THERE is no doubt that one of the great religious successes in Britain in recent decades has been the growth of interfaith dialogue. Pews at weekly services may not be as full as the parish priests and rabbis would like, but interfaith organisations have exploded in number, and conferences abound.
Faiths that were previously either at loggerheads, or had no contact with each other, now co-exist harmoniously. Interfaith relations have become so much part of the new norm that many Jewish and Christian clergy take it for granted that it is part of their “job spec”.
Even positive advances can have negative consequences, however, and this religious love-in has brought serious challenges. It may not be fashionable to admit them, but they need to be confronted.
On the positive side, the three main advantages are well documented. First, when a person’s faith defines who they are and how they behave, the more we know about that faith the better we understand its adherents, and are enabled to create a society where people of different backgrounds feel at ease with each other.
If those individuals also happen to be religious leaders, that mutual respect can be preached about and shared, and thus can percolate to others in their communities. We have seen too many examples of societies divided by faith not to regard this as a chance to make the wolf lie down with the lamb. It is holy work.
Second, the study of another faith can lead to insights into one’s own traditions. This applies especially to Jews and Christians. Christians, for instance, can find much meaning in the symbolism of the Passover meal that probably formed the basis of the Last Supper. Conversely, Matthew’s Gospel is a must-read text for Jews to understand Jewish life in the first century. The fact that adherents of both faiths who attend the other’s services often exclaim “Those prayers are so like the ones we say!” emphasises how the liturgies of both faiths are based on shared biblical passages.
OF COURSE, there was an initial nervousness to be overcome before these benefits could evolve. If dialogue means accepting others as they are, and with their own religious integrity, it meant that Christians had to renounce attempts to convert Jews. For some, this was a significant sacrifice.
For their part, Jews had to overcome an antipathy conditioned by almost 2000 years of persecution caused, directly or indirectly, by the Church. It was not theology that was the problem, but history, of which the Holocaust is seen as the most dreadful culmination possible.
Not only did Jewish-Christian perseverance reap rewards. It has also provided a third benefit: a gateway to dialogue with other faiths, despite the absence of biblical connections, and, in some instances, the presence of beliefs and rituals that are far more alien, such as the absence of God in Buddhism, or the multiplicity of gods in Hinduism.
Amid this glow of religious rapprochement, Jewish and Christian clergy have also become aware of potential hiccups. One is theological certainty. If all faiths claim to be based on exclusive revelation by God, communicated through holy texts, then it must be obvious that they cannot all be right, and it is likely that most are wrong.
The only way to maintain both confidence in one’s own faith and equal respect for others’ is to say that there are many paths to God, and it does not matter which one we take. That demands a level of religious humility which we have not preached in the past, and which takes a while to get used to.
As with Isaiah’s vision of many people climbing the mountain of the Lord (2.3), we are fellow travellers, but none of us has a better route than the others, or a first-class ticket. For some, this makes perfect sense, but for others it is yet another sacrifice.
A SECOND issue is that dialogue forces us to see ourselves as others see us, and that can be disconcerting. To give a personal example, of which I am not proud but which highlights the point: when I first came across the Yazidis, and learned that they are forbidden to eat lettuce, banned from wearing blue, and revere peacocks, I laughed out loud at the strangeness of it. Then it occurred to me that exactly the same astonishment might greet those encountering Judaism and the rituals that we regard as sacrosanct. More humility.
A third aspect is that those who engage in interfaith dialogue can become slightly divorced from members of their own community. A different mind-set develops, which those who are not part of that conversation do not share. There can be a division between those who tend to look outwards and those who tend to look inwards; and one’s religious home can feel less comfortable than before. It is the clergy who tend to be most involved in dialogue; so they can also be the ones to feel that tension most keenly.
A final concern is whether interfaith relations can lead to interfaith relationships, with people falling in love across the religious divide. If the parish priest has tea with the rabbi, is that a signal that it is OK for a Christian and a Jew to share a drink, too — and perhaps much more, now that the social borders have been torn down?
Most faith groups prefer adherents to marry within their own community, both to reinforce the couple’s own religious identity and to ensure that it is passed on to the next generation. Here is another tension: on the one hand, we clergy want everyone to mix freely; on the other hand, mixed-faith households can threaten religious continuity.
None of these “problems” is a reason to withdraw from dialogue; for there is no doubt that the benefits are worth pursuing. It was never going to be easy for the wolf not to feel hungry, or the lamb not to feel nervous. Like them, we inch our way towards each other.
Dr Jonathan Romain is rabbi of Maidenhead Synagogue and author of The Naked Rabbi, published by John Hunt at £10.99 (Church Times Bookshop £9.89); 978-1-78904-729-5.