In My Soul, Rabia al-Basri

In
my soul
there is a temple, a shrine, a mosque, a church
where I kneel.

Prayer should bring us to an altar where no walls or names exist.

Is there not a region of love where the sovereignty is
illumined nothing,

where ecstasy gets poured into itself
and becomes
lost,

where the wing is fully alive
but has no mind or
body?

In
my soul
there is a temple, a shrine, a mosque,
a church

that dissolve, that
dissolve in

God.

Almost two months ago I met with the Commission on Ministry of the Christian Church. A couple folks had suggested to me that, in addition to my ordination from One Spirit, I should consider seeking standing in the Christian Church. This was not originally on my radar, but I thought it could be worth exploring. So I completed all the appropriate paperwork and requirements to request my first meeting with the Commission.

Made up of both clergy and lay leaders from the denomination, the Commission supports and guides candidates for ministry who are recommended by their local churches. The intent is to be grassroots oriented rather than top-down. It was clear from the start that I was NOT their typical candidate.

“Can you explain how ordination works in this … this … interfaith seminary called … what’s its name? … One Spirit?”

Although I explained that the process and decision is not much different than in Christian seminaries, they couldn’t seem to wrap their heads around the concept of interfaith ordination. The unspoken question that hung in the air was, by whose authority are you ordained? I decided to be polite and not mention how often I’d met a number of Christian clergy members and wondered the exact same thing.

“Do you consider yourself Christian?”

I paused here, because I wanted to answer authentically and be true to myself. And I recalled a quote by Maya Angelou: “I’m grateful to be a practicing Christian. I’m always amazed when people say, ‘I’m a Christian.’ I think, ‘Already?’ It’s a process. You know, you keep trying. And blowing it and trying and blowing it.”

So I gave my version of that along with a bit of process theology. I explained that I prefer to think of myself as “Christian-ing,” a work in progress. They were clearly not satisfied, because they asked the same essential question three more times in a variety of ways. I wished I’d asked them if they’d checked how Jesus would answer that question.

Then came the question that really took the wind out of me.

“Have you tried the Unitarians? Why don’t you seek ordination through them? Why would you consider ordination as a Christian minister?”

I couldn’t speak. I felt kicked in the stomach. I’m sorry, what did you just ask me? Seriously?

I took a deep breath and tried to stop the tears from welling up as I said, “Because Christianity is my native language of faith. When I studied Buddhism, Hinduism, Taoism—with every religion I study, my brain makes automatic connections to Christianity. I’m not trying to, it just happens. All I know is, studying other religions has made me understand and live my faith differently. And I would like to help others do the same thing.”

Here’s where the traditional church could use a wake-up call. Interfaith doesn’t mean someone is “unfaithful” to a particular tradition. Nor does it mean that a person stops loving a particular tradition. It’s a both/and path, not either/or.

Authority, identity, purity. Can you hear that? Authority, identity, purity. These were the primary themes of their questions, or should I say, their doubts. Authority: Who authorizes your ordination? Identity: Who ARE you, anyway? Purity: We need you to choose one way. When a person, organization, or institution doubles-down on authority, identity, and purity, you can guess that they’re operating from a place of fear. They’re protecting and defending. They’re not operating from a place of expansiveness or radical hospitality. Love—and Spirit—does not make these demands.

Jesus did not teach or heal by the permission of the religious authorities. It got him in a heap load of trouble. As for his identity, most everyone—even his closest disciples—misunderstood who he really was. He had to continually correct them, sometimes rebuke them, for their misperceptions. And more than 2000 years later, even the most gifted theologians need pages and pages to explain his both/and—human and divine—nature. Was he pure? I believe so. In the same way that light is both wave AND particle. And by the way, so are we.

I’m in no way comparing myself to Jesus. I just find it wildly ironic that the Christian Church, which relies so heavily on Biblical study, has forgotten its roots. It also makes me extraordinarily sad. Not for me, personally. Like I said, having standing in the Christian Church was not part of my plan so this event was not determining my future. I’m sad because many churches lack the self-awareness to see how they’re filtering out all sorts of people who would like to breathe new life into the faith.

This is also my greatest hope: that those of us who have experienced this filtering out will flock together. We don’t need a dedicated building. We don’t need “authorized clergy.” We don’t need to hold fundraising campaigns, run committee meetings, and devote our time to operationalizing our faith. There’s nothing wrong with these things, per se. They’re just not requirements for us to come together and seek the Sacred together. In fact, without them, the Way becomes a lot more simple.