My Journey Across Beliefs

L ater in my life, some of my Philippines friends told stories of how they grew up with Muslim kids, played together, went to school together and never knew there was a difference until the Madrasas came to their cities and the Islamic buddies started to go to different schools and learn to see differences we never knew. And they no longer played together. We have Islamic friends telling us of their very positive experiences studying in Catholic universities where they were allowed to have their own retreats and worship. I wonder what went wrong?

However this was not my direct experience as I did not grow up in the south where the Islamic communities live. I remembered my first visit down south and this was my first image of the strong presence of Islam in the Philippines when I saw the mosques surrounding Lake Lanao. What a foreign world it was for me, the remnant of our Malay past and a strong hint of troubles to come.

S ince then, I have travelled relentlessly. Looking, learning, trying to understand how so many different roads were built to what seems to be the same God and how the defense of the road has always been more important than the destination. I remember my surprise when the kids in the subway in Toronto, my first western city, did not know what nuns were when they saw veiled women in their habits. Catholics in Toronto seemed as rare a specie as Muslims in the Visayas and the odds were they were Irish or Italians, and we all know about them or so I was told. And I came from a place where the Catholics were the majority and the power. I saw that the symbols I grew up with were seen differently. Young kids wearing the Cross, albeit without the image of Jesus, as fashion jewelry. Wow, icons were clasting all around me. All these made me start thinking of the differences that exist among us, even those who profess to believe in the same religion. In fact the closer the road, the uglier the relationship.

These distinctions continued to puzzle me especially when we work in Islamic countries. We've done our bit in Palestine, Gaza, Jordan, Pakistan, India, Maldives and Bangladesh and of course the Islamic populations in the Philippines. We have Islamic friends in Canada who have become more like families to us. While many things were different, there were also many things that drew us together. Working in the Palestinian area, the relationship between the Israelis and the Palestinians seemed more like the Irish of the early 29th century where they remember everything and learn nothing.

I n the poorer countries, there were times in village consultations when because male consultants were not allowed in the communities where the women were, I had to go in and do the work for them. Immediately, women just feel that affinity no matter what cultures we come from. Even with the language barrier, we still feel more one with each other. Somehow, the difference in religion fades as you get to know each other as humans. The men sniffed about like grumpy dogs while we relaxed and shared.

Recently, our work has centered largely in the Buddhist cultures of Nepal, Sri Lanka, Thailand and Cambodia. We celebrate with them Buddhist holidays and visit the temples. Our local friends share their family celebrations during these holidays and we understand them more. We attend their engagement and wedding ceremonies. We begin to understand the Buddhist traditions and beliefs. Recently, a monk friend made me understand a very important lesson about giving. Before you give, your heart must be free and the same when your gift must be freely given. I feel liberated afterwards when there is no attachment to my giving, no quid pro quo. (Ah, the joys of a Catholic education!)

W hile we believe strongly about the religious road we've been taught, with the exception of the crazies, the roads all seem to lead to roughly the same place: love and life and caring and compassion. And the more we reach out, the more we become one and the more we try to get out of the sideroads to visit other roads and see what go on there. In my experience, the more we want to be different, the more we are much the same. But as young people see the weirdness of our battles to be different, they start to lose interest. What a tragedy. What a loss of culture. How can we be so stupid?

J ust today, in the Ministry office where my husband has his current assignment, some of the local consultants who are Buddhists started to ask about Christmas although for some years now, they have greeted us each time Christmas comes. My husband regaled them with the story of how Christian families go to Church on Christmas Eve and share a special snack when they come home. The kids then put out a glass of milk and cookies for Santa before they go to bed and how the parents drink the milk and eat the cookies as they put the gifts around the Christmas tree or in the kids stockings on the mantel piece. The Consultants are a bit puzzled by the Jesus guy, but roll in laughter as Santa's story unfolds with chimneys, Rudolph and radar sightings and all.

M y life's journey will go on and I will look more and more for how our beliefs can bring us together, not crash jets into buildings and rage at Gods indifference.

I love to think of T.S. Eliot lines:

Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened...