadan. Some ways I have thought about are opening the mosque to our less fortunate community members, regardless of their faith. We already have free iftar - breaking of the fast - every evening; now the need is to invite everyone to the meal: the needy, the homeless, the white, the black, the immigrant and the sick. Our mosque should never be an exclusive place only for Muslims, and Ramadan should never be just about a group of elite fasting and praying together.

It will take time, but I know my mosque will become more inviting and less exclusive as time goes on. Inshallah, God willing.

Friday, 19 June 2015

The Importance of Visibility

Maryam Din

Maryam Din is a social activist and graduate in international relations and politics, who identifies as a WOC queer feminist Muslim. She blogs at 5 pillars and 6 colours.

Being a queer Muslim, I tread an interesting line - a balancing act, if you will. I face queer-phobia from some sections of the Muslim community and Islamophobia coupled with racism from some sections of the LGBTQ community. This means that I have to downplay the importance of my religion in some LGBTQ spaces and also having to downplay my sexuality in some religious spaces. The reason why I and many people like me who identify both within the LGBTQ community and religious communities feel compelled to do this boils down to safety - physical and mental safety.

But it isn't all doom and gloom. It is also because I identify as queer and Muslim that I feel like I have a completely different outlook on life. You know the saying you can only know what someone's going through if you walk a mile in their shoes? Well, I find that having such marginalized identities (I tick all of the boxes on the equal opportunities monitoring form - ethnicity, religion, sexuality and disability) enables me to empathise with people's struggles.

It's because of my sexuality that I am able to be a better Muslim. That sounds bizarre, right? Let me explain. Islam deals with a lot of human rights and social justice issues and it is these aspects, along with the socialism, that I resonate with the most.

I find that because I am so visible as a queer Muslim, a lot of people are quick to criticize me and my "life choices." They particularly question why I am so open. The day I came out to myself, I made a promise that I would never hide myself again. Clearly I took this to an unintended new level, and now I'm visible from workshops to conferences to national radio.

Visibility in a world which oppresses and marginalizes people is a political act. It is an act which unequivocally says that we are proud to be who we are. And more than that, we love ourselves and will be unapologetic in who we are and what we stand for. Visibility says that we will not conform and we will challenge you and the status quo. Visibility, perhaps most importantly, saves lives.

Sarah Ager is an English teacher, expat writer and interfaith activist living in Italy. She describes herself as an "Anglo-Muslim hybrid" after having converted to Islam in 2011. She writes about interfaith dialogue, language and Italian culture on her blog, A Hotchpotch Hijabi in Italy. She also curates Interfaith Ramadan, an inclusive blog project bringing together writers of diverse faiths and none. You can find her on Twitter and Facebook.