I could claim that I did not want to go just because of my fear of flying, but I must confess that when I was first offered to join a trip to Turkey, I was filled with trepidation. The source of my misgivings was actually a stereotype I was harboring-I thought of the Turks as an unbeatable and ferocious military power. While growing up in Boston as a second-generation Lebanese, I heard stories about the “old country” all my life. As one story goes, it was the “Turks” who caused my maternal grandfather to leave his beloved Mount Lebanon and immigrate to America. That was in 1913, when it was common for Turkish soldiers to swoop down on villages in Syria, round up the young men, and consign them to distant shores to quash uprisings against the Ottoman Empire. None of them ever returned. So, at the age of twenty-two, having no heart to shoot anyone and dodging the violence he found so odious, my grandfather headed for America. On my father’s side of the family, I had an uncle called “Turk.” Family folklore had it that Uncle Turk earned his lifelong sobriquet because of the mayhem he committed on the football field at Colby College about sixty years ago. Another thing that made a lasting impression on me was a popular song that came out in the 1950s:

So take me back to Constantinople

No, you can’t go back to Constantinople

Been a long time gone, Constantinople

Why did Constantinople get the works?

That’s nobody’s business but the Turks

This song reinforced the image I had of the Turks-that their military prowess was something people wrote songs about.

My interest in Turkish politics was piqued more recently when concerns were raised about the strength and resolve of its secular government. I decided that on my trip I would try to learn more about the situation, in particular, the relationship between secularism, religion, and the headscarf.

The first time I studied Islamic history was at Harvard in a postgraduate course. I remembered the lesson on Constantinople, the brightest jewel in the crown of the Byzantine Empire. Its conquest had eluded the Muslim emirs for seven centuries, until it fell at the hands of the Ottoman Sultans, renowned for their military expertise.

Ironically, I was drawn to the military museum in Istanbul, and it was an amazing experience because the walls seemed to reverberate with the pride of past accomplishments. What fascinated me was the detailed story of the conquest of Constantinople and the life-size figures on display. There was the conqueror, Mehmet, sitting straight and tall on a white stallion, and beside him, standing with a cane was an old man with a long white beard-Mehmet’s spiritual advisor Aksemseddin. In 1453, the conquest had rocked the world. Mehmet was just twenty-one years old at the time. At Harvard, I had never learned anything about Mehmet having a spiritual advisor, although I had asked my professor many times, without ever receiving a satisfactory answer, what the role of religion was in the Ottoman Empire, especially for the Turks.

In the twenty-first century, the role of religion is the subject of much debate. In Turkey, a great deal of discussion has arisen over the law that forbids women from wearing a headscarf on government property (such as the military museum) or at government-run universities. The law is based on Turkey’s eighty-year history of maintaining the separation of church and state. For a foreigner like myself, it was strange to witness college girls who would stand outside the university gates to take the headscarf off before entering (or risk being thrown out of school), and then stand outside the gates to put it back on when they were leaving.

Although I cannot speak with any authority on the political situation in Turkey, I had first-hand experience with the law. Driving into the museum parking lot, a young man in a military uniform stopped our car, lowered his head, and leaned into the window. Pointing to me in the back seat, he said in Turkish, “That headscarf has to come off!” My gracious Turkish hosts had fully prepared me for this moment. However, it struck me for the first time that Turkey was facing an enormous challenge: to reconcile secularism and religious freedom; something we take for granted in America.

Secularists might say that to speak of religious freedom in Turkey is to be totally nave, but as a student of Turkish history, I am not that nave. I understand the threat to secular society presented by the radical Islamists, but who are the “radical Islamists” in Turkey? Surely, not every religious person wants to overthrow the government? To find clarification on the matter, the news stories I had read were totally inadequate. So, after being introduced to some career-minded college girls who wore the headscarf, I decided to ask them informally for their political and religious views.

Of Turkish history, I knew that in the past few decades there has been a movement among the younger generations to embrace Islam and more young women now wear the headscarf. As sociologists know, with most social movements, whatever has been repressed eventually rises up in society. The religious revival in Turkey could be a response to the secularizing reforms, but there are global factors to consider as well.

I asked the college girls what kind of state they hoped for. Their answer was unequivocal and unanimous. They did not want to live in a society where they had no freedom or equal rights. They vehemently rejected the fundamentalism, that is, the kind of tribal mentality that creates a society bereft of the basic values of Islam, such as peace, justice, compassion, and equality for all human beings; and places greater value on violence, oppression, and punishment. They railed against associating Islam with rigid ideologies and tyrants. The college girls I surveyed indicated no desire for a state religion. They wanted to participate and contribute to a modern society where everyone was free to work and practice their religion.

I understand that some sections in Muslim societies are unable or unwilling to modernize their societies, but such things take time. I discovered that Turkey is really at the vanguard of modernity in the Muslim world, and that Turkish scholars have already conceived of a true representation of Islam. I was introduced to the writings of one of the contemporary Turkish religious thinkers, Fethullah Gulen, who has described the essence of religious practice in these words: “Loving and respecting humanity merely because they are human is an expression of love and respect for the Almighty Creator.” Whether secular or religious, I could think of no better ethos for Muslims to follow.

On my last day in Istanbul, I stood on a hill overlooking the Bosphorus. The chilly winds and watery vistas reminded me of San Francisco Bay. In my view too was the bridge that connects two continents, Europe and Asia. In this and in other indescribable ways, Turkey combined the best of both worlds, where humanistic values and modern Islamic thought can coexist. To me, it felt natural to stand astride the two worlds, to inhabit both, or perhaps neither.

Mary Lahaj has a master’s degree from the Hartford Seminary in Islamic Studies and Christian/Muslim Relations. She is currently the first Muslim woman chaplain at Brigham & Women’s Hospital in their residency program and also works as the Muslim Advisor for the Groton School. In 2005, she received the Promoting Peace Through Dialogue Award, awarded to her by the Boston Dialogue Foundation.

Notes

1. In fact in Turkey the state controls the practice of Islam through the Religious Affairs Directorate. For example, all imams are obliged to read the same sermon (khutba) at Friday prayer, the sermon being provided by the directorate. (Ed.)

Like much of what I saw in Turkey, I spent a great deal of time processing the experience, letting it really sink in, and figuring out what it meant for me. I saw this experience as a powerful metaphor for the wider communion of God-seekers, attempting to live together on a world stage. Each of us as individuals and as units−places of worship, denominations, religions−each is spinning in a hungry drive to experience the divine, to understand and be a part of the mystery and magnitude of God. We are too often, however, distracted by the waxing and waning distances between the dancers, the different ways of spinning, insecurities in our own movement. We are colliding with one another in a clumsy, chaotic mess. If we could lift our eyes and our arms to God and just spin, moving in the ecstatic reality of God’s love, not only would our personal spiritual experience be enriched, but we would begin to spin together, to fall into a beautiful, cosmic dance, one of peace and harmony.

The question then comes: how do we do that? This place of harmony and peace, quite frankly, seems distant and illusory. Humanity is a diverse assortment of peoples, trying to live together in an increasingly small world. And, it’s not looking good.

There is a startlingly prevalent tone in the world arena of intolerance, judgment, and hatred. Mankind is tragically plagued with violence, hurt, oppression, and war, and too much of this takes place in the context of religious differences. Our differences aren’t going to dissipate any time soon, nor should they. What has to happen is dialogue. We have got to learn to love one another, to respect one another, and to communicate with one another. As people of God, we can do one of two things. We can couple our religious identity with that of a soldier, armed and ready for the clash of religious empires, or we can take our seat at the table of humanity with a voice of love, humility, and faith.

Religious tolerance is a huge first step that we must take, first in our personal lives, then toward a peaceful world communion. Religion is one of the most deep and penetrating faces of the human condition. It bears in it an energy of passion and intensity, a power that little else in the sphere of human existence does. We are inherently driven to seek a union with our creator, with the divine, with something that is greater than ourselves. While I personally believe that this hunger is a universal, natural core of our being, it undoubtedly manifests itself in infinitely varying ways. There is no ignoring the fact that there are huge differences and points of separation between the world’s religious nomenclature. There are points of convergence and divergence on every level, from East to West, Jew to Buddhist, Episcopalian to Baptist, and from me to you. The only way to love all in the context of this diversity is to acknowledge and respect those differences.

Now, it is important to note that religious tolerance is not merely a failure to stand up for what one believes. It isn’t a weak cop-out. It begins with a security and understanding of one’s own identity, one’s spiritual core. An awareness of and conviction to one’s own beliefs allows for calmly, strongly held, but permeable boundaries. Tolerance does not require an abdication of those boundaries, but neither does it call for a relentless defense of those boundaries.

Stopping at tolerance is not enough, though. There is no room for growth in merely recognizing differences and agreeing to respect one another from a distance. If we, as individuals, seek growth, and if we as a global religious community seek movement toward a peaceful existence together, have to take it further. We have to dialogue, to engage in a meaningful conversation with one another. Dialogue is a two way sharing between different sides. This means that through love, you share your faith with others. But, it also means that through love you seek a better understanding of those whose faith is different from your own.

Interfaith dialogue is an extremely powerful, highly underestimated tool for achieving peace in such a deeply divided world. Globalization is rapidly and forcefully changing the way we live our lives, whether we realize it or not. Every day, technology transportation, and communication are getting better, placing the entire world in our reach. Geographical separation is becoming much less significant and real. The cultural and religious separations, however, are not narrowing. I live in a tiny global neighborhood with Jews, Muslims, and Hindus, Baptists, Roman Catholics, Methodists and the like. We are neighbors who don’t understand one another, don’t talk to one another….we just stay at home, separated by high fences. The fences are there for a reason, we tell ourselves. Better yet, let’s build them higher, and let’s build some more. How much energy have we spent on building these barriers? We have to be intentional about breaking down those fences and living out the inclusiveness and universality of God’s immeasurable and unconditional love. This doesn’t mean losing our identity or abdicating our beliefs. It means making love, compassion, and understanding a priority.

One of Christ’s major endeavors as a social activist was to tear down the walls that separate humanity and to unite all of mankind under the banner of divine love. The Jewish community during his time was in a tumultuous state of tension between its religious identity and a growing Roman presence. Among the varying responses from the Jewish community, one of the most prevalent was that of the Pharisees. They believed that the redemption of Israel would come from a strict adherence to the complex codes of holiness and purity. Christ made clear, though, that it is Yahweh’s love, compassion, and mercy that supercede the walls that we build to separate and compartmentalize ourselves. He wanted to override the barriers that separate Jews and Greeks, Slaves and Free, prostitutes and tax-collectors, Pharisees and Saducees, rich and poor with divine love. We are called to do the same.

While there are very real issues that separate the religions of the world, our points of commonality are far greater. In loving one another we must understand, dig deeper into our differences. We must move away from a polemic approach to one another and toward a respectful appreciation for religious diversity. We must come to the table with humility and a sincere desire to grow.

In “The Dialogue Decalogue,” Leonard Swidler lists some commandments for effective inter-religious dialogue.

1. The purpose of dialogue is to increase understanding.

2. Participants should engage in both interfaith and inter-religious dialogue.

3. Participants should be honest and sincere.

4. Participants should assume that other participants are equally honest and sincere.

5. Each participant should be allowed self-definition.

6. There should be no preconceptions as to areas of disagreement.

7. Dialogue can only occur between equals.

8. Dialogue can only occur where there is mutual trust.

9. Participants must be self-critical of their religious traditions.

10. Participants must attempt to experience how the traditions of others affect them holistically.

Basically, interfaith dialogue brings people of faith together, creates a loving, respectful relationship between them, and offers immeasurable growth to every party.

I know I’m running on some really broad, abstract ideas, so I want to offer my real, personal experience with interfaith dialogue. My interest in dialogue between religions and within my own faith goes far back, but my recent trip to Turkey transformed that interest into something much deeper and more passionate.

We traveled all over the country, visiting important cultural and religious sites and spending time with people who were a part of this huge movement in Turkey and within Islam. The movement stems from the teachings of Fethullah Gulen, a religious leader and social activist.

I also left with a massive charge on my heart to bring Christianity to the table with equal fervor and conviction. We need to step it up, join our voices in this exciting and hopeful journey toward peace through understanding and education. We have so much to gain, and so much to offer.

I want to leave you with a quote by Huston Smith. “What a strange fellowship this is, the God-seekers in every land lifting their voices in the most disparate way imaginable to the God of all life. How does it sound from above? Like bedlam, or do the strains blend in strange, ethereal harmony? Does one faith carry the lead, or do the parts share in counterpoint and antiphony where not in full-throated chorus? We cannot know. All we can do is try to listen carefully and with full attention to each voice in turn as it addresses the divine.”