Yet whilst it would be easy for the post mortem to just focus on the failure of the system to anticipate and ultimately handle and control such riots, it would be a shame to simply gloss over examining some of the causes of the initial riot and the subsequent snowballing incidents of looting and criminality.  This is where it gets a bit comlicated.  The riot had multifaceted elements and a proper approach to examining the riots and its causes is akin to the peeling away of the layer of onion skins.  This is not to say that what happened in any way is to be justified, but explanations need to be sought.

The government on its part is perhaps keen to highlight these incidents as more of a criminal nature as opposed to anything deeper such as disaffection and poverty, despite David Cameron’s statement to parliament on its recall from the summer break, acknowledging the potential  ‘context’ of the riots. In a way there is some justification to regarding some of the incidents as criminal especially in some of the copy cat incidents that followed the initial wave of riots on Saturday night.  An opportunity was seized on Sunday morning to loot stores and this was followed by other people in the following days especially with the riots that took place on Monday and Tuesday.  Yet to simply blame this on criminality is perhaps to be slightly naïve and to put a band aid on a very deep cut. What is needed is to go to the root of the problem.

There is an element of the people who rioted especially on Saturday night (and on subsequent nights), that feel disengaged not just from the political process (largely because politicians have also disengaged from them) but also from mainstream society (that constantly ignores them), who have no focus for their energy, anger and resentment, no sense that they can change society and no reason to feel responsible for the consequences of their actions.   These are people who suffer from a structural inequality which is all too obvious in the poverty you see in the communities where they live.  They have very little currently in their lives and very little to look forward to.  Thus one should not underestimate the frustration felt by social exclusion, disenfranchisement and wasted lives that many of these youth have.

It is also obvious that successive Governments took the eyes of the ball with regards this issue. For the last decade or so, the Government has been focused its program called Prevent (Preventing Violent Extremism) which based  on a security agenda deals with mainly one community. By concentrating a majority of resources on counter terrorism measures that ended up scrutinising a certain section of the community from a security perspective and focussing on a minority within that community, real social issues which were conflated with security priorities ended up being sidelined and  opportunities to address them appropriately wasted.  Thus not only did a majority of the counter terrorism initiatives fail but a greater sense of isolation, disillusionment and a decline in community cohesion was the result.

The copy cat riots that followed the Tottenham one, in many parts of London and other major cities of the UK, though display a more sinister and disturbing problem.  It shows a crass disregard for other people and property and judging from the wide section of people, who did the looting, is not confined to a specific class, race or even educational level.  These events were symptomatic of an unsustainable need to consume and acquire in the face of declining morals.  It is no coincidence that these riots took place at the same time of a global financial meltdown.  The corruption of the politicians, media and police and the recklessness that has condemned our economies to its decline and the big companies that evade taxes, might be different in appearance but they all have a common denominator: Greed! As one commentator explained, the moral decadence of the criminality displayed on the streets is not that different to the moral disintegration at the higher echelons of society. The need to get more and more without ever stopping to think of the consequences! The unequal consumer society that we have become obsessed with , leading to the constant desire to acquire more and more of the better toys and the designer label clothes, in order to affirm our status with material things whilst regaling in our individuality, means that morals and ethics can be disregarded.  This is where the biggest eye opener has come from the riots.   Decency and humanity have been swapped for selfishness and greed.

Thus in this regard, we as a society all are culpable as we have allowed markets to dictate politics and community life in our drive to become more and to acquire more.  The culture of the society has become one fed on individual achievements influenced by social status and virtual friendships. We devalued social interaction to ‘chatting’ with  so-called friends on Facebook; we have allowed the smartphone to become an appendage of our  bodies and  we have become desensitised to violence as a result of what we listen to, what we watch  on tv, what we read and what electronic games we play.

The truth of the matter is that as we peer into the mirror to ask questions as to what went wrong, we are faced with a shattered mirror in the analogy of Sir Richard Burton in the The Kasidah of Haji Abdu El-Yezdi, who wrote “Truth is the shattered mirror strewn In myriad bits; while each believes his little bit the whole to own”. Thus parts of the truth are everywhere and the whole truth nowhere! It is with individual pieces that we start.

From the Government’s perspective, they need to quickly distinguish between political policy and lived experiences.  They will have to stop developing a set of policies that put people into silos and that view things through a security lens in order to understand the diversity of a cosmopolitan society at the grass roots where everyone actually knows each other and respects each other.  If anyone thought multiculturalism at a practical level had failed causing people to dislike the country that they live in, then the evidence of various immigrant communities who readily stood up to defend their neighbourhoods during the riots points to the contrary.  The Government will have to acknowledge that something more than just enacting policy will have to be done. Yet unfortunately, in the debate in Parliament following David Cameron’s speech, MPs seemed to skirt around the issues of tackling the degeneration of moral values in society instead choosing to talk about policy, funding and policing.  It was as if the proverbial elephant in the room was ‘how do we tackle moral decline?’

So maybe it is not up to the politicians to take the first step.  Perhaps it is up to us as communities and society who will have to swap markets for morals in politics, business and community life.  We have to rediscover the moral agency that will allow us to apply universal ethics and values to our daily lives.  This is not something that can be enforced by a government, but is something that has to be internally generated before it can be lived.  For this, we will have to go back to the basics to develop a shared language of morals, ethics and values, which will feed into respect and understanding.

In essence, we will have to rediscover a spirituality of commonality which will allow us to recognise the common space and substance amongst all doctrines that will provide the fuel for social change and trigger action for the unity of humanity. This shared language will enable us to develop a set of ideals that continue to stir our collective conscience; a common set of values that bind us together despite our differences; a running thread of hope that makes this improbable experiment of reconciling and rehabilitation of vulnerable communities possible. These values and ideals will have to be living, which cannot find expression on paper or monuments or in the annals of history books, but which remain alive in the hearts and minds of people inspiring us to pride, duty and sacrifice. These living values will have to help us to build on shared understandings and should be the glue that binds every healthy society.

The concept of spirituality of commonality that we need to develop as a society in response to the terrible incidents of the last week has to be an awareness of the interconnection of all things to provide the fuel for social change.  It has to recognise that diverse doctrines have a common space and substance as we all belong to this world and we need to live in peace with everything and everyone and protect it for those who come after us. It has to be about a sense of duty and sacrifice on behalf of those who are voiceless.  It has to allow us to value behaviour that express mutual regard for one another, honesty, fairness, humility, kindness courtesy and compassion.

People might scoff at the naivety of this statement but the point is that we have no choice.  We have got to a position where something new needs to happen. For too long, narrow interests have vied for advantage with ideological minorities seeking to impose their own versions of absolute truth. It is time we reassembled the pieces of the broken mirror.

In order for this to happen, as many people have already been talking about, we need to engage: with each other, at different levels and ultimately with the authorities. The Bishop of London talked about nourishing relationships in order to develop an understanding of right and wrong. I would go even further to say that an extension of nourishing relationships and engagement is the concept of linking and partnership for mutual learning.  What we need is a change of paradigm of the post Second World War twinning initiative between towns in England, France and Germany which was done as a means to prevent future conflict in Europe through international friendship and solidarity at community level. What we need now is the development of partnerships in solidarity between towns, local authorities, schools, hospitals, religious organisations, youth clubs to not only understand each other but to strengthen communities, add to social cohesion and contribute to personal and professional development through friendships made and work undertaken across the partnerships.  Whilst this is needed within the UK, it is also a feature that this should be undertaken between the UK and counterparts in the Global South.

The concept of linking and partnerships are increasingly important to people (especially those with counterparts in the Global South) because with the increasing global nature of the workforce; movement of industries and companies; the narrowing of the information border and the gradually interdependency we as a globalised community seem to be becoming, people (especially the youth) in the UK need to understand the cultural contexts of other countries so that they develop the skills to be employed in far flung areas; they develop the skills to interact with each other and ultimately they develop the skills to respect one another. It increases not only community cohesion within the UK but will also contribute to social skills and global cohesion.

Organisations currently working in the field of linking and partnership such as BUILD (which is a coalition of 45 international development agencies committed to the development of sustained partnerships between communities in UK with counterparts in developing countries) will vociferously tell you that they see that issues such as unemployment, marginalisation, mental health problems, obesity, drugs, gangs and gun culture can and have been addressed through community partnerships undertaken between the UK and  the Global South.  So linking works!!

Thus there is a need and an opportunity now more than ever to promote the linking of communities to harness more cross-community collaboration, in the interests of peace, tolerance and wellbeing.

Within this spectrum of partnership and linking, we cannot disassociate ourselves from the role of faith.  As we talk about the development of new morals, ethics, values and spirituality, we need to consider faith and the role that faith organisations will have in adding to this new narrative. Faith provides a narrative and a space in which one can start to explore some of these discussions of ethics and morals.  In many of the smaller communities (especially the minority ethnic and immigrant communities), faith and faith organisations play a pivotal role in responding to the demands and pressures of the local community, where they operate with local knowledge to address specific community problems.  They are highly active in many fields of social service, healthcare, education, human rights, youth development etc. They are self reliant, capable of harnessing the communities’ manpower, skills and resources. They serve very often as role models; variously taking a stand against corruption, developing infrastructure, delivering “sharp end” programmes and offering relief, healthcare and educational resources- where they would not otherwise be found. They are invariably unswerving in their zeal and commitment and many organisations work entirely voluntarily in a spirit of service.

Though there is a character to the religious playing field, that complicates matters with an undeniably, as strong a history of internecine strife and struggle, discrimination as they do of cooperation and collaboration and a problem of religiosity, we cannot ignore their voices and their role.  Thus it is against this framework of potential disagreement and division, which we need to build and sustain links. The report “Engaging With Faith”, drawn up on behalf of The Commonwealth Foundation, by Professor Ian Linden and Andrew Firmin, recommends that we should strive to, “support joint working between inter faith networks, by promoting North-South, South-South linking, sharing of practice and focussed exchanges.”  But what is needed is something more: linking, between and within faith (and non faith) communities-and certainly faith hub, to faith hub, rather than focussing on inter-faith networks, within the global north and more specifically between cities, towns and communities in the UK.

We need to realise that each of us (with our own faith, culture and community spirit) have a bit of that shard of broken glass from the shattered mirror.  Only by piecing them together can we ever hope to move out of our silos and attain a much more cohesive community that better understands, respects and accepts each other.  We need to collectively work such that breeding violence, hatred or disdain is illegitimate.  We need to ensure that our youth are given accurate information about other traditions, religions and cultures.  We need to encourage a positive appreciation of cultural and religious diversity and to cultivate an informed empathy with the suffering of all human beings.

Linking, partnerships, engagement all mean the same thing: a sense of cooperation that leads to better understanding which should be encouraged and supported.  This is a powerful tool for the promotion of dialogue, tolerance and harmonious living.  Existing initiatives need to be strengthened and new ones started that have sustainable footprints in the community whilst providing a space for all stakeholders of society to play a role.  The concept of linking should be enhanced through a comprehensive education strategy, both formal and informal, that breaks down the seemingly insurmountable divide of ‘us’ and ‘them’. This education should begin at home, within families and small communities, where the benefit of dialogue and linking can be seen and felt. It should roll through schools, institutes of higher education and ultimately politicians, legislators, governments and multi-lateral organisations.

Tan Sen, the master musician at the court of the Moghul Emperor, Akbar, had some fifteen musical instruments in the Emperor’s chamber, which he had tuned to one frequency. Upon playing just one instrument’s musical note, the other fourteen started to resonate, to the astonishment and delight of the audience.  Ideally this story can serve well as a metaphor for how communities can work in harmony to achieve an enlightened result.

We struggle sometimes with how to be with one another in the face of a tragedy. One common response has been to adopt this event as evidence for some pre-existing political narrative. But I think this response is at worst deeply insensitive, and at best woefully incomplete.

In the wake of this shooting, we can talk about limiting violence in political language – and we should. As the factors contributing to the shooting become clearer we can talk about gun access and mental health care and homeland security and whatever else is relevant – and we should. But first and foremost, we have to be concerned with the human cost of what has happened.

On Saturday 6 people died, and 14 people were injured. Among those dead are a woman who was standing next to her husband of 50 years, a 30-year-old former social worker, and a 9-year-old girl. You can read more about them here.

Given this reality we have to be able to turn to one another and grieve, and share the work of mourning these tragedies, so we can build one another up to believe in people again as well as protect society through political action.

Many religious traditions have a tool to approach this enormous challenge. It’s called lament. We cry into the wilderness to shout our grief, our confusion, and even our anger, without immediate promise of any balm but faith.

This week I’ve been praying for the victims and their families with Psalm 23…”Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil, for you are with me.” I’ve been reading John 11, when Lazarus’s sister Martha cries to Jesus (as I imagine, in confusion and frustration), “If you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

One of the most moving pieces I have read since Saturday was about Representative Giffords’ synagogue, Congregation Chaverim, coming together as she struggles for her life in the hospital. They held a healing service to pray for her recovery and speak of her goodness, and the Rabbi’s daughter cried “Why, why, why, why?”

Sometimes that is all we can do. We pray for a better day. We speak of what goodness has been in the past. We cry to God in lamentation for answers we know may not come, or that we may never understand. And we turn to one another, not to make a point but simply to recognize that something terrible has happened, and hope that it will never happen again.

This article was originally published on State of Formation.

But what if you can achieve those same just, creative, Jewish ends without faith as a means or a motivation? Do you need God if you observe the 613 Commandments (or reinterpret and reapply them as so many modern Jews do)? Do you need God if you consider prayer an act of introspection -- one that changes the way you understand your actions, much as your believing counterparts do? Do you need God if you love the Torah as a national treasure of the Jewish people -- but one written and conceived of by our ancestors rather than the Divine?

Jews have a long history of grappling with these questions. One of the greatest thinkers to do so was Rabbi Moses Maimonides, the 12th Century Talmudic genius who also wrote one of the enduring philosophical works of his time, Guide of the Perplexed. As a rabbinic judge and scholar, Maimonides was unusually strict and even composed a dogma -- the "13 Principles of Faith" -- to differentiate Judaism from other Abrahamic faiths at a time of oppression. Core to those principles was the belief in one God and faith that Moses was the greatest of all prophets.

Yet, as a philosopher, Maimonides struggled to define a concept of God rationally. If the world was not eternal (as Aristotle had suggested), then how could God have created the initial substance that composed the world? Moreover, if God was omnipotent, eternal and constant in both features, why did God show conflicted emotions in the Torah -- or, for that matter, emotions at all? And as for his view prophecy, Maimonides endeavored to rationalize the miraculous, suggesting in Guide of the Perplexed that prophecy must have taken place in the form of a vision or dream, hinting that it must be interpreted loosely.

Some, such as renowned scholar Leo Strauss, have even gone so far as to suggest that Maimonides was an atheist, explaining the contradictory nature of belief in coded language such that only other philosophers could recognize his refutation of faith. While I am of the impression that Strauss overstates this claim, it seems clear that Maimonides' idea of God was far removed from that of traditionalist rabbis of the same era. To him, God was not an "old man in the sky" or one who literally spoke "face to face" with Moses. God was an indeterminate, powerful and perplexing force that acted on the minds of human beings, as well as on the world itself.

To step back from his beliefs (or lack thereof) for a moment, Maimonides' process of grappling with faith is striking. As his very own works show, from the 13 Principles (in the Commentary to the Mishneh) to theGuide of the Perplexed, Maimonides believed that God was an entity that could be discussed, analyzed and debated -- much like so many of Judaism's ideas. His conflicting and evolving understanding of God fell within a paradigm that allowed for inquiry and introspection. Faith, by definition, was not a self-evident idea and merited further inquiry.

Contemporary American Jewry should take heed of Maimonides' honest doubts and even more honest efforts to understand them in relation to his beliefs. It is unclear that Maimonides would have writtenGuide of the Perplexed at all were his struggles not such a salient part of his life, study and leadership as a rabbi. Maimonides refused to ignore his doubts for the sake of his leadership position as a rabbinic jurist. He also refused to renounce his religious practice because of those doubts. Doubt, practice and belief could all cohabitate in his mind, likely in different proportions at different times. Guide of the Perplexed was both the story of his quest for a coherent belief system and story of his doubts.

Today, faith is more of a choice than ever before, and atheism is becoming a more socially accepted alternative to belief. Judaism, especially as an action-based religion, need not feel challenged by atheism and can actually benefit from the new religious inquiries it has inspired. The key for the Jewish community is to allow for respectful, caring and frank discussions about personal belief -- and the doubts that many feel. Questions of faith are not confined to clergy or religious scholars. It is upon all contemporary Jews to write their own Guides in order to more fully understand their actions and the theistic or non-theistic values that motivate them. And it is upon Jewish leaders to allow -- and better yet encourage -- them to do so.

I, as a Jew, need God. Others may need to eschew belief in order to remain on their Jewish paths. Allowing for genuine engagement and the chance to struggle with faith and disbelief is something that our tradition should not shortchange itself of. Maimonides, as a rabbinic exemplar par excellence, shows us the means -- but the ends are ours to shape.

This article was featured on the Huffington Post, Tikkin Daily, and State of Formation

The 2011 Research Colloquium seeks applications for individual research projects relating to the theme Explorations at the Intersection ofReligious Pluralism and Jewish-Christian Dialogue. Application deadline is February 1, 2011.

The 2011 summer Research Colloquium aims at bringing into conversation two discourses that currently run on parallel tracks. On the one hand, there is the discourse on religious pluralism and comparative theologies, which theorizes and reflects on the changing landscape of religious belongings in a globalized and pluralist world, such as multiple religious identities, religious hybridity and migration patterns, or conflicts between various world religions. On the other hand there is the Jewish-Christian relations discourse which has evolved with renewed urgency after the devastating impact of the Shoah and the founding of the State of Israel.

The Colloquium will bring together fellows who have worked on either one of these two parallel tracks and offer them an opportunity for in-depth scholarly exploration of commonalities and differences. By creating an environment conducive to research, open reflection and scholarly inquiry, participants are encouraged to learn from both the plurality of religious voices and the particularity of the case of Jewish-Christian dialogue.

There is a richness of resources that has accumulated in the research and literature on Jewish-Christian relations, but the discourse on Jewish-Christian dialogue may have suffered from a parochial narrowing of perspective. There is a visionary potential for religious plurality, but without deep engagement within a spiritual tradition it may suffer from civic indifference toward communities with deeply-felt religious roots.

At the Colloquium, participants of diverse backgrounds that represent areas of interest in either of the two discourses mentioned above will spend the length of four weeks together, pursuing individual research as well as gathering as a group for focused and facilitated discussions.

The Colloquium is led and facilitated by professors Katharina von Kellenbach, Karla Suomala, Björn Krondorfer and Charles Henderson. We already have a commitment from CrossCurrents, under the guest-editorship of Karla Suomala and Katharina von Kellenbach, to put together a themed volume on these explorations as they emerge in the colloquium.

If you have further questions about the content of the Colloquium, please contact Björn Krondorfer, Professor of Religious Studies, Department of Philosophy & Religious Studies, St. Mary’s College of Maryland, bhkrondorfer@smcm.edu

Karla Suomala, Associate Professor, Religion Department, Luther College, Decorah, Iowa, suomka01@luther.edu.

Katharina von Kellenbach, Professor of Religious Studies, Department of Philosophy & Religious Studies, St. Mary’s College of Maryland, kvonkellenbach@smcm.edu

Application Process:
The Colloquium runs for four weeks during July. Those who are selected for a fellowship are referred to as "Coolidge Scholars" after William A. Coolidge, the principal benefactor of this program. Each Coolidge Scholar works on his or her own project, but benefits by being able to collaborate with others. The collegial relationships that develop within the group are a crucial element of this program and one of its distinctive aspects.

The daily schedule allows a balance of structured and unstructured time, including:

1. Time for individual research, reflection and consultation with fellows and staff   2. Seminars for facilitated and focused discussion that also integrate work-in-progress reports by fellows   3. Common meals and opportunities to explore the artistic and cultural resources of New York City.

The Colloquium is residential and provides fellows with room and board (vegetarian/kosher food available) and access to libraries and research facilities at Columbia University, Teachers College, Union, Auburn and Jewish Theological Seminaries. Participants are required to pay a $125 registration fee upon acceptance plus the cost of travel.

Applications should be sent via an email that includes:

1) Title and brief description of the applicant's proposed project. 2) A brief resume including religious affiliation or preference, academic standing and professional experience. 3) The names, titles, institutional addresses and telephone numbers of two references. (You do not need to have these persons write a letter; we will contact references as needed.)

The successful applicant will be capable of writing for a publication of the caliber of CrossCurrents. Normally, fellows will hold doctorates; some will have professional degrees; a few will qualify by reason of equivalent experience.  For ideas on the types of projects we encourage, please check the CrossCurrents website to view back issues of the journal.

If you have any further questions about the Colloquium or would like to explore the appropriateness of a project you are thinking about, please contact:

Charles Henderson, CrossCurrents, Executive DirectorEmail: colloquium@crosscurrents.org Tel: 212-870-2544 or Cell: 917-439-2305

This article originally served as the guest introduction for Issue 5 of the Journal of Inter-Religious Dialogue

The contemporary Estonian composer, Arvo Pärt, has developed a compositional system that—reduced to its sparest minimum—consists of the dynamic interplay of two musical lines in a field of silence.

The melody, which proceeds mainly in steps up and down the scale, might be compared to a child tentatively walking.  The second line underpins each note of the melody with a note from a harmonizing triad (the fundamental chord of western music) that is positioned as close as possible to the note of the melody, but always below.  You could imagine this accompaniment to be a mother with her hands outstretched to ensure her toddler doesn’t fall.[1]

This simple, but elegant musical metaphor can be helpful when we struggle to think of how religion can be a force for peace.   It invites us to ponder two fundamental contributions.  One, referring to the way we find ourselves concretely in the present, invites us to think of how religious actors can contribute their assets, skills, and comparative advantages to the emerging field of conflict transformation.  Viewed from a modern secular paradigm of peacemaking, these religious assets are seen as “instrumental” to resolving conflicts, even if the religious actors themselves retain their intrinsic religious motivations.  The other contribution is more foundational in religious terms, and refers quite directly to visions of peace, rooted in religious experience, which go beyond contemporary secular models of reality.  For many religious people, these two modes are complementary even if at times in tension.

Let me focus first on the second musical line noted above, the one that is “holding and taking care of us,” and let me call it the “Gift of Peace.”  As a religious believer and in my capacity as the Secretary General of Religions for Peace, I have grown ever more convinced that it is precisely religious communities’ respective experiences of Transcendent Mystery—the Holy; the Supremely True, Good, and Beautiful; the Supremely Merciful—that is at the heart of their capacities to build peace. To speak of these respective religious experiences requires sensitivity, solid principles, and care in our use of words, as I—like the religious leaders with whom I work—am firmly committed to respecting the genuine differences of belief that are present among our respective traditions.

Nevertheless, in place after place, I have seen people turn to their faith and find strength when everything seems at an impasse. Ordinary people in the midst of conflicts and gross injustices often show us that—despite their sufferings, despite injustices that cry out to be addressed—they are not separated from what might be termed by each of our religious traditions in its own way as the Gift of Peace.  Often, it is a dark night of affliction, gross injustices, or withering losses that—like an x-ray—disclose the hidden strengths of spiritualities. This is worth pondering deeply by each believer in the terms of his or her respective religious tradition.

And what a mysterious Gift: in Sierra Leone, I worked with Muslim and Christian amputees, victims whose limbs had been chopped off, but who also said they were willing to forgive. During the formal peace talks in Lomé, Togo, I spoke with a man who lost his beloved wife and daughter, his house, his job. His loved ones could not be returned to him.  Yet, he ended his story with the words:  “Thank God for peace. I forgive them all.”

To acknowledge that the living link with Transcendent Mystery remains in the midst of social brokenness is not a license to exonerate us from our moral responsibilities.  It does, however, help center our attention on what is uniquely religious.  It can invite each to open to his or her tradition’s most original religious experience of the Gift of Peace.  A Gift that is—however mysteriously—positive, holistic, harmonious, compassionate and a summons for justice.  The Gift of Peace is alluded to in various religious traditions by fecund words such as Shanti, the Pure Land, Shalom, the Kingdom of God, Dar el-Salam and others.

Today, in my own organization, Religions for Peace, religious leaders are working together from over 100 countries to transpose their basic symbols of peace into a public notion of “Shared Security” that tries to give modest public expression to what is shared among diverse religious communities’ visions of peace.  This notion of Shared Security recognizes the profound reciprocity of all of existence, its fundamental vulnerability and the moral imperative to care for the other.  Perhaps it can be understood as an invitation for collective creativity to forge a new public political paradigm resonant with the deepest shared wisdom of religious traditions.  Such religious creativity can extend contemporary secular discussions of peace by focusing on its positive, inter-related, and normative characteristics.  It is work for the long haul.

But we live in the rapidly changing present, so let me return to the musical metaphor, shifting attention away from “the one who is holding us,” the Gift of Peace, to the toddler, to us as a fragile and collectively “battered” child trying to go forward.  This pole of the musical metaphor calls us to face squarely the extremely difficult concrete situations that confront us and the challenge of taking next steps.  It calls us to clarify for ourselves how religious people can contribute concretely to the emerging field of conflict transformation.

The fact that religious intolerance and extremism are real factors in some conflicts, including those in fragile states, makes it all the more important to identify genuine religious potentials for helping to transform conflict.   How, then, can religious people, contribute to the emerging field of conflict transformation?

While no two conflicts progress in the same way, there is an emerging method of multi-religious conflict transformation.  At its simplest, this method involves assisting religious communities to join in a multi-stakeholder dynamic analysis of a given conflict to identify the needed roles (education, advocacy, mediation, reconciliation) essential to the resolution of that conflict.  In a second step, religious communities inventory themselves to discover if they have assets—at least potential assets—to serve the roles identified as essential to resolving the conflict or a dynamic aspect of it.   In a third step, the potential religious assets are mobilized, equipped, and engaged in the needed conflict transformation roles.

The engagement of the method often takes place in a multi-religious context, which can align different communities around similar goals, capture the complementary strengths of such communities, and provide efficiencies in training and facilitate multi-stakeholder partnerships between the religious communities and other essential actors.  This is difficult, hard work, and it is typically chronically underfunded.  It can often work best when it is carefully aligned, and sometimes softly linked, with governmental and or United Nations peacemaking processes.

But what, then, are the assets that religious communities can bring to resolving conflicts?  The first class of religious assets might be called “spiritualities.”  People do find hope when there appear to be no grounds for ordinary hopes.  People do sacrifice themselves out of care for others. And people do forgive the unforgivable. Spiritual strengths, such as these are cultivated in each religious tradition in its own way. These spiritualities can provide the strength to engage in roles essential to conflict transformation such as countering messages of hate and calls for violence, and advancing reconciliation and healing among and between conflicted persons and communities.

Building on the power of spiritualities, there are the related moral heritages of each tradition that can provide to their believers a compass for dealing with the extremely complex situations encountered in conflicts.  Our moral heritages are not simply catalogs of “do's” and “don'ts,” although these are important. They are shapers of character and conscience and cultivators of virtue.

Think for example of the great Emir Abd el-Kader, who won the praise of fellow 19th-century luminaries as diverse as President Lincoln, Queen Victoria and Pope Pius IX. Abd el-Kader, you may recall, mounted military resistance against the bungled French occupation of Algeria in 1830. During the time that he led the resistance, he was known for his courage and tenacity, but equally for his exacting moral standards. He demanded, for example, that prisoners receive humane care— indeed, exactly the same rations as his own soldiers. He surrendered to French generals in 1847, lived under house arrest in France, and was exiled to Damascus in 1852. There he saved thousands of imperiled Christians. He had a moral compass, and struggled to use it consistently, most tellingly in his comportment with those with whom he differed. When he died in 1883, the New York Times hailed him as “one of the few great men of the century.”[2]

Finally, religious communities have unique social assets.  Hundreds of thousands of mosques, churches, synagogues, and temples dot the four corners of the earth. These local congregations are linked by districts, and organized on national and often regional and global levels. They constitute a tissue of connection that unites each congregation with the others associated within the same tradition. Every local congregation in the vast webs of religious networks is potentially a local center for advancing peace.

In short, we have spiritual, moral, and social assets that can be engaged in today’s emerging field of conflict transformation.  It is these assets that can concretely be harnessed for the needed roles of education, advocacy, mediation, and reconciliation essential to transforming conflicts.

In pragmatic terms, we can see the added value of multi-religious cooperation in situations that are extremely difficult for nation states or the United Nations to manage.  Increasingly we are forced to recognize the link between religion, conflict, and failed or fragile states.  One in four countries is defined as a “fragile state,” according to a Foreign Policy focus issue (August 2010).  Fragile states often cannot provide even the most basic of services for their citizens, including minimum security for their inhabitants.  These fragile states can too easily become breeding grounds for radicalization and a refuge for extremist groups, compounding the miseries of innocent civilians and multiplying instability.  The international community faces difficulties in addressing violent conflict in these places not least because it does not know with whom to engage to set things on the right track.  Religious communities provide an important entry point.  For example, even an extremely difficult situation such as Somalia makes clear that religious channels can remain open when diplomatic ones are blocked.

In this special edition of the Journal of Inter-religious Dialogue, you are invited to ponder how religious assets need to be engaged to create an environment of trust in the Middle East and Sri Lanka, to be deployed in efforts to protect women in the Democratic Republic of Congo, and to support youth with a healthy alternative to the callings of radical groups.  These, and the other fine examples in this edition, point to an ever fuller engagement of religious people in peacebuilding.

As more and more religious people around the world work together for peace—cooperating with one another as they work to marshal their spiritualities, moralities, and the living networks of their faith communities in concrete peacemaking roles—we can also take heart in the chord that arises out of silence and supports every tentative step forward.  People hear it and interpret it in different ways.  Yet, they find in their hearings comfort in the hardest of times, hope when nothing seems clear, and acceptance of one another as part of the Gift of Peace.

Dr. William F. Vendley

Secretary General
Religions for Peace

[2] See John W. Kiser, Commander of the Faithful: The Life and Times of Emir Abd el-Kader (Monkfish Book Pub. Co, Rhinebeck, NY, 2008).

If respectful debate and engagement enliven our own sacred texts, we must similarly work to make interfaith learning in seminary rather than view it as a passive undertaking. By its very nature, it seems meant to be made, not simply learned cold and dry in a course on comparative religions. This is not to say that such courses should be discounted, but rather that they should be supplemented or structured so that seminarians can engage, struggle with, debate, and thereby gain a fuller respect for other religious traditions.

But how can interfaith studies be made? If everyone in a seminary is of the same denomination (as in many cases) or at least the same umbrella religion (as in most others), with whom can seminarians engage in the creative, tense process ofmaking interfaith learning?

Some seminaries have answered offhand that you simply cannot do so without a multi-faith student body. Hebrew College andAndover Newton Theological School cohabitate the same campus to ensure the creative tension necessary to make interfaith learning happen daily. The now-interfaith Claremont School of Theology similarly brings students in Jewish, Muslim, and Christian programs under the same roof. But for the majority of seminary, divinity, and graduate school students, deeper interfaith learning cannot be found on campus - and sometimes not even nearby.

Yet such learning must continue to take place. Without it, an entire generation of clergy may enter congregations and positions of leadership with notions of other traditions that resemble cardboard cutouts rather than refined, detailed pictures wrought by intensive study and full-hearted grappling.

Clergy will be less able to collaborate with other religious communities if they do not understand their own traditions in relational terms - terms forged through intensive discourse. Yet even American seminaries devoted to a single denomination can encourage students to make interfaith learning - in this case online.

Current seminarians are expected to be versatile online - and in time even use online resources to teach and help make their traditions come alive. A number of websites, notably this very online publication, have worked to foster quality dialogue between readers and commentators of different traditions. Yet few have enabled seminarians to actually guide the conversation and contribute a majority of articles.

As Chris Stedman, Managing Director of State of Formation, a new forum for emerging religious and ethical leaders, notes in a recent article, "The current American discourse on religion and ethics is primarily defined by established leaders... While their perspectives are invaluable, this leaves an entire population of importantstakeholders without a platform: the up-and-comers.'"

For future clergy to truly make interfaith leadership, they must first find a conversation that they can join as equal partners. When we are willing to allow it, this may readily take place online.

This article was originally published on the Tikkun Daily and then re-featured on the Journal of Inter-Religious Dialogue's State of Formation website.

During hevruta with a fellow seminarian, I encountered the depths of my own Christian faith in a new way.  This was my first experience of hevruta, the study of the Torah with a partner, but it was familiar for my partner, Gideon, a rabbinical student.  He had never read the text we studied, Luke 10:25-37, but I knew it as both a foundational story of my religion and a favorite Christian justification of interfaith relations.  After reading the text aloud, Gideon asked me what I thought it meant.  Reeling through years of Sunday school explanations to seminary theology, I offered the common explanation for the parable: the Samaritan demonstrates the command to love one’s neighbor in a way which we are to emulate.  Gideon responded, “But that’s not what it says.” I do not remember the conclusion to our discussion that day, but I realized that Gideon might be right.  Surely Jesus calls us to love everyone and to care for the needs of all as the Samaritan did, but my familiarity with the text blinded me from seeing other meaning.

The common explanation that confused Gideon is not necessarily incorrect because Jesus concludes by saying, “Go and do likewise” (Luke 10:37 NRSV).  However, the question which provoked the parable, “Who is my neighbor?” (Luke 10:29), was asked to identify who the second greatest Christian commandment calls us to love, and the answer is the Samaritan.  He certainly demonstrates an admirable way to behave, but the story is told from the perspective of the man in the ditch. This man is not in a position to discriminate based on the labels of class and religion given to the hearers.[1] Perhaps the point of thisparticular parable is not to render assistance to all others, but a call to take a perspective in which we recognize each person who walks by as a possible neighbor, one I must love as myself.

This reversal of perspective illuminates the centrality of the religious other for my own faith and belief as a Christian. The original question of this discourse is “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” (Luke 10:25).  If part of the answer is to this question is to love your neighbor as self, and the helping Samaritan is my neighbor, then could this parable suggest that my eternal life depends on seeing myself in need of the other to the point that each who I encounter is my neighbor?  We prefer to read this story in a way that the other’s life is in my hands, but actually my life is at stake in my ability or refusal to recognize my neighbor.

Prior to my conversation with Gideon, I assumed that this pericope meant that I should recognize people all over the world who were different from me as my neighbor, but the command to love the Samaritan was not surprising because Samaritans were different religiously and ethnically, but because they were living in the same land.  Rabbi Jonathan Sacks points out “the Hebrew Bible in one verse commands, ‘You shall love your neighbour as yourself’, but in no fewer than 36 places commands us to ‘love the stranger.’”[2] This was surely known by the expert in the law questioning Jesus.  Were the Samaritans too strange to be a neighbor, and too near to be a stranger?

The ambiguous nature of the Samaritan is particularly significant to us today. In her description of A New Religious America, Diana Eck explains, “Adherents of other faiths are no longer distant metaphorical neighbors in some other part of the world but next-door neighbors.”[3] The religious other is now one among us, like the Samaritan, and our very lives and faith depend on our ability to recognize them as our neighbor.

This phenomenon is relatively new for Christians in the West, many of whom experienced their entire lives in predominantly homogenous religious cultures.  This provided the context for much Christian theology and practice in Europe and America over many centuries.  Since religious others were ‘metaphysical neighbors,’ or strangers depending on perspective, they could be treated conceptually along with their religion, and perhaps this accounts for the prevailing understanding of pluralism.  In Christian theology, pluralism has usually meant the claim that all religions and religious truths are valid, taking part in a conversation which explores the relationship between the Christian religion and sweeping treatments of other religions, i.e. Hindu, Buddhist, Muslim.  Our daily realities, however, consist of specific persons whose religion might be different from ours yet is also distinct within their own tradition.  A theology that is not divorced from living its reality daily now calls for a revitalized understanding of pluralism.

The need to re-examine what my faith says about my new neighbors can lead to clarifying who is in and out of the bounds of a religion, or it can be done by drawing on the sources of a tradition to more fully live out one’s faith.  Sacks contends that the imperative for religious people is “to search – each faith in its own way – for a way of living with, and acknowledging the integrity of those who are not of our faith.  Can we make space of difference?... Can we see the presence of God in a stranger?”[4] The embrace of the religious other is not acquiescence to demands for tolerance or even wise and well-intentioned calls from religious or political leaders.  It is not defended by scouring the crumbs of theology, faith, and history for resources that suggest it as a viable alternative.  A revitalized understanding of pluralism will come from wrestling anew with the depths of our own tradition.

[1] R. Alan Culpepper, The New Interpreter's Bible (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995), 229.

[2] Jonathan Sacks, The Dignity of Difference: How to Avoid the Clash of Civilizations, 2nd ed. (London: Continuum, 2003), 58.

[3] Diana L Eck, A New Religious America: How a "Christian Country" Has Now Become the World's Most Religiously Diverse Nation, 1st ed. (New York, NY: HarperSanFrancisco, 2001), 23.

[4] Sacks, The Dignity of Difference, 17.

This article was originally published on the Huffington Post.

Simon Wiesenthal was an inspiration to me as a Jewish kid growing up in America. Who in my place wouldn't have been inspired by him? My large European-based family lost something on the order of fifty members during the Holocaust, and Wiesenthal hunted their killers -- or at least those who had gotten away.

When I learned about the center that bears his name, I was equally impressed. How couldn't I support an organization "that confronts anti-Semitism, hate and terrorism, promotes human rights and dignity, stands with Israel, defends the safety of Jews worldwide, and teaches the lessons of the Holocaust for future generations"? It brought together the hard-nosed fight for justice with a love for teaching and an investment in the future of Judaism.

I still profoundly admire Wiesenthal and the Wiesenthal Center. But I worry that a recent op-ed written by two of its leaders, Rabbi Marvin Hier and Rabbi Abraham Cooper, goes against the very pursuit of justice that the center so firmly embraces. Entitled "Presbyterians Against Israel: Liberal Protestants are engaging in historical revisionism concerning Jews and the Holy Land," its strong suit is certainly not understatement. But by labeling an entire Christian denomination "anti-Israel," it may prove far more damaging.

The Presbyterian Church has over 2.3 million members in the United States. Its members are diverse, as are its leaders. To claim that "Presbyterians" -- and all the more so "liberal Protestants" more broadly -- are "against Israel" is provocative, unconvincing, and even ironic.

One of the worst dichotomies propagated by Israel's critics (and an unfortunate number of its supporters) is the very idea that you can be "anti-Israel." Besides undermining any hope for nuanced discussion, it suggests that you can be against the very existence of a country, rewrite history, and should devote time to counterfactuals rather than peace-building.

If there is a lesson to be derived from problematic and disproportionate criticism of Israel, it is not to oversimplify. It is appropriate to criticize the policies of a given country and support alternatives; it is unacceptable to tarnish the image of an entire country based on policies that only some support.

Something similar may be said of denominational bodies and their policies, as well.

Most tragically, we find that Israel's staunchest supporters within the Presbyterian Church are those most hurt by Hier and Cooper's piece. They are now seen as being in bed with true opponents of the Presbyterian Church -- rather than simply holding different aspirations for its internal policies. By contrast, those most critical of Israel in the Presbyterian Church -- some of whom may even venture into the self-defeating ether of counterfactual history -- will gain momentum and political stature from this article.

Just last summer, the Wiesenthal Center and its representatives witnessed the Presbyterian Church vigorously reaffirm its historic commitment to Israel's right to exist, turn down divestment proposals and amend many other proposed Middle East policies. By criticizing an entire denomination, rather than a particular faction therein, Rabbis Hier and Cooper can expect more, not less, criticism of Israel.

Israel stands to lose from a lack of nuance on all sides. So does the future of Presbyterian-Jewish relations in America.

(Full Disclosure: While I am primarily a rabbinical student at Hebrew Union College, I also serve as Program Director of the Journal of Inter-Religious Dialogue at Auburn Theological Seminary, an institution affiliated with the Presbyterian Church -- notably one whose leaders have opposed divestment.)

Photo Courtesy of JTSA

Seminaries, higher education institutions where professors of religion and religious leaders train students to become clergy, have been present in the United States for centuries. Because seminary students are generally being trained as religious leaders who will oversee congregations, their seminary education has a powerful impact on these students’ future congregations.

For decades, religious diversity in American seminaries meant the admission of students from different Christian denominations. Then Jews began to attend and even found prominent seminaries, notably Hebrew Union College, the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College and the Jewish Theological Seminary.

Yet with the notable exception of the MacDonald Center for the Study of Islam at Hartford Seminary, few American seminaries have historically developed programmes focusing on the study of Islam. The Muslim population had been dramatically underrepresented. Only in the past decade have these trends begun to change – with a greater emphasis on both teaching Islamic studies in Christian and Jewish institutions and giving credence to the increasingly prominent idea that it is time for Muslim Americans to found a seminary of their own.

Regarding the latter, the last two years have shown a particular flurry of growth and institution-building within the Muslim American community. First was the founding of Zaytuna College (as an outgrowth of the Zaytuna Institute) in 2009, designed to become a full-scale university for Muslim undergraduate and graduate students in America.

Then just this past October, a landmark interfaith workshop, “Judaism and Islam in America”, co-sponsored by the Jewish Theological Seminary, Hartford Seminary and the Islamic Society of North America (ISNA), brought to the fore discussions about building an American seminary solely for the training of imams and Muslim religious scholars. While such a project may still be years away, excitement surrounding the idea for a Muslim American seminary reflects a growing need to train Muslim clergy well-versed in traditional texts and with an understanding of the American context in which they would work.

Yet even as an institution that trains Muslim American clergy remains in discussion, Muslim students are now becoming valued as essential participants in divinity and graduate programmes across the United States. In fact, a number of new partnerships have emerged in recognition of the growing presence of Muslims and Islamic studies in seminaries.

Since 2008, for example, the Hebrew Union College and University of Southern California have partnered with the Omar Ibn Al-Khattab Foundation – a Los Angeles-based philanthropic organisation that works to support other Muslim organisations – to establish the Center for Muslim-Jewish Engagement. All three institutions feel that the centre holds significant potential, noting the success of its interfaith text-study programmes and existing efforts to bolster Jewish studies programmes in majority-Muslim countries while also strengthening Islamic studies programmes in North America and Europe.

Other centres, such as the Center of Christian-Muslim Engagement for Peace and Justice (CCME) at the Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago, have been in existence even longer. CCME has focused largely on urging Christian graduates of the seminary to be knowledgeable about Islam so they may collaborate with Muslim organisations and clergy throughout their future careers.

Most remarkable, however, was the announcement earlier this year that southern California’s Claremont School of Theology, an institution affiliated with the United Methodist Church, is poised to add full-scale ordination programmes for Muslim and Jewish students seeking to become members of the clergy in their respective communities. It is set to become the only institution in the world that also offers parallel training programs for imams, rabbis, and pastors.

While these profound institutional shifts may be more visible, cultural shifts in seminaries are also rapidly taking place. When I first spoke with colleagues about the potential to found State of Formation, a blog for top emerging religious and ethics leaders from across America, the first question many asked was whether I would be recruiting Muslim students. This would never have happened five years ago and is an indication that Muslim students are not simply tolerated in American seminaries but actively welcomed.

Seminaries have historically been at the leading edge of social change in America. It would seem that one of their current causes is the fuller integration of Muslims into American society – beginning in their very own classrooms.

©Rick Nahmias/goldenstatesofgrace.com

©Rick Nahmias/goldenstatesofgrace.com

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