Interfaith Grit. Stephanie L. Varnon-Hughes

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      To Caleb Bagheera Varnon-Hughes, the bravest boy we know.

      And to my husband, for being willing to travel through all of the shaky places, together.

      “The minute we begin to think we have all the answers, we forget the questions.”

      —Madeleine L’Engle

      Introduction

      I started doing interfaith work because of my students. In public school in St. Louis, Missouri, my eighth graders were curious, noisy, involved, and came from all over the world.

      When I taught August Wilson’s The Piano Lesson, and we got to the part about Sutter’s ghost, a Muslim student from Somali raised her hand and asked, “Miss? What happens if a woman who is pregnant dies?” Suddenly, every student in the room had an opinion, an idea, a question. Hands shot up and urgent conversations began. As a first year teacher, I wasn’t ready to talk about death, but I thought—if I’m interested in teaching “the whole student,” shouldn’t I meet them where they are? Shouldn’t I let them express their ideas about their own interior space, and ethical and religious beliefs, and learn from one another?

      I became convinced that my students deserved to know why DeAnthony was fasting for Ramadan, why Jeremiah couldn’t watch movies or plays that had magic in them, why some of their classmates wore headscarves and others didn’t celebrate birthdays, and that learning how to talk about one’s own interior space and ask questions of others respectfully and humanely were the very skills eighth grade humans needed to learn and practice.

      Later, at Union Theological Seminary, I had the opportunity to imagine a free, online, peer-reviewed, academic journal for interfaith studies. I met a then-rabbinical student, Joshua Stanton, and together we founded The Journal of Inter-Religious Studies. Many of my mentors, teachers, and collaborators were involved in that project, and have gone on to help me along this path of scholarship and teaching. When I began to think about further academic work, I had the opportunity to get a PhD in inter-religious education: a new field for a new time. Teaching, learning, storytelling, listening, and relationship are cornerstones of my education, and of my practice.

      This book is meant for every family member, colleague, and airplane seatmate who has asked me a variation of the following question: “Why is the world like this? And what can I do?”

      Being human is a messy endeavor. We are made to be in relationship—built for community, craving to be known and seen and heard, better together. And yet, some flaw in us allows us to dwell on difference and allow diversity to become divisiveness. We fear the unknown. We resist the new. We turn strident and hateful when made to change. Why is this?

      I believe that leaning into the unknown is a transformative skill. We can practice becoming okay with difference. We can become virtuosic at embracing the unknown. When we learn that diversity will indeed transform us in body, soul, and nation, we can systematically name, teach, and celebrate the practices that help us persevere in shaky places.

      Parts of this book are based on research I did as a doctoral student, seeking to learn from scholars and practitioners in higher education about what exemplifies interfaith learning on their campuses. One section of this book helps us understand the idea of “resilience” and why it’s an essential ingredient in interfaith learning. Another section explores reflective practice as a too-infrequently used skill that has powerful potential to help us flourish. Finally, there are frequent examples of tools and techniques you can use immediately in your everyday life—in your workplace, congregation, community, or family—to help become okay with uncertainty, and allow a posture of openness to deepen your engagement with others, with your own ethical or spiritual tradition, and with humanity.

      Interfaith Grit

      How Uncertainty Will Save Us

      Copyright © 2018 Stephanie Varnon-Hughes. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical publications or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher. Write: Permissions, Wipf and Stock Publishers, 199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3, Eugene, OR 97401.

      Wipf & Stock

      An Imprint of Wipf and Stock Publishers

      199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3

      Eugene, OR 97401

      www.wipfandstock.com

      paperback isbn: 978-1-5326-0645-8

      hardcover isbn: 978-1-5326-0647-2

      ebook isbn: 978-1-5326-0646-5

      Manufactured in the U.S.A. April 17, 2018

      Fear, Curiosity, Change, and Growth

      The Challenges of Being Human

      You’re in a new parents group at your child’s middle school. You’ve really hit it off with some of the parents; it feels great to have made good “parent friends” and for your child to have another source of community connected to school.

      You invite one of the women to Starbucks with you after a meeting to plan for the fall bazaar, and she comes, but when she shows up, doesn’t order anything. “Even water?” you ask. “Even water,” she says, smiling, “It’s Ramadan.”

      Multiple emotions and thoughts flood your brain and body at the same time:

      • Cool! I have a Muslim friend! I’m progressive and inclusive.

      • Oh, crap: how did I just invite a fasting person out for coffee and not know?

      • Why did she come if she can’t eat or drink anything?

      • Is she going to think I’m terrible if I eat or drink something?

      • How long is Ramadan? Can I ask? I’m an educated person, I should probably know . . .

      • Why doesn’t she wear a veil? Can I ask her that? Probably not.

      • I don’t want to make her uncomfortable, I’ll just act like she’s just like me.

      • I wonder if she has any ultra-conservative family members or friends. (I can’t believe I just thought that!)

      • I wonder if she’s ever been discriminated against.

      • Wait, what does she think about all of my jokes about wine and “Mommy’s Sippee Cup”?—she must think I’m really sinful or something.

      • The next time I see something anti-Muslim on Facebook, I can’t wait to tell my family that they are Islamophobic and I know plenty of perfectly wonderful Muslim people.

      • Does she hate America?

      • Curiosity

      • Fear

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