Interfaith Dialogue: First Trust, Then Understanding

The young women were sitting on the couch across from me. We had just met that evening and we found that they both were working on their master’s degrees. They had come to visit Albertine; who was visiting us from the Netherlands. She had just arrived from Yazd and from a very exciting snowboarding trip in the Alborz Mountains. It was an evening of coming and going of students from various Universities. When ever inquisitive young adults get together there often is a very lively discussion and tonight was not an exception. Linda and I felt like the old ones if all our guests had not been our own children’s age.

It was all well and good until one of the young women asked me, “What does a pastor do anyway?” I had to think this over for no ready answer would do.” You see I was in the city of Qom and the two young women were in chadors. Both spoke slightly accented but very fluent English and one in particular was heading for study at the Institute for Religious Studies which had a focus on the three great Abrahamic Religions seeking to translate the classic texts of Christianity and Judaism. Let us call her Sarah. Sarah believed strongly that a government had a duty to support the religious culture. She was skeptical of our comments that in the West we had found it necessary to separate church and state. Sarah particularly was skeptical when we indicated that citizens could express their opinions over religion and faith in the public domain. Her experience in life suggested that if the state were not overtly religious (read Muslim) then the people would not be faithful.

So what could I say to here that would translate? What now that I have had a few days to process the rest of the conversation, what do I think was helpful and what was not?

I first thought about the way a mosque is supported and the role of the Muslim cleric. It was so different than a Christian pastor in America. I started here. “I have observed that the Cleric or Ruhani sometimes is assigned to a mosque but many clerics are scholars that speak occasionally on special occasions at the mosque. The cleric assigned to the mosque sees to its upkeep and that the times of prayer are conducted each day. The cleric is not the one who must lead worship. There is not a membership list for the mosque. All Muslims are considered apart of the “Umma.” Am I right so far?” (Sarah gave me a nod of the head to indicate a yes. She was listening intently.)

After this affirmation I went on, “The pastor of a church or “kelisa” has a very different role. I want you to think of a shepherd out on the edge of Qom. He is responsible for the well being of his flock. He knows which each one is and he makes sure he stays near them. The pastor of a congregation is said to imitate “Isa” or Jesus. The Bible speaks of his being the “good Shepard.” The pastor is responsible for knowing the basic concerns of the members of the church. The pastor usually is responsible for leading the worship and bringing a message. There are many activities in the church, such as, classes on the bible, youth activities, and prayer groups. He or she may counsel or visit in their homes for special events or just to be apart of their life. When the pastor knows what is concerning members of his/her “congregation” or church the message on Sunday morning is often centered around what he or she thinks the people need to hear from the bible. Not all clergy are pastors but most are.

Even when I felt that I had covered the basics about the pastoral role I was unsatisfied because I could still sense a very different experience between these bright and gracious young women and what we experienced in Christianity. The discussion was complicated by their lack of first hand knowledge of how Christians lived even in Iran. The separation of religions is significant and even when in Tehran a Christian and a Muslim work together the fellowship and sharing of faith experiences between them is circumspect and often non-existent. When I asked about Christians in Iran my young friends seemed to be very certain about the relationship of these minority religions to the Islamic Republic. Further discussion made me aware of how little real experience backed the strong beliefs they held. It made me realize how unique the activity of the Mennonite Central Committee is and how precious the trust they have developed among the clerics of Qom. Iran has at present a very isolated atmosphere that is only partially perceived by Iranians since their expectations for travel often is not as great as those of us in the West. As I share with the people of this nation I am amazed at the depth of hospitality and at the same time the experience that many have not traveled or explored their own country. They know about it for they are well educated. But Zorastrian, Christian, Jew, and Muslim have very different ways of being in this world and with very different experiences. It is difficult for Muslims to experience the ways of minority religions. The professors at our institute ask us, out of respect and interest, how this or that event in the church year is experienced and what is its significance? They may have read about the church year for they are highly educated clerics but to hear a Christian share their understanding and experience is helpful and perhaps unique.

There is a great divide between Christian and Muslim, particularly between East and West. Perhaps we have just awakened to the fact that we understand the Muslim faith even less than they understand us! What does it take to bridge this chasm? It takes more than facts; it takes experiencing life together. It takes an exchange of visitors between the East and the West. It takes a very intentional inviting of our neighbors who are Muslim into our churches and our homes. It will take time to build trust for we continually need to remind ourselves that we are the majority religion in the West with all its implications.

For myself I have a much better understanding of my own faith and what I believe as I live in a land of many unfamiliar customs, beliefs and experiences. Just living in the former Persia with all its history and tradition makes a difference. I can read a book in English here or there; but reading it here helps me see through a different lens. My ambiguity about Islam has vaporized but not totally gone away. The levels of difference go deep and exist from a history that has gone separate ways for close to fifteen hundred years. How can we expect not to have significant differences? Only charitable interaction and faith based trust can speak to this condition.

From Ashura to Ash Wednesday (January 19-February 6)

Part one:

Welcome to winter! Qom has spent all of January and the early part of February in the “ice box.” Frigid temperatures (12 or 13 degrees F many mornings), 18 inches of snow and ice (some still remains on our roadways), frozen water pipes (three times -our neighbor helped us thaw them with a blow torch), keeping our modest heaters going and experimenting with lining up pillows inside our doorway to keep out the chill have been the reality for us and for many in central Iran. Brrrr.

On January 18 we headed to Tehran to experience our first Ashura celebration. Ashura (the 10th day of the Islamic month of Muharram) commemorates the death of Husain, a grandson of the Prophet Mohammad who was killed in battled near Karbala, Iraq. The martyrdom of Husain is remembered with great reverence, this beloved Iman who stood up to corruption in Muslim political life.

The streets of Tehran were lit with brightly colored lights. Temporary stands had been constructed and free tea, milk and chocolates were being given away to all who would come. Hot bowls of soup were offered and many sheep were slain—sometimes lying at the side of the road. We came upon groups of men in solemn procession, slapping their chests and chanting as they remembered the tragedy of Karbala. This is at the heart of Shia spirituality: the memory of loss, of existential injustices, and the moral imperative to live a just and faithful life.

On Friday night our friends took us to a special occasion. A wealthy family who owns factories were, with their employees, making a special effort to feed the poor during Ashura. We were invited to join in. We entered a good sized yard in which 20 huge cauldrons were simmering (they would each yield 500 bowls of lamb stew) and people were taking turns stirring. First the men stirred and then the women. We shared dinner together (men in one room, women in another) and were warmly welcomed. The woman next to me said, “My daughter lives in Tampa.” She also liked Los Angeles. Another asked what it was like to live in Qom and seemed pleased that we found our neighbors so friendly. Early in the morning all this stew would go to S. Tehran, to feed the poor.

(David) My friend ushered me into the company of the leading bazaaris or merchants. Men came and went with a TV portraying on a national network the rituals of Ashura. The men greeted each other warmly. Except for the cleric who taught philosophy at the University of Tehran, almost all were older than me. As they came and went my friend told me, “this man is heading on business to Washington, D.C., this one is into appliances, and this one is my present client who is starting a chain of restaurants.” It was explained who I was. The grand gentleman who hosted this gathering asked about my impression of Iran. I gave a positive in Farsi and they were pleased. Then my host went into a lecture on the present situation in his country. One of the points he made was to suggest that the British were still behind much of the economic problems of the country. This is a common refrain from the generation now in their late sixties and seventies. These men poked a little at the cleric and he responded in kind. He held his own in the discussion. The group was irreverent by nature. The gentleman heading to the US asked me about my take on social life in America. I cannot remember what I said but we kept it light hearted. One man stuck out among all the others. He had greeted us at the gate. He seemed to be in charge of the big vats of food. He helped people find a seat in this inner gathering. He was not one of the helpers hired to feed us. So what was he? I asked my friend. “He is a major bazaari dealing in a carpets. He helped us when a foreign friend needed an estate settled. He serves everyone here because he believes in helping others.” Later we had a long chat with this gentleman as we waited for the women. He had one of those charitable hearts that transcends culture and religion. It was quite an evening!

Part two:

In worship at “our” Armenian evangelical congregation we were still singing Christmas carols on January 19 (Armenians had just celebrated Christmas on January 6) and drinking lots of hot tea afterward. Church, too, had had frozen and broken water pipes. The pastor, while writing his sermon had heard “rain outside”, then realized that the “rain” was inside, right under the broken pipe.

Classes are rolling along and we are getting lots of books read. In the evenings we often have friends over for tea and conversation. One group likes to review movies and do an occasional Johnny Cash imitation. Another friend likes to talk about physics and astronomy, another is interested in the American primary elections. One afternoon at the library, David met a sheik from Burkina Faso, in full native regalia. The man had excellent English and was glad to chat.

A friend invited us to dinner and his dad came to pick us up. “I am,” said his dad, “sixty years old. And my car is thirty!” The old Paykan (modeled on the British Hillman) creaked and groaned but ran alright. At home the family was gathering—our friend, Mohammad, his younger brother, their parents, a married sister, her husband and 2 year old, and the star of the show, 92 year old grandfather. Grandpa was more agile than I, sitting cross legged on the floor without difficulty. He was bright and articulate and had no impairment in his hearing. “I was,” he said (as translated by Mohammad) “born in 1915. I had no chance to go to school and have never been able to read or write. My family of origin had ten people in it. My parents farmed for a wealthy man—they grew cotton, oats and wheat, horses and camels. When the crops were harvested, my parents would load them into saddle bags on the backs of camels and bring them into the Qom bazaar. When I was 14, I began to work full time, too. Three other men and I farmed a large property for a wealthy man who was not good to us. We grew oats, cotton and wheat. At harvest time we put everything in four equal piles. The owner took three piles of produce. We four peasants divided the fourth pile and that was our pay. We used to wear long cotton tunics with a wide cumberband. My mother made these. But Pahlavi didn’t like us to wear these outfits to town; he thought we should wear suits. As a child I memorized poetry and parts of the Quran. We had a very pious family. That’s what I think the younger generation should know now—have a strong faith and be willing to work hard. They have many good opportunities that I couldn’t have imagined as a child.”

Now it is Lent, the season of spiritual examination before the great celebration of Easter Sunday. David and I went to an Ash Wednesday service at the Roman Catholic church in Tehran. Perhaps 30 people were there, and the priest gave a fine homily. He had been to Qom for interfaith dialogues and knew several of our friends here. “I have,” he said ,“been a priest in Tehran for more than 40 years. You can’t imagine the changes I’ve seen.” Ashes on our foreheads, we sang and prayed and hoped together