Chi Ordination Sermon | Spring 2006
Last month, a friend and I made our first sojourn together to
Jerusalem. It was an experience that was exactly what I had hoped for,
but not at all what I expected. I could easily speak for an hour about
what surprised me, but for our purposes today, I’ll only tell you
about a couple of things.
Wherever you stand in Jerusalem, the crowning jewel of that beautiful
city is the Dome of the Rock, one of the most important mosques in
Islam. My partner had been there before, as had several friends, and
everyone insisted it was a must-see attraction. So, of course, it was
on our list of things to do. But we soon discovered it would not be so
easy. There are about five entrances to the courtyard in which the
mosque stands, but the armed guards stationed at those entrances would
not let us pass. They told us there was only one entrance we could use,
and it was on the other side of the city, by the wailing wall.
So we went to the Wailing Wall and passed through the equivalent of
airport security, and finally found ourselves in the courtyard
alongside a gaggle of other tourists. The Dome of the mosque shone gold
in the sun, and we marveled at the calligraphy that covers nearly every
inch of the exterior of the building. But we were disappointed when we
got to the door. They would not let us enter the building, they told us
in halting, broken English, because we were not Muslims.
I was crushed. I wish I had known one phrase in Arabic, because I would
have dropped to my knees and declared, “There is no God but God,
and Mohammad is his prophet!” The willingness to utter this one
sentence is, as I understand it, they only requirement for becoming a
Muslim, and I would have done it if I had known it in their sacred
tongue.
But I’m pretty sure that for that gatekeeper “Muslim”
was pretty synonymous with “Palestinian” and the puffy
white Irish-looking guy with the Franciscan tonsure was not going to be
fooling anybody.
It made me sad. The Dome of the Rock is one of the glories of
Islam—it speaks to the whole of the world of Islam’s
beauty, power, and transcendence. It calls to all people, saying,
“Come, taste, and see that Allah is good!” I so wanted to
see that mosque, because I happen to know that Allah is pretty tasty.
It reminded me of the scene in the lost Gospel of Thomas where the
religious authorities are refusing to minister to those people they do
not consider worthy of their instruction. And Jesus, who, as we all
know, can really get his righteous indignation on when he wants to,
says, “Curse you, Pharisees! You are like dogs guarding the water
trough! You neither drink nor allow anyone else to do so!”
This is not just a Muslim phenomenon, of course. Nor is it a Jewish
one. Or a Christian one. Any faith that has regarded itself as the One
True Way has defined itself as much by who was left out as by who was
allowed in. And the unfortunate truth is that, at one time or another,
this has been true of most faiths.
This is what makes the Chaplaincy Institute and the Interfaith movement
we are so proud to be a part of so special, so vital, so important. Our
students are standing up in the marketplace, they are going against the
grain, they are bearing witness to a world that defines itself by those
who have and those who have not, those what are in and those who are
out, and are prophetically proclaiming that one divine, sublime truth
that all religions know but have such a hard time embracing: there are
no outsiders. There is no “them,” and there is no
“us.”
For many people it is uncomfortable to hear that there is no religion
that has a monopoly on truth, or wisdom, or salvation. Discomfort is a
good thing. Our graduates are not looking to be popular, they are
looking to bring the light of faith and the balm of peace both to those
who believe they deserve it, and those who have always been excluded,
and to do it without distinction.
In this way they are a witness to the world, to our leaders, and to the
religious authorities: that divinity is the birthright of all peoples,
regardless of religion, or race, or economic status, or gender or
sexual orientation, or mental health, or physical health, or even
criminal record. We are calling off the dogs, and inviting everyone to
take a drink. Because Allah is good, Adonai is tasty, Brigit is
delicious, Jesus is sweet, Shiva is sublime, Buddha is the bomb,
Zarathustra is muy gusta.
One other thing that surprised me on our trip. The Church of the Holy
Sepulchre is the most holy shrine in all of Christendom. Over here is
the spot where Jesus was crucified. Over there the place where he was
laid in the tomb. But this church is shared by four different Christian
denominations, each of which claim one corner for themselves, distrust
all of the others, and watch each other like hawks for the smallest
infraction upon their “turf.” But none of them hold the key
to the building. The key is held by a Muslim family, a neutral party,
and whose responsibility has been, for the last thousand years,
to unlock the building in the morning, and secure it again at night.
For me, this is interfaith in a nutshell. As each faith has
traditionally guarded the divine as its own special property, the key
is held by none of them. The interfaith movement has a special
responsibility, to throw open the doors, and invite all people in. Our
ordinands, in each of their own ministries, are already doing that. Our
alumnae are doing it everyday in a hundred different places. This
school supports and upholds them in what is, after all, the only
endeavor that will ever bring this planet peace. Thank you for being
here, families, friends, partners, loved ones. Thank you for supporting
them, too. They can’t do it without you. No one can. And it so
needs to be done.
Namaste.