When we were living in Seattle, we choose a public school for our kids that had as much ethnic diversity as our mostly-white part of the city would allow. For four years the girls jumped rope with little pixie girls from Cambodia, dark haired chiquas from Mexico, and quiet girls in long skirts and hijabs.

During that time I managed to build bridges with most of the parents, but the quiet Muslim mama’s remained distant from me. There was the language barrier, true, but that didn’t seem to stop me from speaking Spanglish with the Latino moms. And there were cultural differences, but I was doing okay with the Cambodian families. So why couldn’t I connect with the Mama’s in hijabs who did little more than offer shy smiles at my friendly waves? Invitations for play dates went unanswered, questions about holiday plans for Eid were brushed aside, and the little girls were swept away as soon the students came pouring out the door at the sound of the 3:10 bell. What was I missing about my usually successful “how to win friends and influence people” equation?

The Fear. I was forgetting about the fear.

We all know that since 9-11 people who “look Muslim” have been treated like the enemy, regardless of their nationality or the stringency of their beliefs. But I was living on the other side of the country from NYC, and in my über-PC west-coast city, I thought those racist attitudes were rare enough that the fear held by Islamic families had dissipated. Surely the racist extremism of those initial post 9-11 years had mellowed. Surely visibly Islamic families living in most parts of America were now feeling relatively safe.

The privileged safe anonymity of being white, middle class, and (mostly) Christian in America had once again lulled me into false assumptions about my sisters on the other side of the color line. Thankfully, Ira Glass and Company/a> gave this WASP a wakeup call, and my consciousness was once again raised.

I adore Ira Glass and will gladly listen to This American Life on an unending loop. The girls and I often listen to back episodes on line, and a few days ago we tuned into the Shouting Across the Great Divide, an award winning story by Alix Spiegl. Spiegl captured the story of Serry and her family, Muslims living in the U.S. When my 4th grader, Eden, heard the stories of why Serry’s 4th grader, Chloe, had to leave her public schools, she was appalled. And by the time Chole’s best friend walks right past her without acknowledging her existence, Eden was in tears. When Serry’s husband opts for living in the West Bank of Palestine rather than enduring the strain of being a Muslim man in America, I joined in the crying. Not knowing what else to do for our sisters across the waters, Eden I fell back on our standard response. We lit candles. We said prayers. We tried to hold space for Serry and her family—we tried to hold space for hope.

No wonder the Muslim mamas at the kids’ school did not trust my conversational overtures, and the beautiful African women in abayads declined to make eye contact. In addition to the cultural differences that divide us, they were living in a tension I’ve never experienced. I was blithely throwing out “why can’t we all just get along” vibes. They were living in a constant low grade hum of fear.

I have been longing to make a connection with my Muslim sisters for a long time now, and I had hoped that our move to Copenhagen with its growing Islamic neighborhoods might be the thing that helped those connections get made. But as this country’s political debate over immigration in general, and Muslim immigration in particular, loops around itself in angry spirals, I began to despair of those friendships ever being possible. Could relational bridges be built? Or will we continue to shout across the great divide?

I believe we can do it. I believe women can build bridges—that we can see opportunities others may not perceive. And there are stories—real , live, it-just-happened-to-me stories—out there in the blogosphere that will help me hold on to that belief. This week, Catherine McNeil at Everyday Life as Lyric Poetry records an inspiring tale about meeting folks over the quest for ethical meat. And Jen Lemen, my soulsister in WASPy-ness and one of the best cross-cultural bridge builders I have ever met, offers us this report of finding siblinghood with a brother from another mother. Both are stories of simple connections made over every day transactions. They inspire me and give me hope. These stories tell me that we don’t need a stellar plan of global proportions to create the ties that bind. Being present is enough. Being attentive to our every day will give us the chance to say ‘yes’ to the openings around. With attentiveness and intent, we can grasp each other’s hands as we stretch them across a (not) so great divide.

Okay John, go ahead and play us out.

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Give Me Grace: A Child’s Daybook of Prayers
Cynthia Rylant

Last Fall we went on the Goodbye Cousin’s Tour of Ought-Eight. While we were at my sister’s visiting this adorable nephew (and all the other cute bébés) Cate ordained herself ‘official reader to anyone under six.” Even though she has long outgrown board books, Cate was totally charmed by this pretty one and read it over and over to her two year old cousin. Then, she unabashedly pled with her Auntie Becky to get it for her for Christmas, and low and behold, Give Me Grace arrived via the UPS man. (Who, according to my kids, “is better than Santa!”)

Author-illustrator Cynthia Rylant has beautifully illustrated this sweet book in a style that is not child-ish, but certainly child friendly. When I read it with Cate during morning cuddle time, I enjoy the artwork as much as much as she does. We often flip though the pages find our favorite colorful pages. Cate reads Give Me Grace every night and every morning, though truthfully she no longer needs to book as she memorized the whole thing within a week. There’s a lilting prayer for each day and I can get behind the sentiment in each one – which is rare for me to experience in religious books, especially those written for children! My favorite prayer is for Wednesday:

Wednesday make me full of light
Guide my heart both day and night
Give me gladness, give me grace,
Shine your love upon my face.

Who wouldn’t embrace that as an intentional for the day? Thanks, Cynthia. Today’s Flavor: Colorful and Hopeful.

P.s. another one of my kid’s favorite books by Rylant is the sweet, reminiscent When I Was Young in the Mountains

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How much time are we willing to spend debating right thinking at the expense of right living?

The last couple of years I’ve been captivated by the idea of orthopraxy as opposed to orthodoxy. Orthodoxy is the concept of ‘right thinking,’ or ‘right belief.’ In a system which requires orthodoxy, belonging requires one to believe a certain set of assertions. If one cannot ascribe to those beliefs, then membership in that system is denied, and one can no longer belong.

Orthopraxy on the other hand is the idea of having ‘right practice.’ Rather than requiring alignment to doctrinal assertions, an orthopraxy places the emphasis on living according to a certain collection of practices.

Karen Armstrong, an interfaith specialist who writes and teaches about Islam, Judaism, and Christianity, writes in her autobiography about her own realization that one could be a person of faith without holding orthodox beliefs.

As a part of her research work, Armstrong was introduced to Jewish scholar Hyam Maccoby, who introduced her to the idea that one could have a faith based upon right living rather than right belief. In fact, he told her, the idea that faith is primarily about right belief is largely a Christian phenomenon.

“It is easy to see that you were brought up Christian….Theology is just not important in Judaism, or in any other religion really. . … We have orthopraxy instead of orthodoxy…right practice rather than right belief. That’s all. You Christians make such a fuss about theology, but it’s not important in the way you think….We Jews don’t bother much about what we believe. We just do it instead.” The Spiral Staircase P. 235,236

This is probably an oversimplification, and certainly striving after right practice can easily become a legalistic lecture about ticking things off your holy checklist. Still, after a life time of worrying about my orthodoxy, it feels good to focus on how I’m living for awhile.

I’ve been especially inspired this week by soulful folks who have found small and beautiful ways to, as Maccoby says, “just do it” in the world. Each one is an example of an orthopraxy that reflects the beauty and creativity which lies at their spiritual cores.

Tess at Anchors and Masts is spreading the word about World Water Day and inspiring people to take simple, practical steps towards getting communities access to safe drinking water.

Over at Dahl Bat small-sized projects in literacy and fair trade in Kolkata, India.

Young Laura over at Twenty Five Days to Make a Difference has taken her values viral and has inspired kids and adults alike to do something proactive every month to make the world a better place.

And finally, in an act that hits close to home, a small group of Small is Beautiful bloggers are working together to do an on-line auction for sister-blogger Jenni Ballantyne of The Comfy Place. Jen is living her last days with fierce honesty as she looks at the end of line in her fight against colon cancer. To find out how you can help raise funds for her final treatment and for her son’s future, go over to Jena’s place at Bullseye Baby and do some orthopraxis of your very own.

Here’s to orthopraxis in all the best sense of the word. Shalom!

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is it enough
this story,
this ideal,
this wistful thing—

the teacher speaking soft in the garden,
mouthing my name,
warm-blooded and real.

when I grow tired of picking,
sorting fact from fiction,
lies like stones among the lentils,
truths as yellow bulbs among the rocks,

when I tire of this painstaking plucking

i hold instead,
one smooth egg
one round stone
one child, with chocolate on her mouth and songs on her tongue.

he is wisen, comes the lisp
he is wisen indeed!

tell me true things, i whisper,
my face held close,
warm against her neck.

she sings to me
an edict, a lullaby,
ubi caritas, maman,
ubi caritas et amor
ubi caritas, deus ibi est.

where there is charity, there is love
where there is love
there god is.

enough, i think,
to hold this egg
this stone
this child
enough, to say ‘amen.’

The snow
began here
this morning and all day
continued, its white
rhetoric everywhere
calling us back to why, how,
whence such beauty and what
the meaning;

and though the questions
that have assailed us all day
remain–not a single
answer has been found–
walking out now
into the silence and the light
under the trees,
and through the fields,
feels like one.

Mary Oliver
New and Selected Poems: Volume One
New and Selected Poems, Volume Two

“Lie back, daughter, let your head be tipped back
in the cup of my hand.
Gently, I will hold you.
Spread your arms wide, lie out on the stream and look high at the gulls.

Phillip Booth, Words of Mouth

my faithful prayer beads from Church of the Apostles in Seattle, WA.

This morning we went to church. I know, I know. I never thought I’d be there again either. But there’s a nice International Church here where every week we get to sit in a historic sanctuary and take Communion in a circle while everyone prays the Lord’s Prayer in their mother tongue. (I want to say it in French, just to show off, but I resist and stick with the formal version I learned in catechism.)

I have a dear friend who’s a long term ex pat in Thailand and he says, “Look, if it hasn’t sunk in over the past 20 years of church, I doubt we’ll ever learn it. So at this point in our lives, I think we should just go to a church because we like the community.” I think maybe he’s right. So after the service we go eat cheese with caraway seeds in the kaffe hall, and have conversations with people from all over the world. Last week we met our first Danish acquaintance, Anne-Mette, who wrote down the address of a museum where we could see her grandmother’s doll houses. Today I had tea with Alex, from Armenia, whose uncle happens to live in Seattle. Alex plays the piano, and the organ. When I bemoaned the fact that our children are so much louder than Danish kids, he says, directly to Eden, “This is good, that you have passion! This will make you a marvelous musician when you master the piano.” That’s pretty good stuff, right, to have someone affirm your nine year old like that? I think this one might be worth it.

Still, today as I sat in front of the huge gold crucifix with its weighty, anguished Christ, I had second thoughts about bringing my children to this place. You see, I believe you have to use art to preach. I believe that for a post-modern generation image is often, maybe always, more powerful than words. And this art, this occupied cross, is screaming “YOU stuck me up here and I’m never EVER coming down.”

I don’t want to indoctrinate my children with that kind of passive aggressive Jesus. I don’t want them to bear the incessant guilt, to always see an image of pain crowning their holy space. I don’t think the good news of Christ is that we get to soak in scenes from a Mel Gibson movie for the rest of our lives. I’m pretty sure Jesus never said the good news was, “I’m going to die on the cross and you get to look at that for the rest of your lives.” I’m pretty sure what he said was, “Woo Hoo! The kingdom of God is at hand!”

Somehow we didn’t keep up with that reality. We got stuck in the pain, in the bleeding. Here, my children will never see the cross bare. They will never get a visual celebration of new life, of new chances–of resurrection. Not even for a season, not even for one Easter day. He’s always up there, suffering. And while the potato the children are growing in the pot on the church steps is a lovely illustration of emerging life, somehow it doesn’t have the same impact of a life-size statue ripped full of wounds and shining in the winter sunlight.

Can you combat this golden year-round image with a few well-timed words? Can you redirect your children’s malleable minds to the potato? Can you help them focus on the shared loaf; the ring of candles ignited from one common light; the cup that never runs out? Or will they primarily remember the bleeding cross and the man who will never climb down?

Oh how I wish this congregation of nations could gather in the chancel, not just to pass around bread and wine, but also to share the task of taking Christ down from the cross. If only our many hands could lower him with ropes and pulleys; carry his weight away from that place of torture. If only we could leave the beams bare, clean-scrubbed and oiled. If only it could shine there on Easter day, and empty, carry us into the forgiven reality of Eastertide.

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Way back in January, I began a list of Wednesday Reviews focusing on books that have changed my life–and which just might change yours. I started with the Artist’s List, moved on to the Feel Better List, then got waylaid just after the Budding Feminist List. Now I’m back to offer you the last two installments: Religious Awakening and Survival Parenting (next Wednesday). Thanks for hanging in there with me…and remember, any purchases made by clicking on the embeded links help support this website. Here’s to brave new worlds!
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Shortly after being ordained as an evangelical minister, I became almost entirely disenchanted with the world of church. The church wanted me to debate people into conversion; I want to dialogue with people about life. The church wanted me to de-bunk all other religions; I wanted to learn from their holy stories. The church wanted me to entertain people on Sunday morning; I wanted to host a banqueting table heavy on the bread, wine, and storytelling. The church wanted a water-tight system of belief; I wanted a way of living that recognized everyday moments as holy.

I spent a lot of time at staff meetings blathering on about these things while my co-workers looked at me with concern. Then I read these books, held the hand of their authors, and gleefully jumped off the diving board and into the deep end of generous faith.

A New Kind of Christian

The Story We Find Ourselves In

The Last Word (and the Word after That)

Brian McLaren

If you are a traditional church-goer who has felt kind of squirmy at Sunday morning services lately, I strongly suggest dipping into this trilogy. McLaren presents emerging/post-modern theology in the form of a fictional conversation between two friends—a pastor and a science teacher/philosopher. McLaren doesn’t claim to be an accomplished fiction writer, but his technique here makes these books easier to read than most religious texts.

were the unofficial required reading for the spiritual growth community I used to host. They’ve been a life line to the many ‘recovering evangelicals’ who have walked through our door. A New Kind of Christian breaks things open. The Story We Find Ourselves In ourselves In re-defines the Bible as a descriptive family story (as opposed to a prescriptive rule book). The Last Word (and the Word after That) tackles the concept of hell.

I would consider McLaren’s approach to be gently progressive; fundamentalists will hate it, but it’s great for the Jesus-y person who is deconstructing their faith in the hope of finding something at the center that’s worth holding on to. Read bravely. Today’s Flavor: Scratches where it itches.

The Spiral Staircase
Karen Armstrong

From her life as a young nun to her current role as an interfaith expert, academic Karen Armstrong The Spiral Staircase tells her story of journeying through faith and reason. Her tale spirals through faith, disillusionment, enlightenment, and back again, with each turn bringing her new understanding and depth. Most known for the popular texts A History of God and The Battle for God, in Spiral Staircase Armstrong uses a different voice to tell her own complex and very personal story. I’ve already marked up one copy, given it away, and started re-reading another. A well written memoir from one of today’s top scholars. Today’s Flavor: Find yourself on every tread.

The Power of Myth
Joseph Campbell

Okay, so it’s not a book, but he has written plenty of them. The Power of Myth DVD series, Joseph Campbell’s theories on comparative religious studies are broken into bite sized bits for those of us who aren’t pursuing an advanced degree. I’ve only begun watching this amazing collection of lectures, quotes, and images – but already I know it will be a pivotal item in my transformational tool kit. The late Joseph Campbell was one of the most respected scholars in his field, and his work is amplifying this voice in my head that’s telling me “All truth is God’s Truth”—no matter what package it comes wrapped in. Today’s Flavor: Expand you mind without over straining your brain.

Find more great reads and other stuff I like at Magpie Suggests.

cate and pelt at the dog park

sometimes, simple moments seem sacred.
savor them at sacred life sunday.
namaste.

Did ‘cha know that I’m a contributing editor over at BlogHer? Find me every monday writing about things like this or this. See you there!