WEAVING THE CONNECTIONS

My journey into interreligious dialogue began more than 40 years ago on a Lakota reservation in South Dakota. At the time, I was studying theology at a Jesuit seminary in Kansas and could volunteer to spend the summer working with the Brule Lakota on the Rosebud Reservation. I discovered a new world of experience through the Lakota, and I realized that there existed many other such worlds beyond the horizons of my culture.

My explorations took a dramatic turn in January 1975, when I was invited to help the Temple of Understanding organize a conference of world religious leaders to be held that October at the United Nations. The Temple of Understanding had organized four major conferences, one of which took place in Calcutta in 1968. It was there that Thomas Merton made his now-famous statement: “My dear brothers and sisters, we are already one, but we imagine we are not. What we have to recover is our original unity: What we have to be is what we are.”

Merton’s statement provided the theme of the U.N. conference: “One is the human spirit.” Since the U.N. is built on a secular model, it lacks a structure for bringing religious and spiritual resources to bear on its work. The Temple of Understanding proposed the conference to fill this gap. And it was in this context that I joined the planning committee in early 1975, thus beginning one of the most remarkable years of my life.

For 10 months, while I continued to teach my classes at Fordham and Columbia, I was caught up in the world of international diplomacy. The Spiritual Summit Conference was a landmark event, a weeklong interfaith festival to mark the 30th anniversary of the founding of the U.N. The program had two parts: five days at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine, with hundreds of participants and thousands in the audience, and a final day at the U.N., where for the first time, the world’s religious leaders would meet.

The program opened with a grand spectacle: conference participants, each dressed in their traditional attire—Native Americans arrayed in eagle feathers, Buddhists in saffron robes, Shinto in their white gowns—proceeded down the aisle and around the cathedral. Days and evenings were filled with music, chanting, drama, liturgies and formal discussions. “We don’t want to make one religion in the world,” Master Chitrabhanu, a Jain spiritual leader, said during one panel discussion. “You cannot expect a garden of only one flower.”

The final meeting at the U.N. featured eminent spiritual leaders. Among them were the Buddhist Lord Abbott Kosho Ohtani, the Muslim scholar Seyyed Hossein Nasr and Mother Teresa, who later would be recognized with a Nobel Peace Prize for her work with the poor and dying on the crowded streets of Calcutta. In a speech that moved her audience to tears, Mother Teresa spoke of the love and dignity given by the Missionaries of Charity to people others had deemed hopeless. She urged the representative group of Hindus, Buddhists, Jews, Christians and Muslims to remember the poor as “brothers and sisters in the same family, created by the same loving God.” And she spoke of a man who, after living in the gutter, had been brought to the home for the dying. “He said he’d lived like an animal, but would die like an angel, with love and care.”

The summit ended with a joint statement that called for a new spirituality “free of insularity,” religious freedom and a U.N. agency to bring spiritual resources to bear on world problems. Although the last recommendation was not adopted, it remains as a guide and source of hope.

What did I learn from this year of involvement with the U.N.? To paraphrase the 17th-century English poet John Donne, no person and no religion is an island. What happens to one happens to all. However we separate church and state, our task—the compelling task of our time and of the future of the human race—is to build an organic spiritual community. Remembering again the words of Thomas Merton, “We are already one, but we imagine we are not,” we must continue to bring forth the spiritual realization and the full consciousness of our already existing oneness.

Ewert Cousins, who was my (Eleanor’s) mentor at Fordham of my Ph.D. dissertation on the Holy Spirit, died on May 30. He will be long remembered for his scholarship as well as his loving kindness. This article may be found in full in the “Monastic Interreligious Dialogue Bulletin,” October 2004. Editor’s note: Ewert Cousins was a theological mentor to me as well. He held a global spirituality akin to that of his longtime friend Tom Berry—whose death followed his by just two days.

I have longed to return to Israel. My first visit fourteen years ago was a sort of pilot project – a week in the Holy Land and a trekking tour in the Sinai with Beduins and camels. The trip was memorable – soft hills sloping down to the Sea of Galilee, the country abloom with spring flowers in colors more intense and brilliant than I have ever seen. There was a magical quality to the land. It was easy to visualize the Master and his disciples wandering in the hills, resting at Capernaum, prevailing over the rough sea by the power of sheer faith, retiring to the Judaean desert to meditate.

Spring is short in Israel, the “yellow blossom” following the red, and all too soon the flora withers, and the soil becomes parched in the rainless heat. A country of extremes, stark and enchanting, arid and luscious, cruel and bountiful, where the human mind is driven to face the Divine. This sacred land is the setting of Jerusalem the Splendid, claimed by three religions as their holy city, crammed with history, rebuilt as many times as it was destroyed.

You have to see the silhouette of Jerusalem in order to believe it. Every building is covered with the famous Jerusalem stone, a cream-colored limestone, which has been the building material since ancient times. At sunset, the city acquires a golden glow changing into a soft, ethereal pink. One can become drunk with this light and the colors.

It was Good Friday, and the Via dolorosa and the Church of the Holy Sepulchre were so crowded one could hardly move, while the various Christian communities jealously guarded their portion of the holiest place in Christianity. My best experience was the stroll over Mount Olive and the quiet meditation at the Garden of Gethsemane, where three of roughly a dozen ancient olive trees, according to my guide-book, have actually been proven to be 2000 years old.

This year, again around Easter, I had the opportunity to absorb more of the atmosphere of Jerusalem, to see more historic sites, to try to fathom the spiritual quality of this very special city. The fate of Jerusalem, sacred to Jews, Christians and Arabs alike, is still uncertain. Despite the ongoing strife, are these ancient stones still imbued with the divine Spirit?

As I roamed the streets of the Old City and got lost in the labyrinth of the narrow Arab souks, lingered by the old city wall near Damascus and Jaffa Gate, I saw religious Jews hurrying towards the synagogues and the Western Wall, which is their most sacred place, often with small children in tow or pushing a pram up and down the uneven cobble stones and steps. At every entrance to the large square facing the Wall, there is a security check, reminding me of the political realities. It was still Passover, and multitudes gathered in front of the Wall, also called Wailing Wall, the only remnant of the second temple, which was destroyed in 70 A.D. The devotion and festive spirit of these people – men and women divided by a screen – was moving.

At the same time, the Easter celebrations of the Orthodox Church started, with a procession of torch-bearers in long robes and musicians, ending at the Holy Sepulchre. Again I was caught in the throng, kept under control by friendly, but relentless young policemen. Again I witnessed rituals foreign to my sense of piety. Yet these were pilgrims often from far-away countries, often poor, whose sincere devotion was written in their faces. In Gethsemane, where the olive trees are now behind a fence and can no longer be seen at close range or touched, I watched a group of Ethiopean Christians, their quiet, dignified faces, the women dressed in robes of pleated white muslin with fine embroidery. It was clear that their hearts went out to this place where Jesus spent the night before his crucifixion in agony and prayer. They simply yielded to the sanctity of the place.

Likewise, on Mount Moriah, immediately behind and above the Western Wall, where the Dome of the Rock and the Al-Aqsa-Mosque stand, there is an atmosphere of purity and quiet. Non-believers are no longer allowed into these Muslim sanctuaries, but the vast square affords a splendid view of the city and Mount Olive, not to mention the magnificent architecture of the Dome itself. No picture postcard can capture its beauty in the subtle light of Jerusalem.

These great religions need not be at war. This was the thought that kept coming to me. The beauty, the devotion, the cultural values created by each could be a bond rather than a source of conflict. Will Jerusalem ever be the common capital of all three religious communities? Will they ever live together peacefully and solve the problems of this country together, water shortage being one of the most urgent?

There is a place in Israel where ethnic and religious communities do live in peace. It is Haifa, the harbor city towards the North. Here, Jews, Arabs, and Christians have always lived in harmony. Some say that this is due to some extent to the beneficial influence of the Bahá’í World Centre on Mount Carmel. It is a site of awe-inspiring beauty, raised to the status of “World Heritage” by the UNESCO. The shrine with the golden cupola, set in the middle of eighteen elaborately designed terrace gardens has become a landmark of Haifa. It is dedicated to the “Báb”, who, similar to John the Baptist, announced the birth of a new religion and was martyred in his native Iran. The ensemble of the shrine, other magnificent buildings and the gardens is a marvel to see.

The Bahá’í religion promotes the harmony of all religions and the unity of mankind. Its followers radiate this unity. The Bahá’í are appreciated in Israel because they create harmony by their own peacefulness and vision of unity. In the middle of the 19^th century, when nationalism was fierce, when women’s rights were no issue, when science was at war with religion, Bahá’u’lláh, the founder of the Bahá’í faith, proclaimed the unity of mankind, the equality of women and men, and the validity of both science and religion as different aspects of the same truth. In a country deeply troubled by ethnic, political and religious conflict, the presence of the Bahá’í is a blessing.

However, what lingers most in my memory is the land itself. The magic I felt years ago is still there. It is intrinsic to the landscape, the climate, the light, the multiple ethnicity of the people, and the warm welcome I found everywhere.

As I was driving home from work the other day listening to the radio, I heard the saying, “The best things in life are free.”

How many times have you heard this saying throughout your life? Plenty, right?

So true, I thought to myself as I gently pushed the idea of a new five-speed ivory-colored Mini Cooper with a license plate that reads “trehugr” out of my mind. Instead I started a mental list of the wonderful things in life that are free. My list included the coming spring (yeah!), bellyaching laughter, a glowing sunset, a relaxing rainy day, warm sunshine on your face, good conversation, bear hugs, mouth-watering smells from the kitchen and the sweet song of a robin.

And how about friendship and truth? Love in your heart and a beautiful smile…the stars in the sky, the warmth from the sun and the light of the moon. Oh my, I almost forgot air! Our life-giving force, which we breathe in every second of every day. Our first gift at birth, our last gift in death.

Wow, this is so fun! As my mental list lengthened, so too did this simple, yet powerful message. As my heart expanded with joy, I began to feel and envision the most important “free” thing that unites and connects us all—love. Love for ourselves, others, the world, the Universe. I thought of love for animals and plants, the environment and Mother Earth. I also thought about Jesus’ love, the courageous words of Martin Luther King and the endearing message of Chief Seattle.

So what is my point in writing this? The notion of simplicity has been on my mind lately, a need for simplicity in an era of economic and environmental hardship. For years people have talked about voluntarily simplifying one’s life in efforts to reduce an environmental impact, for spiritual growth, for social/economic justice, etc….Lately however, we are seeing a shift towards involuntary simplicity, as well, as a necessity rather than a choice.

No matter the reason, now more than ever, is the time for simplifying, and what a good motto—the best things in life are free—to commence such a change! What better place to start than from a place of love and gratitude for such simple, yet meaningful and important things. So what do you need? What do I need? What does Earth need? I think if we ask ourselves, our neighbors or Earth this question, we would hear a common answer. Close your eyes. Take a deep breath. What does your heart tell you? What does Mother Earth say?

Emy Sautter is on the staff of Prairiewoods, a Franciscan Spirituality Center in Hiawatha, IA. She may be reached there at esautter@prairiewoods.org or 319-395-6700, ext. 222.