First things first: Fasting during daylight hours in November is WAY easier than fasting during daylight hours in August. My Muslim friends had intimated as much, but I was not expecting it to be as easy as it was today.
I almost wished that it was harder. When I took a day off from Ramadan to play in my college’s alumni soccer game, I knew that I would have to make up that day before the end of the year. Even though the season of Ramadan is an entire month, the rhythm of the fasting and the solidarity of a billion others fasting makes the struggle a bit easier.
Now that the rest Ramadan fast is a few months behind me, I look back on some of those struggles with real fondness. I really learned a lot about Muslim culture during that month (and a lot about myself as well). I sometimes wonder if it will remain one of the most meaningful experiences of my life.
While my fast was to intended for me learn more about what this Muslim experience is like, and to show some solidarity with my Muslim friends, I did not end up converting to Islam. I’m sure that some of my Muslim and non-Muslim friends thought that this was possible based on my interest in the religion, but alas, it did not happen.
After a life lived in the realm of Christianity, I found myself wanting to get outside of the box. It’s too bad that there isn’t a new phrase that has replaced “outside of the box”. Remember when that term was en vogue? Remember when “en vogue” was… en vogue? You do? Alright! Now we’ve achieved synergy!
Sorry for that digression, but I actually do appreciate that metaphor of a box. The container of my Christian faith gave me a great deal of comfort. In my particular sect of Christianity, we believed that God’s only inspired words were contained within the leather casing of the Bible. Right there, from Genesis to Revelation, that was it.
It wasn’t exactly a small box, but it was a clearly delineated record of inspiration. I through myself headlong into studying and memorizing it. I even went to college to get a degree in the Bible. It was a 774,746 word (give or take) field to be mastered. Heck, I even started to learn how to translate from the ancient Greek.
But when my horizons were expanded to the billions of people who have never known the Bible and it’s Jesus, I found that I could not accept my Church’s teachings of their role in God’s grand narrative.
What was I to do about the Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, etc. of the world?
A God who would send the ignorant to hell didn’t appeal to me, and if He did allow some sort of grace to the ignorant, then evangelism seemed like a risky proposition, with the eternal destiny of souls on the line.
Perhaps you have heard of the metaphor of the blind men and the elephant?
These six blind men happen upon an elephant, but each can only perceive the creature through their hands. They take turns describing the different parts of the animal that they can feel, and argue over who is actually in touch with the its true nature. Of course, there is the artist, with eyes to behold the entire scene, and with this, the ultimate knowledge. Everyone thinks that they can perceive the whole of the God… er uh, elephant, right? How can one make such a claim and still be respectful to those which he calls blind?
As I wrestled with my own cognitive dissonances, I stumbled upon Samir Selmanovic and his book. Suddenly, I had an example of a Christian minister with a faith that actually honored the beliefs and traditions of other religions. Samir approaches those of a different faith with the curiosity and respect of a foreign exchange student, eager to learn from his surroundings.
I also found encouragement through the Interfaith Amigos, a trio of clergymen from the three Abrahamic faiths. Again, instead of seeking to convert each other, they seek conversations that allow them to learn from each other. How they make this all work, where others have found enmity, I sometimes wonder.
Most recently, I have discovered the discussions fostered by Chris Stedman. Chris is the Interfaith and Community Service Fellow for the Humanist Chaplaincy at Harvard University. Even as a humanist, he believes that there should be a place at the Interfaith table for those who do not believe in a god. He’s got some great ideas about how this can all work, and I’ll be writing more about him soon. But for now, just trust me that he is a really bright guy who doesn’t give you that icky, repulsive feeling that many atheists can do when they talk about religion.
That’s really where I’ve gotten stuck in my faith journey. I don’t really want to leave one box for another, but I often find myself suffocating in the vacuum of nothingness that I’m floating in right now.
Being in a box of religion may be limiting and claustrophobic at times, but at least there is some firm footing to rest on when weary.
I’ve almost forgot to mention the good people that often make up a faith community. I attended a bar mitzvah for the first time last week, and found myself encouraged and envious of the support offered to this boy and his family in his transition to manhood.
And finally let me return back to Ramadan. While I don’t want to embrace all of the beliefs, rituals, and dogma of Islam, I very much value and appreciate the structure of the Ramadan fast.
There is a beginning… and an end.
The sun comes up… and the sun goes down.
I focus my mind during the day… then I sit in thanksgiving for my food and water at night.
As far as boxes go, it’s been one that I have been happy to step into for the first time this year. Instead of continuing to float in a sea of not-knowing (agnosticism), will I be able to find peace of mind and community support in the Interfaith world.? Is this the box that contains the whole of the elephant? Or just another body part for me to grasp for in my own blindness?
Regardless, I’m proud to have celebrated Ramadan with my Muslim brothers and sisters this year. Will I be back for more next year in the blazing summer? I would say that it is pretty likely. Would anyone like to join me?









