There Must Be Something in the Water

Hello, friends.

I'd like to draw a metaphor to think about intention and impact, if I may. Please imagine this scenario:
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You are sitting with a new acquaintance, one you barely know. It is hot out, and you are drinking sparkling water. The new person across the table from you is drinking still water.

"You should really drink this water," they say, pushing a glass towards you.

"No, thank you," you reply very simply, smiling at them.

"No, really, you should drink this--it is hot out, and I want to make sure you are going to be okay in this heat. I only have your best interests at heart," they say again, also with a big smile.

"No, thank you. I hear you, and I appreciate it, but I am drinking this sparkling water, and it is the right choice for me." You smile again and push their glass back toward them.

They look at your glass of fizzy water, then say, "You know, still water is the only option to hydrate--sparkling is not good for you. You need to drink my water, and I feel an obligation to get you to drink it. So you need to drink it, because I love you."

Fin
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How would you feel if this happened? Perhaps at first you would feel thankful--someone you have just met is concerned about your wellbeing, and willing to take the time to share their water with you; how nice. But then, as the interaction went on, you might start to get annoyed; why is this person so convinced that they know their water is better than mine? Or even if they want to think that, I am an adult and they should have respected my autonomy when I firmly said "no" several times, right? Even though the person's intention may have been kind and pure, the impact on me was negative; just let me drink my seltzer in peace.

Yes, this is probably an obvious metaphor for when two different Christian people tried to convert me this past week (one Pentecostal, one attends a megachurch so my best guess would be Evangelical). Honestly, these two attempts may have been the strongest examples of people trying to convert me that I have ever experienced in my life, and both in one week. There must be something in the water (all puns intended).

I forget about how strong folks can be in their attempt to convince you that you are wrong about your religion, because my interfaith work tends to draw people who come to the table knowing that conversion cannot be part of the upfront equation. I can understand people being deeply and passionately committed to their faith, and even feeling an obligation to share about their faith, but for someone to ignore my unwavering, polite, calm, respectful rejections several times just makes me mad. They make me mad because by doing so, they disrespect me as a person capable of making my own choices. They make me mad, because if Jesus taught them to love me, they should love me as I am. They make me mad, because even though I won't now refuse to ever interact with Christians because of these negative experiences, there are many people who, after experiencing this, would say, "Nope, I'll pass on ever talking to them again." And by not interacting with people of different faiths--including those who might try, in my opinion, too hard to convert us--we miss out on building relationship and understanding. That's why I will not give up during these tough conversations. So I wanted to share a bit more about only one of those times, as I thought the considerations running through my head were interesting.

The first occasion last week took place in a situation where I was in a pastoral position, for which I was there to care for a person's spiritual wellbeing. The person was a few decades older than me, perhaps could have been around the age of my parents. As I introduced myself to them and we began talking, they seemed pleased to meet me. We talked generally for a bit, until they brought up some concept of heaven and hell, saying that they knew where they'd be going and, "Don't you know?" I shared that I am Jewish and that we have a bit of different theology around heaven and hell, and that was when the attempt to convert me began. This person went on for a while, trying to say their way was the only way. I shared that I am studying to be a rabbi, to try to convince them of how serious I am about being Jewish and perhaps put them off from continuing down this path--they then started quoting the Bible at me, about how as a woman I cannot be a pastor because, "A pastor must be a good husband," meaning I would need to be a man who would marry a woman to be a leader. I also brought up how Jewish people focus on reading text in the original Hebrew to be able to see the translation for ourselves, and I asked them whether they know ancient Greek to do the same for the New Testament; the answer was "no." I asked if they would like to know the Hebrew word for "love," and their eyes almost popped out of their head (I told them it is "ahava," and they basically did not respond). They shared that our country started going downhill when they got rid of Bible reading in school. Despite seeming mostly friendly throughout, they jokingly said at the end, "Visit next time when you don't have so much time to talk ;)" which was peculiar as they were the one talking so much, and I was responding. Then I left.

My interactions during interfaith dialogue are not usually like this, let me be clear. Most of the time, one must come to the interfaith dialogue table under the understanding that we are all committed to our own personal faith/belief/spiritual journeys, and that explicit conversion cannot be part of the conversation in those moments. How can I truly share my beliefs if I know you are constantly trying to think of ways to counter my claims to change my mind? No, the interactions have to come from a place that respects the autonomy of each individual to follow what they decide. This was not part of my formal interfaith work, but, as I said, a moment in which I was trying to be a pastoral presence for someone in need.

That made it a slightly more interesting exchange, in my mind, because I felt committed to still accomplishing my mission of caring for this person spiritually...but also making sure they knew that I did not agree with them, and that there are things they do not know about my beliefs. Education was part of the experience, as was me intentionally staying calm and not being forceful or showing emotion in my responses. Did it bother me? For sure. But that dual pull of standing my ground and making sure I remained calm and professional (which I strive to do always anyway, but especially when I have some amount of "power" over somebody to whom I am pastoring) was fascinating. I think I did the best I could to hold my own, and to let it go afterward, but I wanted to share it here so that you all see one way interfaith interactions can go--both negatively and positively.

Because we are not always going to have interactions with people of other faiths that are all lovey-dovey. Indeed, these harder types of interaction may even be more vital, which is why I will not stop leaning into them. I think I did the best I could to educate and listen and validate and disagree respectfully. I hope that that person will go forward in life knowing that not only are there people who disagree with their point of view--but there is going to be one more lady rabbi in the world before long. And that makes it worth it to me.

I head to Azerbaijan before long. May that journey to an interfaith conference far, far away lead to steps that bring more light into our world.

Now go out and love one another.

<3,
Allyson