discordant harmony

Walking past the fountain toward the entrance of the synagogue last night, I noticed a man standing near the entrance dressed in a dark suit sizing me up as I made direct eye contact to reassure him I was coming in peace. It reminded me of when I made a trip to New York City in the 80's and showed up at a Messianic Congregation unannounced, causing a momentary stir as those greeters had to quickly decide whether or not I was safe to allow inside. The Diary of Anne Frank came to mind as I was given access into their closed-off room to worship with them in spirit and in truth.

Ushered into the chapel, I found a seat among those who came to rehearse songs for the interfaith choir of the evening. As with many situations in which I find myself, I had no idea what I was doing, but felt profoundly happy trying to do it anyway.

Having been a part of a choir at my church for a number of years, I knew a couple of the songs. We all knew America the Beautiful which would end the service. And then there was a beautiful Hebrew song with translated English words. As we sang together it became obvious we were not all singing the same word. The choir director's manner was professional, almost abrupt were it not for the humor in this voice: "If you are Christian you will sing AMEN (pronounced ah-men); if you are Jewish you will sing AMEN (pronounced uh-main). It's all the same!" And so it was.

Entering the sanctuary was like being invited to the kind of party I think of when heaven is described. Jews, Presbyterians, Methodists, African Methodist Episcopalians, Unity, Society of Friends, Greek Orthodox, Catholics were among those who came. A folk singer with an Irish sounding name sang about healing; a black choir proclaimed the mightiness of God; various clergy spoke words of wisdom.

I was taken aback by the Imam of the Islamic Center who spoke eloquently from a sensitive spirit. He would need to teach us about the Koran since it is outside of the experience of most in the room. Because this was a Thanksgiving service he spoke of giving. A smile is considered charity as is removing a stick from a path where others will walk. He said everything belongs to God; abundance is in the heart.

Everything belongs to God. This is exactly what I believe! We are to give back to God a portion of what he already gave us, and give to others knowing that our provision is from the Lord.

We would hear from two directors of homeless shelters whose impassioned words could stir the coldest heart. We would be stretched further than opening our hearts to those of different beliefs; we would also consider those referred to as the least among us. All people--needing to find God; needing to be fed, clothed and given shelter; needing to be loved.

As I stood at the front singing with our make-shift choir and the clergy, I sensed conflict within the joy. The conflict comes when I am forced to think of individuals as groups. My beliefs are my own as are the beliefs of each one of us. We do not all agree on everything. We tend to be fearful of what we have not experienced.

I have had the good fortune of knowing personally a Muslim family who have shown me nothing but kindness. One of the sons played club soccer with one of my sons and the bond of friendship continues. When I think of Muslims, I think of them.

I have also had many Jewish friends starting when I unknowingly moved into what was considered the Jewish dorm at MSU. Some of the most wonderful people I have ever known are among them.

Living in different places, experiencing cultures unlike my own, my heart has been opened to a vast array of people each seeking after God in their own ways. Even those not actively pursuing a supreme being are looking for ways to live in peace with their neighbors and contribute to the world around them.

It is written in the Bible that we are to love the Lord our God with our whole heart, mind, soul and strength. Following immediately after that verse is: "Love your neighbor as yourself." Jesus says it all hinges on this--all the Law and the Prophets. Who is our neighbor? Ask the Samaritan.

My mind wants to tell me it is far more complicated than I am making it sound. It is.

But my heart will continue to sing in harmony with those who seek to love each other. Amen.

learning through experience

Plastic masquerade masks with eye holes covered with duct tape are going to be needed for the next experiential activity, we are told. I put mine on over my glasses, immediately wondering if I should have taken my glasses off first. We are encouraged to hold hands with those standing on either side of us. Relieved, I take the hand of one woman I know fairly well; the other one not so much. The activity is to navigate blindly a rope maze until each one of us discovers the way out.

When the command to find the rope is given, the women immediately let go of my hands. I can hear voices moving away from me and though I wave my hands around, they come into contact with no one. I cannot understand how anyone can know where the rope is since it is not within my reach. Perhaps they have skills I do not possess. Or worse, maybe I am being set up.

What if the others are only pretending to be doing a rope maze? They could be speaking out a script that has me believing they are engaged in the same activity when in reality they may be standing around the perimeter while I am the one left in the center of the room, alone. Not that I would have been intentionally chosen ahead of time to be the one tricked, but maybe it was bound to happen to the last one in line. Or maybe it was going to happen to the one who turned the wrong direction and did not find the rope--if there is, in fact, a rope.

Because this thought process could quickly deteriorate into emotional consequences for me, I need to collect myself by making a brief mental summary of all I know. 1) I am in the same room where we started; 2) There are still people in the room even though I have no way of knowing how many or if any of them are still blindfolded; 3) I am being watched and probably filmed; 4) I am not wandering lost in the dark because the lights are surely still on; 5) This is just a game.

I cannot allow anyone to know the terror I feel in the darkness behind my mask.

I call out, or at least think I do. Maybe I am so inside my head I can no longer communicate outwardly. I am pretty sure no one is listening to me anyway. I hear someone say, "Look at her hands," how they continue to be extended for self-protective reasons. Poor hapless soul. This is what abandonment looks like.

Counting the cost of possibly running into someone or the wall, I inch myself in one direction until I find the rope. Even if I am the last person to finish, there has to be an end to this activity. With no one to guide me, I find the way out myself.

In analyzing the activity, a correlation is drawn to our spiritual lives. I am asked what was going on with me when I was wandering around in the middle of the room while everyone else had seemingly put their hands on the rope. How could I explain the sense of confusion and loss I felt when everyone else seemed to find the way when I could not? Had this been one of those team-building exercises in which I was supposed to fall backward into someone's arms, I would have opted out. Trust no one has always been my motto. Good thing that was not the experiential activity. What would this say about my spiritual condition within my faith community?

I knew in the end I would survive, which I pointed out. I am a survivor.

Unlike others who seemed to be able to form an entire theology about the meaning of the rope, the importance of following it, and the need for community support along the way, I admitted I was not even sure of the existence of the rope. Someone said if I needed help, I should have asked for it. I did ask for help. Either no one heard me or my call for help was ignored. The result was the same. And who were they to think they could offer assistance when they were just as blindfolded as I was? Being led by someone as blind would have given me no more hope of achieving the goal than going it alone. Of course, having a hand to hold made me feel less afraid.

Psychological studies can be done with this sort of activity. The strong type A personalities forge ahead on the path, blindfolds be damned. Those with other kinds of personalities configure a variety of alternative ways to the same end. And then there is me, who is not at all sure that what we are supposed to be in search of is really even there. I have no way to win.

Surrender is counter intuitive. How do we hope to make it out of the rope maze if we give up?

And yet, only God can lead me out of the darkness. He is the only one who ever really has.