Hate isn’t new, but it does appear to be thriving.
interfaith
The subject of immigration engenders contentious debate, complex discussion, and conniving diatribe among Americans. Four years ago, the mother of a recently elected Republican senator implored her son to be compassionate in his legislative work on the issue. She reminded him of their own family’s journey from central Cuba to south Florida and noted that undocumented immigrants—she called them los pobrecitos, “poor things”—are human beings seeking dignity, work, and a better future just like they were. One wonders if Marco Rubio remembers his mother’s message.
Franklin Graham wrote the other day that “Islam denies that God has a son.” Note the unqualified, singular, capitalized God in that statement.
The long line snaked past the shoe cubbies and head-covering bins. It terminated well outside the exhibit hall as hundreds of people ate—or waited to eat—lunch. Arriving a bit earlier or a bit later would have made no difference. Everyone wanted to be part of this spiritual practice, and we were no exception. Friendly young adults, dressed in white, moved down the line and cheerfully explained the history of the event. Soon enough, we were seated in a row on the floor. Another row of people sat facing us. One by one, servers brought trays: rice, curried vegetables, water, salad, a cup, utensils, mango lassi. Second and third helpings ensured that no one left hungry. The Sikh community offered langar, which means “common kitchen,” to all 9,000-plus registrants at last week's Parliament of the World’s Religions.
Muslims have been in our town for a while, but the mosque is new. Last spring our church paid a call on our neighbors there.
Writing to Wake the Soul, by Karen Hering
Karen Hering believes that writing is a way to tune into your inner voice and discover the relationship you have with whom or what you believe in.
Shared holy places might puzzle American or European Christians. In the rest of the world, religions have rarely enjoyed such a monopoly.
We don’t know which experiences specify our humanity. But the Abrahamic faiths agree that we are made of dust and ashes, a bit of clay or a mere clot.
The Protestant was sitting alone at a table in the far corner. I assumed it was because no one else spoke Protestant.