Finding Common Ground: Reflections on an Interfaith Pilgrimage

Lanny Peters

Pastor, Oakhurst Baptist Church

November 10, 2002

On Wednesday night I began sharing some stories about my recent interfaith pilgrimage to Turkey. Today I would like to reflect further on the significance of that journey. For the sake of time and those who have heard them already, I will not re-tell the same stories, except for one or two that were more important. In some ways, I find it difficult to explain what happened since what was often the more significant was not what we did or saw, but the countless conversations we had together individually and as a group. It was our Turkish guide who first named what was happening when he said to us on the third day, “I feel as if I am in a dream—Christians, Muslims and Jews on a bus together traveling through Turkey.”

There were many sacred moments: Listening, in a synagogue in Antioch, to a fifteen-year-old boy training to be a Rabbi read from a Torah that was over a hundred years old. Watching the moon rise over a mountain as I listened to the call to prayer coming from the mosque. Visiting the place where the mystical Whirling Dervishes were founded in the 13^th century, part of the Sufi tradition which comes one of my favorite poets, Rumi. We shared many such experiences, but what was just as special was listening to each other’s stories as we traveled by bus or plane or ate meals or talked with our roommates at night.

Two of my roommates were Muslim Imams whose faith stories, like so many others on the journey, fascinated me. One night, Gerald Durley, a fellow Baptist, told us on the bus about the time when he was in college in Nashville hoping to turn his basketball scholarship into a pro basketball career. Then someone dragged him to a meeting where he heard several young men speak: Ralph Abernathy, Jesse Jackson, John Lewis, and Martin Luther King, Jr. It changed his life, as he became a civil rights activist and minister. We started singing civil rights songs and I could feel the sense of community building as we rolled along on the bus in the dark.

On the eighth day of our time together, we were in Ephesus. At the end of this long day, we stopped at a mosque so the Muslims could have evening prayer. Most of the mosques we had visited did not allow non-Muslims inside during prayer times. But the Imam of this mosque invited us all in. The mosque was beautiful, 600 hundred years old and built with marble from the ruins of a Roman temple to Diana. Upon entering, I had the urge to join the prayer line but was not sure I should, so I walked toward the side section where the non-Muslims were gathering.

Then I looked and had to do a double take when I realized that two of the Jewish men had joined the prayer line. I then noticed that in the prayer section for the Muslim women there were also Jewish and Christian women. I joined the prayer line and another Christian also did. I did not know the Arabic words, but I could follow the movements of the Muslims beside me. I found it deeply moving. Word had gotten out in the little village that a busload of people had stopped at the mosque and a group of villagers gathered outside. One of the local men who had come for prayers and brought his little daughter who played on the carpet behind us, told the folks outside afterwards that Muslims, Jews, and Christians had just prayed together inside the mosque. Some of the villagers began to cry. Our guide talked to them and they said they cried because they could never have imagined such a thing would be possible.

Over the week, I gained a new respect for the deep faith of my fellow Jewish and Muslim pilgrims, and we began to find common ground. At the same time, I became more grateful for aspects of my own Christian tradition. One of my favorite memories was the night we split up and visited in Turkish homes, each in one from our own faith. Our group of Christians visited an Armenian Christian home. Armenian Christians are one of the oldest Christian communities on earth, able to trace their origins back to the early church.

The family we visited lived in a very modest, small apartment home. They were very excited about our visit and had invited extended family from all over town. We had a Muslim translator who was a college freshman who knew almost no English translations anytime the family used specifically Christian vocabulary. But two of the young adults spoke some English, and we gestured a lot. We sang “Amazing Grace,” and they sang an Armenian hymn, and we prayed for each other. We smiled and laughed a lot. They served homemade wine they had made for the occasion. It was quite potent and is proof that the earliest Christians did not drink grape juice, as Southern Baptists have led us to believe. One of the young men in the family started talking to Charlz, one of our members, saying, “I like Jennifer Lopez and American blondes.” As they were enthusiastically discussing this topic, another member of our group said, “Charlz, we are supposed to be talking about Jesus.”

When we left, the family was hanging out of three windows waving goodbye, as other people in the building leaned out to see what was going on. Christians represent less than 1% of the population of Turkey, and these people were part of a group that had kept the Christian faith alive in this place for 2000 years. The Jewish folks and the Muslim folks also had special times visiting the homes of people of their own faiths.

As our pilgrimage went on, trust grew, and we were more willing to be open about our differences. One night, we had a round circle conversation where everyone had a chance to say something about faith and politics, with the situation between Israel and Palestine being the hot topic. In the midst of that, several people used their time to talk about their hopes for our group when we returned home.

One of the most important things was the times we laughed and were playful with one another. During my reflection time, I told the group that I now believe that when we hear the sound of the laugher of God, it will be something like the sound of Muslims, Jews, and Christians laughing together.

I am still sorting out what all this means for me, but I know that I am changed in very significant ways. The scripture for today is actually from the lectionary two weeks ago. It was read during a Christian worship service in the ruins of the church of the Virgin Mary in Ephesus. It was at this site that the Council of Ephesus was held in 431 A.D., which was so riddled with power politics that one church historian called it “one of the most repulsive contests in church history.” All across Turkey we had seen Crusade castles on the tops of mountains that were built when the Crusaders swept across Turkey forcing people to convert to Christianity or die by the sword.

As part of our Sunday worship, the Christians were going to take communion. Our leader invited the Jews and Muslims to take communion, but understandably none of them chose to do so. As I listened to Christian leading the service using the words from the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer, I realized that these words did not exactly express my own theology of communion. Maybe part of it was my Baptist stubbornness about communion being symbol, not sacrament. But I was also not sure how I felt about taking communion with my new Muslim and Jewish friends looking on, especially in a place that represented early Christians fighting over who could take communion and who could not. I was undecided up until the last moment, but another Christian minister and I did not take communion. She told me afterwards that she had never refused communion in her life and we spent some time that day and the next sorting it out.

Some of the first conversations were with Jews who noticed that I did not take communion and later brought it up. I am still not sure what the turmoil inside me was about, but I think it has to do with the part of my Christian heritage that has seen itself as the only true witness to God and in doing so has divided the world into the saved and the unsaved, those going to heaven and those going to hell. Whenever Christians have done this, I believe we have betrayed the message of love, reconciliation, and hope that Jesus incarnated, whether it happened in Ephesus or Macon, Georgia.

Jesus’ words from scripture read that day in Ephesus stands as a corrective to the way Christians have distorted his vision: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.” What I found in Turkey were Muslims and Jews and Christians who loved God with their hearts and souls and minds, and who loved each other. I experienced a glimpse of the kingdom of God.

It reminds me of a story that one of the Christians told at the church in Antioch. It was in this small cave high above the city that a group of people were first referred to as Christians, since they had broken ties with the synagogue, a break that I do not believe Jesus ever intended. So I thought it appropriate that James Lamkin, who had been assigned to speak at the church in Antioch, chose to tell a Jewish story, which I would like to share with you.

There was an old man named Isaac, son of Yeckel, who lived in Prague in a humble house with his five daughters. One night, he had a strange dream. He dreamed that in the faraway city of Krakow there was an enormous treasure buried under a bridge. He awoke and dismissed the dream, but the next night he had the same dream. Once again in this dream, he could see a section of the city of Krakow in great detail and distinctive features of the bridge. In the dream, he saw himself digging under the bridge and uncovering this incredible treasure. He awoke mystified at having this crazy dream again, but went on about his day.

That night he dreamed the exact dream again, and when he awoke he could no longer ignore it. That very day he set off on the long journey to Krakow. When he arrived some days later, he searched the city until things began to look familiar, and sure enough, he came upon a bridge exactly like the one in his dream. But just as he had put his foot on the shovel, a policeman came along and arrested him. He hauled him off to the police station, and said, “Old Jew, what are you doing digging under a public bridge.”

Isaac naively told him all about the dream and what he was doing. The policeman listened and then laughed real loud. “You old crazy Jew, you can’t go around chasing dreams. For example, I have been having another such crazy dream myself. For three nights in a row, I have been awakened by this same dream. In my dream there is an old man named Isaac, son of Yekel, who lives in Prague. Buried beneath his fireplace is a great treasure. The dream is very vivid. But old man, I am sure that half of the Jews in Prague are named Isaac and half of those have fathers named Yekel. Now how stupid would I be to go chasing a crazy dream like that and showing up in Jewish houses wanting to dig up their fireplaces? Now you get out of here and keep going right out of town. If I catch you near that bridge, I’ll lock you up and keep you there.” And he gave him a kick of the boot out the door.

Isaac went home to Prague and went inside his house and immediately began digging under his fireplace. Indeed, buried there was a great treasure. It was sufficient for the dowries for his five daughters with enough left over for him to live well the rest of his life. And the Rabbis add, “The treasure was at home all along. But the knowledge of where to find the treasure was in Krakow.”

I had to go to Turkey to find the treasure of relationships that were right here in my hometown, even in my neighborhood. The synagogue where Rabbi Joshua Lesser serves is less than a mile from here, but it was during a delightful lunch on a patio overlooking the sea in Istanbul that we shared our faith stories. Claiborne Jones was already pastor of the Church of the Epiphany just down East Lake Drive when I came here 13 years ago, but we only became acquainted on a long bus ride from Antioch to Konya. You know, Oakhurst, I love you folks, but I have got to get out of the house a lot more.

So on Friday, when I might have been writing my sermon, I decided to prepare in another way. I went to the midday prayers at the Atlanta Masjid of Al-Islam. It is only a couple of miles from here. As I learned in Turkey, the Friday prayer is the most important of the week and this week it was even more special because this is the first week of Ramadan. I was a bit uncomfortable until I saw Della Shabbaz, the secretary at the Masjid. (By the way, Della was once the secretary of Malcolm X). Della’s smile relaxed me and she assured me that I was welcome. Then I saw, my first roommate in Turkey, Imam A.J Sabree, who gave me a big hug. Just before the service started, I found the rest room. I was about to use what I at first thought was the urinal but remembered just in time that it was where you washed your feet and cleaned up before prayers.

Barely avoiding committing a sacrilege, I joined the several hundred people of all ages gathered for the Jumah, the Friday teachings, which would be followed by prayer. I realized that I was the only white person as far as I could see. And I heard a still voice inside me that said, “Lanny, all these years you have worried about how to get more black folks to come to Oakhurst when what you needed was to get out of the house.”

Imam Plemon El Amin, who was a fellow pilgrim in Turkey, began teaching and his words fed my soul. One of the things that touched me was a story of a seven-year-old girl in their congregation that had died the day before. She had been extremely ill when she was 3 ½ months old and the illness caused brain damage. Despite this, she had been a special blessing to the congregation. A couple of months ago, she had kidney failure and did not recover. When all hope for her recovery was gone, her family removed the feeding tubes. The doctors expected her to live for only a day or two without nutrition, but she lived six weeks. She lived until just after the beginning of Ramadan. Plemon reflected on this little girl who lived without nutrition and held on until Ramadan. It added a new perspective to this season when Muslims fast from sunup to sundown. And I felt a connection between them and our congregation who has dealt with the death of two of our children.

Plemon also talked about how fasting can help us pay attention to our addictions, and I thought of all we have learned about ourselves from having the recovery program. As Plemon spoke, a man sat beside me with the cutest little boy. He was about a year old, not quite able to stand on his own. He was very active and happy for what turned out to be an hour-long talk. At one point, he reached out his arms to me and I reached back and his dad let me hold him. His new baby smell brought back memories of my own boys, and his giggles warmed my heart. He went back to his dad after a bit and later I held him a little while again. Through him, I felt the all-accepting love of God and found myself totally relaxed and open. It even helped relax my old bones sitting on the floor for all that time.

When the teaching was over and the prayer lines formed, those beside me helped me get in the right position and I prayed to a God who is always so much greater and so much more wonderful than I can ever imagine.

Still not ready to write my sermon, I went to downtown Atlanta. Another fellow pilgrim had invited me to the Jewish Federation of Atlanta headquarters where I spent some time in the William Breman Jewish Heritage Museum. This museum is dedicated to preserving, interpreting and teaching about Jewish history, in particular the Holocaust and the experience of Jews in Georgia. It includes a multimedia presentation about holocaust survivors who rebuilt their lives in Atlanta.

Their statement of purpose says that the Museum interprets the universal themes of tolerance, respect for differences, responsible citizenship, human dignity and building community through the lens of the Jewish experience and serves as a resource for residents and visitors alike.

Again, I realized that I really need to get out of the house more. And I would like to invite you to join me. It would be very powerful to go to the Breman Jewish Heritage museum with some of you and grow together in our understanding and appreciation of Jewish life and faith. After all, we are followers of a Jewish rabbi.

I would love to have some of you join me for the Jumah some Friday at the Mosque. And I plan to invite some of my Jewish and Muslim pilgrims to visit us, maybe as early as next week if I can work it out that soon. On the bus at the end of the trip someone pointed out that it reminded him of going to camp as kids, making new friends and promising to keep in touch but then getting back to busy lives and slowly forgetting.

One person e-mailed the group after we had been back a week noting how quickly he was swamped by all he had to do upon return and suggesting that we rent a bus and ride around I-285 for several hours. None of us want to lose what we found. I find myself changed, maybe converted, and even transformed. I do not know where all this will lead. I just know it was an incredible gift, one I believe came from God, and I do not want to lose it. That is why I put aside my sermon Friday, got out of the house, and went visiting. I’ve had an incredible pilgrimage to a land a long way off that I shall never forget. But the treasure I sought was right here at home all along. Thanks be to God, most merciful, most loving, and most playful.