​‘We don’t see the world as it is but as we are’ might be a bit of a cliché but no less true for that.  It’s been around for a long time and is attributed to various people, even to the Talmud, though these attributions appear to be without foundation.  It does, however, reflect a reality that our experiences, conditioning, locality, language and even interests can lead us to interpret what we see, read or hear in a particular way, through the lens of our own limited vision and experience.  As an interfaith practitioner my tendency is to interpret things within the context of interfaith relations and relate what I see and hear to dialogue.

This was the case last weekend with the sermon given at Sunday Mass. It focussed on Jean- Dominique Bauby, who was the editor of the French Elle magazine and who suffered a massive stroke that left him with locked-in syndrome. He was paralysed apart from moving his head and blinking his left eye. But, locked in this paralysed body, his mind was as active as ever – a reality that would have driven many of us mad. It doesn’t bear thinking what it would be like to be a prisoner in our own skin. Bauby, however, with the help of an alphabet chart dictated a book letter by letter, blink by blink, telling of his experiences. It was called the Diving Bell and the Butterfly.  

The point of the sermon was that we are all, to a certain extent, locked in and in need of liberation – very apt for Pentecost Sunday. But what’s true for us all personally is also true of religions. Religions give their followers a story to live by; moral values to follow; practices with which to order their lives and, because of family or community traditions, believers tend to see the world only through what they’ve been given.  This of course can give meaning and purpose to life, be liberating in its own way but dangerous if seen as the only way, the only truth that disregards the way of others or even sees that way as wrong and worthy, not of respect or consideration, but only of rejection. Religion can then become a prison which locks people into one narrow perspective - a perspective that blinds them to the diversity that enriches life, that challenges them to grow and develop and widen their perspective. Religion and religious truths are like the finger pointing to the moon, focus too much on the finger and we miss the moon. They point beyond themselves to a reality that can give meaning to our lives. And a variety of fingers can help us see dimensions that are closed to us if we only follow the one finger. But of course to be open to this we need to dialogue.

This is important as much within religions as between them. It’s easy to think our own interpretation of our religion is the correct one. At present within the Catholic Church there’s a tension between those who look nostalgically to a past and those who seek an ideal future as a way of having a perfect present. Both love the Church, want what’s best for it, want to fix it according to their own particular lights and seemingly reject the way of those who differ from them. It’s easy to split into camps but if we’re a community we need to grow together, need to understand one another, see where the other is coming from. It needs reconciliation and dialogue to be able to stand in the other’s shoes. I heard it said recently that everyone has the right to be understood. And for the sake of unity and harmony we need to do just that and dialogue, not to convert the other to our way of thinking but simply to understand them and allow them to be different, perhaps even realising that in our different ways we’re being nourished by the same basic faith and upheld by the same hopes. But such a dialogue needs preparation and facilitation if we’re to truly listen to one another. Open conversation in my experience can easily lead to polarisation if not managed well. 

It’s not just believers who can be locked in to a blinkered view of life. Religion itself can be affected and one way in which this can happen is the use of religious language. Theological concepts arise in particular periods of history and often grow through dialogue with the prevailing intellectual and philosophical climate of the time. But over time they become meaningless and unrelated to people’s reality. Christian theology is suffering from this at the moment and even the Academy recognises it with books being written about reclaiming theological language for the present generation.  But there’s another trend and that’s theologians exploring human and theological issues through writing fiction.  What they’re doing is exploring issues of good and evil (many of the novels are crime novels) in an attempt to reflect on the struggle of people doing the best they can with what they’ve been given. And insights into this condition can be found in literature, film, art, all a source for good theologising and reflection. Perhaps this will help religion break free from its theological prison and become more meaningful to people’s reality – certainly more interesting. 

Easter weekend and, in the interfaith world, the two great religions of Judaism and Christianity have been celebrating their foundational festivals. Both festivals tell stories of liberation and remember the values and beliefs on which their religion is founded. For Judaism the celebrations take place at home and are focussed on the ritual meal eaten on the first of the eight days of Pesach. The story is about how God intervened in their history to free them from slavery and set them on the way to becoming a people. The refrain throughout the story is “on this night…..” because the memory of this saving act is an eternally present reality.

The Christian celebration of Easter takes place in community – in Churches – and over three days enacts the last days in the life of Jesus, from his last supper with his disciples, to his death as  a common criminal and his resurrection on the third day. It too is a festival of remembrance which makes ever present the possibility of liberation from the slavery of selfishness to a life of love and service.      

Because Christianity grew out of Judaism it recalls the liberation of the People of Israel and celebrates God’s presence both in creation and in history.  It goes just that little bit further in that it also celebrates God’s presence in our very humanity and in our very human struggle to live a good and wholesome life. Like Pesach it is a festival of movement and journey from despair to hope, death to life, selfishness to love.  For Christians the story of Jesus’ passage through death to resurrection contains the truth of the continuing power and presence of Jesus and the possibility of new life that’s always a possibility.    

Easter isn’t a story about the past but an insight into a truth about the present. Who can doubt that we live in a world that’s in need of redemption?  Surely it’s obvious from the mess we’re making of the environment, from the violence that so characterises our race, from the growth of isolationist politics, from our growing xenophobia etc. etc. The bombings in Sri Lanka, coming at this particular time, bear witness to that fact. But the Easter story tells us that death and destruction don’t have the last word, that things can change, that peace is possible, that new life can come out of old if we pray for it, are open to it, welcome it and work for it. Northern Ireland is an example of that and there are examples in other parts of the world and in our own individual lives if we look for them. This can give us hope.      
                                             
One of the most moving moments during the Christian celebrations of the last days of Jesus is the washing of the feet. On Holy Thursday the priest presiding at the service washes the feet of 12 members of the congregation to re-enact the washing of the disciples feet by Jesus as they took their last supper together. It was an unusual gesture. Feet were washed on entering a house but never during a meal nor carried out by the master of the household. Peter protested and was told by Jesus that he could have no part with him unless he had his feet washed. It was for Jesus a sign of friendship. Then Jesus said ‘If I your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet. For I have given you an example,  that you should do as I have done to you”.  In this action Jesus changes the order of things – the master has become the servant. There’s a way through the desire to dominate or the fear of being dominated, a way through competition for resources that leaves some overly wealthy and others impoverished, a way through the xenophobia that divides the world into ‘them’ and ‘us’. And that way is service.

Washing someone’s feet is a very sensual and intimate action. I’ve had my feet washed once during the Easter season and I’ve never forgotten it – because the person doing it did so with such love and tenderness. It creates a bond. This Easter a local school enacted out the last days in the life of Jesus and the young boy taking the role of Jesus washed the feet of  friends but also teachers, parents and parish priest – a change in the order of things. I’m sure he will never forget it.     
When Pope Francis carries out this annual ritual he tenderly kisses the feet of the person whose feet he’s just washed. In many traditions to touch or caress the feet of someone considered inferior is taboo but for Francis no-one is his inferior, all are his brothers and sisters, made in the image and likeness of God, to be reverenced no matter their position in life. Who will forget the moment recently when, having pleaded with his brothers and sisters for peace in Sth. Sudan, he kissed the feet of the opposing elements in the government?  Will it bring about peace? Who knows?  But it certainly is a sign that humility, respect, reverence and service are the way to redemption and not that of domination and violence.    

 I was in the town of St Andrews this weekend. It’s a small town dominated by famous golf courses and the University. In fact it’s Scotland’s only university town with medieval colleges giving it an air of history and students giving it an air of youthful energy. While there I was privileged to take part in a rather special event.
 
The Jewish community were welcoming Torah Scrolls that had come from the Synagogue in Dundee which sadly has now closed. A cupboard in the University Chaplaincy had been adapted to house the scrolls and Sunday was the day in which the new Ark was consecrated. It was such a joyous occasion. First of all we sang Yiddish songs and then were reminded of how precious and sacred are the Torah Scrolls in Judaism. The Scrolls were then brought out, read from, passed round and danced with as happens each year at the festival of Simchat Torah. It was a mixed gathering of orthodox and reform Jews and I was privileged to be handed the Scrolls and pass them on – something orthodox women would not be allowed to do. One orthodox woman told me she couldn’t do it as it would be too awesome a happening for her.
  
The Torah is at the centre of Jewish religious life and the Scrolls are seen as a symbol and even sacrament of the Living Torah and the Presence of God. They are not just scripture. While I might have known this in my head it was the delight and love with which the Scrolls were received that helped me experience and gain a deeper insight into their meaning for Jews. I suspect that attendance at synagogue services will not be quite the same for me in the future as I bring this amazing experience into my appreciation of what is going on.

The reason I was in St Andrews was an invitation to preach at the morning service in the University Chapel, a beautiful medieval building that was small, warm and inviting.  The passage from the Bible that I preached on was the story of the Woman Taken in Adultery – a story in which a woman caught, we are told, in the very act of committing adultery, is brought before Jesus by the religious authorities to test his response and hopefully catch him out. Will he forgive this woman and so break the Law of Moses which required death by stoning or will he uphold the Law and so flout the authority of the Romans who forbade the Jews to inflict the death penalty?  They have him in a bind – or so they think.

Jesus response has the touch of genius I think because he doesn’t enter into their games, he refuses to debate the niceties of religious or civil law, he doesn’t argue but waits and disarms them with the suggestion that the one among them who is without sin should be the first to throw a stone. The group disperses – perhaps rather sheepishly.
 Often the title given to stories conditions how we see them.  The story of the woman taken in adultery is about a woman who is shown mercy and forgiveness, something that is at the heart of Jesus’ message, though it’s a mercy and forgiveness that is challenging for the woman is told not to sin again.  And while the woman is central, it seems to me that the spotlight is much more on the men – self-righteous men, presenting themselves as the experts, feeling entitled to question and intimidate people, willing to support a punishment meted out to only one partner in the act.

 It wasn’t possible for me as a Catholic and a woman to read this story and not be aware of the terrible scandals that have hit the Catholic Church in recent times. Now it’s Bishops and priests and Cardinals, who have been exposed as wanting. They have shamed the Church and scandalised believers. Men  who seem to have been addicted to the trappings of authority and power,  who used people for their own satisfaction,  who preached a gospel that they did not live up to, who castigated people for being gay while they themselves were living a gay lifestyle.

It has rocked the Church and led many people, especially young people, to wonder why they stay. What has shocked people is the hypocrisy of it all, the culture of secrecy that allowed it to continue, the ability to point the finger at others while being immune to their own sinfulness.  Of course we are all, to some extent hypocrites, and we mustn’t do to these men what the religious authorities did to the woman in our gospel reading today.
​
But the abuse of a power that often demanded obedience and compliance is staggering.  This is an example of the very worst kind of religion and the danger of putting too much trust in institutions.  All religions have their institutional aspects and centres of authority. They are there to protect and hand on the core beliefs of the faith but often they obscure rather than reveal those beliefs which in their essence are about meaning, love and service.  There is at the heart of religion, I believe, a pearl of great price that is worth seeking. But the search is within our own hearts, within our own history. It is a search which leads us to be open to wisdom and truth wherever it reveals itself to us. Then we will be able to recognise the good in religion and distinguish it from the bad.  

 Lent has started, often spoken of as a time of prayer and fasting but for us Christians it’s a pale reflection of the kind of fasting that Muslims do during Ramadan. Like the Muslims the Baha’is also fast and their fast is much more like that of Islam – not surprising as their founder was a Muslim and lived in a Muslim country. Like Muslims the Baha’is fast during daylight hours from both food and drink but it always takes place on the first weeks of March in preparation for the celebration of their new year feast at the equinox on March 21st. It’s a stringent fast but, taking place as it does at this time of year, the hours of light and darkness are of almost equal duration so it seems more manageable than Ramadan. When Ramadan takes place in summer the hours of daylight in countries like Scotland can last for almost 24 hours. We Scots look on with admiration as Muslims keep to their fast though fasting during the winter when daylight hours are short is easier.
​
Each year Lent overlaps with the Baha’i fast and it’s good to think of us going through these days in solidarity with one another. In the past the Christian fast would have been much more exacting and though lent is described as a time for prayer, fasting and almsgiving, fasting is much more of a discipline and abstinence from a craving, a habit, an inclination that limits our freedom. When I was young it was always staying off sweets though any given to us were collected in a tin until Easter. Coming from an Irish background, however, we were allowed to eat some on the feast of St Patrick! Lent was seen as a solemn, penitential time and I know some people who think that life is penitential enough (and it certainly is for some) to have to give up something in a spirit of penance. However some do still observe lent by more positive action like decluttering an article a day for the forty days of the season (something that’s become popular recently) or even disciplining themselves to develop a new talent. I’ve done that and like the sense that I’ve accomplished something by the time of Easter – a kind of resurrection in its own way. Friends are often intrigued to know what I’m doing for Lent. The important thing, I think, is that Lent helps us do something, no matter how small, that challenges the greed that resides within all of us and today seems to rule the world. It helps us look at ourselves more honestly, be aware of our shortcomings and the place of God and others in our lives - and in this sense the spirit of lent is very much in keeping with that of the Muslim and Baha’i fast.  
  
Lent begins with Ash Wednesday, a day on which some denominations of Christians, ceremoniously receive ashes with the words ‘Remember that you are dust and into dust you shall return’. Recently there has been an option to replace this with ‘repent and believe the good news’, one that on the whole people prefer, It’s generally thought to be a bit more positive.  But I like the original verse and think it’s very pertinent for today. It comes from the Book of Genesis in the context of Adam and Eve’s punishment for sin and expulsion from Paradise. Because of this it became associated with sin and a sense of worthlessness and, as a teacher said to me this lent, ‘how could you tell young children that they are nothing but dust’. There is, however, another way of understanding this text which is in keeping with changes in theology and our understanding of the universe in which our world rests.

To remind us that we are dust is to speak a word of fact and not punishment. It’s to remind us how connected we are to the fabric of the earth. We contain within ourselves the whole history of evolution; we share DNA with animals and even insects; we are interconnected with all things; we are part of nature, not above it. To be human is to be part of the earth and to be in a relationship with all that grows and lives. It’s important in this age of global warming and the destruction of so many species that we learn to live in peace with the earth, to love it and to care for it. We need to recapture this sense of being ‘earthlings’ if we are to move from domination and destruction to participation and creation. And we need to repent of what we, sometimes in our ignorance, have done. No doubt the invention of plastic was thought to be something great and yet now we see its destructive effects in our throw away culture. But sometimes too we intentionally destroy nature by cutting down rain forests, killing protected species, polluting the atmosphere, knowing that this endangers our very future. Robert Burns, Scotland’s national poet, has expressed this so eloquently when he says in his poem ‘To a Mouse’ 
            I’m truly sorry Man’s dominion
            Has broken Nature’s social union
            An’ justifies that ill opinion
            Which makes thee startle
            At me, thy poor earth-born companion
            An’ fellow mortal!
 
What a great and glorious thing it would be if we Christians took to heart the fact that we are dust and of the earth, reminded ourselves of it each day during lent and made the Lenten journey to Easter caring for our planet and walking responsibly on an earth which is sacred and fragile. We couldn’t have a better Lenten discipline than that.