Weekly Commentary from IPP Director

Up to Our Necks

2008-04-22T14:40:00.000-04:00

This weekend I took part in two Passover Seder meals. Both were very compelling. Both were hosted by my partner Fran Englander who is a Reform Jew.

Although the two Seders both followed the same wording or liturgy (called a Haggadah) that had been developed and modified by Fran, the two gatherings included decidedly different groups of people. The first gathered together 21 people, almost all of whom are Jewish. Those gathered included Fran’s family and many of her close friends. The Seder on the second night included a group of Jews, Christians and Muslims that Fran and I had invited to participate. Many of those on the second night had never experienced a Seder before.

A Seder is a ritual meal, usually celebrated by Jews as part of Passover each spring. The meal and its rituals mark the liberation of the Jews (actually the forebears of the Jewish people) from enslavement in the land of Egypt. The story recounted over a ritual meal of wine, herbs, and other symbolic foods, recounts the details of the 10 plagues visited upon the Egyptians by God in an effort to soften the heart of Pharoh and, in the words of the famous Gospel song get him to, “Let my people go.”

The story continues through the 10th plague, which is the death of the firstborn male in each Egyptian family. God commands the Israelites to mark their doorposts with the blood of a lamb so that the Angel of Death will “Pass Over” their homes and families.

The ritual meal goes on for about two hours (and I understand that this is a somewhat shortened version of a Seder), and during this time the story as it was presented in Fran’s version touched on a number of things that had deep meaning for me.

First, I was pleased that at the moment that a roasted lamb’s bone is presented for all those gathered to see, this Seder also included a roasted beet, to recognize that some of those gathered did not condone the killing of animals or wish to eat their flesh.

Second, I was moved by the telling of a midrash (a commentary on the story) that said that the Israelites had walked into the Red Sea until the water was up to their necks before the sea finally parted. I was overwhelmed by the trust in God exhibited by a people who had been told that the sea would literally part for them and continued to trust God as they walked into water that was up to their ankles, then their knees, their waists and finally their necks before it parted. This story raises questions for me about my own sense of trust.

Finally, and perhaps more importantly for me and a few others who commented on this, I found it very powerful that in the Seder Haggadah there is sorrowful mention of the Egyptians who suffered and died, and an expression of hope that in any future liberation from whatever enslaves us, no one else will have to suffer to ensure our freedom.

Whatever our religious traditions, I believe that it is important to celebrate our connection to the past and to our cultural history. It is just as important to modify our collective stories to recognize the deeper meanings and troubling questions that our historical legacies raise for us.

More Light and Less Heat

2008-04-18T14:23:00.001-04:00

I was planning to write my blog this week on a different topic, but then I attended a luncheon talk that changed my mind.
The talk was billed as a presentation by Leslie S. Lebl on the topic “Radical Islam in Europe.” It was sponsored by the Louisville Committee on Foreign Relations. Ms. Lebl was identified as a former foreign service worker and a “non-resident Senior Fellow of the Atlantic Council of the United States.” Because I do interfaith work and because there undoubtedly is a problem related to radical Islam in Europe, I was looking forward to what Ms. Lebl had to say. The speakers who make presentations as part of the Louisville Committee on Foreign Relations luncheon series are almost always well informed, incisive and fair in their presentation of information.
That was not the case with today’s speaker. I monitor news about Islam and I think I am fairly well informed. What Ms. Lebl had to say was filled with half-truths and distortions. I listened carefully and came to the conclusion that her talk was a thinly veiled depiction of Islam as the enemy of Western culture. In her talk, Ms. Lebl made reference in an approving way to someone who had spoken of Islam as a religion of violence. I know many Muslims, both in this country and in other parts of the world. I know them to be law abiding citizens who embrace peaceful solutions to the world’s problems. It is true that there are radicals within Islam who embrace violent solutions and use terrorism. But the same can be said of other religions. Timothy McVeigh who blew up the Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City, did so, at least in part, out of a twisted notion of what it means to be a Christian.
I think we all need to be careful not to paint the practitioners of any religion with the tar of the worst acts committed by their fellow religionists.
When Ms. Lebl’s talk concluded she took questions from the audience. I waited for someone to take issue with her distorted portrayal of Islam. I waited, but no one challenged her. Finally, I did.
And I have to admit that I hesitated before I said something. Because I am almost universally positive in my outlook on things, I jokingly refer to myself as the king of warm fuzzy.
But there was nothing warm and fuzzy about what was happening in that room. Those attending were being fed a line that seemed to be designed to inflame people.
I didn’t know if it was proper for me to speak up. I could feel my blood pressure rising, and I felt myself trembling. I’m not sure what I was afraid of, but I finally overcame my hesitation and raised my hand. When Ms. Lebl called on me I said, “I’ve been waiting for someone to take issue with what you have said. No one has, so I will. I am the head of an interfaith organization here in Louisville. I want people to know that what they have heard from you is filled with half-truths and distortions about Islam.”
Ms. Lebl listened politely. She didn’t challenge what I said. She invited people to check out the facts themselves. This is one point on which we agreed. We should check the facts for ourselves. Ms. Lebl invited people to visit her web site. I would suggest instead that we all look closely at the news about Islam, and make sure that the news we get comes from a variety of sources and can be factually corroborated.
As I heard someone say recently, “We need more light and less heat.”

What We Leave Behind

2008-04-07T14:22:00.000-04:00

By Terry Taylor,Executive Director
Interfaith Paths to Peace

Someone pillaged the contents of my pickup truck recently. What’s interesting isn’t so much what they stole as what they left behind.
It was one morning a couple of weeks ago. I got up and stepped out on the front porch to retrieve the newspaper. When I did, the neighbor, who was picking up his paper turned to me and said, “Hey, Terry, that’s an odd place to park your truck.” When I looked at the street I saw that my truck had rolled down the hill from where I had parked it and it had come to rest part way into the intersection.
When I saw my truck, I thought that I had accidentally left it in neutral, and that it had rolled down the hill. I walked over to the truck in my pajamas to move it to a safe place. When I got to it, I found one of my insurance papers lying beside the driver’s door. When I got inside, I could tell that someone had moved the seat back. Then I realized that just about everything I had left in the truck was gone. I admit that I was somewhat to blame in this. Before that day I rarely if ever locked the truck’s doors.
When I inventoried what had been taken I noticed something odd and important. The thieves had stolen a few things that they could sell: among them my winter coat, a small and inexpensive digital voice recorder. They also took from the glove box a few things they couldn’t sell: the truck’s owner’s manual along with the vehicle registration and insurance papers. Sadly, among the missing items were several medical devices I use in the ongoing therapy for my injured left hand, as well as a yarmulke that belonged to my late stepfather.
But it was what they left behind on the bench seat that drew my attention and caused me to wonder. Resting on the passenger’s side of the seat was my copy of the book, “This I Believe,” which is a compilation of short personal belief statements by a variety of people, some famous, some not so famous.
After reporting the theft to the police, I joked with friends that I would have advised the thieves to steal “This I Believe,” and leave behind my material possessions.
Then I thought further. The decision by the thief or thieves about what to take and what to leave behind made me think about some of my own decisions.
My first thoughts went to what I would pack if I only had a few minutes to evacuate my apartment in an emergency. Would I take my small safe? Some of the rare books I own? My own art work? I thought about this imaginary situation for a while but didn’t come to any real conclusions about the possessions I would evacuate.
Then I started to think about what I take with me all of the time. The irony of the thieves’ decision to leave behind “This I Believe,” was not lost on me. I’ve spent more than a little time lately thinking about what I believe, and asking myself whether or not I carry “what I believe” with me each morning when I leave home.

I would like to say that I do, but like most people I get bogged down in the everyday details of just existing. I don’t think very often about what I believe. I don’t carry it as often as I should in my heart. I think that maybe I should listen to the joking advice I gave to the thieves…but take it seriously. Leave behind the material stuff; take what you believe.

Peace and Harmony

2008-03-31T16:55:00.000-04:00

Last week I twice had the opportunity to hear the words of Israeli Rabbi Paul Feinberg who was visiting Louisville. Rabbi Feinberg, who is a major figure in an international group called “Rabbis for Human Rights,” spoke Wednesday night at Christ Church Cathedral at an event sponsored by Interfaith Paths to Peace. I also heard him when he read and spoke about “the Torah Portion” at Temple Shalom during Sabbath Service on Saturday morning.
A number of things the Rabbi said resonated with me. I noted that he said that Rabbis for Human Rights monitors and tries to ensure the human rights of all persons in Israel, (Christians, Muslims, Druze, Samaritans, Jews and others). At one point in his remarks on Wednesday night, Rabbi Paul (as he invited me to address him) said that in facing threats to human rights, he thought in terms of responses rather than solutions. The distinction between the two words might seem subtle, but it is important. It is particularly important to me in terms of something that I wrote for a Christian “Good Friday” event. I quoted Fr. Daniel Berrigan, SJ, who asserts that Christian peacemakers are called not to be successful, but rather to be faithful. In a culture that is obsessed with success and with winning at any price, the idea of being faithful to what we believe to be right regardless of its chances for success is something almost beyond the pale. I’m not sure that Fr. Berrigan’s ideas and Fr. Paul’s are identical, but to paraphrase Mark Twain, I think they rhyme, at least intellectually. The words of both men remind me to look for something to do that is within my power rather than operating under the delusion that I can effect a “solution” to any of the world’s major problems.
Rabbi Paul also said that in his dealings with what I would term peacemaking activities, he looked toward “harmony” rather than “peace.” Again, a subtle but important distinction. I believe that he was using the musical concept of harmony as a metaphor for social and political situations in which there is room for both concord and discord: we can live together but hold different world views, and even disagree strongly about important issues. Given the troubled nature of our world, harmony may be a more reasonable goal than peace, if by peace we mean living together in agreement.
But there was one other thing about Rabbi Paul’s visit that made an even deeper impression on me, and it wasn’t something he said. Rather, it was something that involved harmony rather than peace. At the Wednesday night presentation at the Cathedral, a young Muslim man (I’m guessing of Middle Eastern nationality) asked Rabbi Paul what he thought about the continuing Israeli expansion of settlements in the West Bank. Rabbi Paul gave a lengthy answer that seemed to be saying that the expansion wasn’t helpful to the peace process. But his answer did not directly address the settlements as a human rights issue.
After the program was over, the young Muslim came up to me and said that he thought Rabbi Paul should have addressed the settlement expansion from a human rights perspective. I suggested to my young friend that he share his concern with Rabbi Paul rather than me. He seemed hesitant to do so. I told him that even though I get teased about being the king of “warm fuzzy” events, I thought that it was only when we challenged each other about difficult issues that we were beginning to engage in meaningful dialogue that could effect change. I also assured him that if our speaker were Palestinian and the challenger an Israeli, I would be saying the same thing.

The young man left me and walked over to Rabbi Paul. They engaged in animated but friendly conversation for what seemed like a long time. I don’t know what either man said. I don’t know that either man changed his mind after engaging in this brief dialogue. But I do hope that both of them came away from their brief verbal encounter with a sense that somehow they could disagree but still live together…in harmony if not in peace.

The Role of the Peacemaker

2008-03-24T09:15:00.001-04:00

Fr. Daniel Berrigan, SJ, reminds us that as peacemakers we are not called to be successful; we are called to be faithful. That’s a hard lesson, but a lesson we all need to learn. God calls on each of us to do not just what we can for peace, but all that we can. And we can’t always rely on our actions to have the outcomes we hope for. Thomas Merton said that in a famous letter to Jim Forest during the Vietnam War. Merton told Forest that if he was working to end the war solely in the belief that his actions would have the desired result, he might end up in despair if he wasn’t successful. But Merton went on to say that we must take action because we believe we are doing the right thing regardless of the results.

The Iraq War has just passed its sad fifth anniversary. The Afghanistan War grinds on, as do wars and genocidal mayhem in Africa and other parts of the world. In the face of these nightmares, all of us are committed to working for peace we must do all that we are capable of doing, even if it is a small but significant gesture like Veronica wiping Jesus’ face.

What is the role of the peacemaker? Louisville peacemaker Donald Vish shared these thoughts recently with the board of Interfaith Paths to Peace:

Make Peace!

Play a leading role. But if you can’t play a leading role, then play a supporting role. And if you can’t act, then write the script or type the script or spell-check the script.

Make Peace!

And if you cannot make peace, then march for peace. And if you can’t march, applaud. And if you have no hands to clap or feet to march, then cheer for those who do and encourage those who can.

When it comes to the work of peacemaking, there is no job too small, no progress too little. Everything counts. Everyone is essential.

Do what you can. And when you can’t do, be patient. Those who work for peace learn to master the ebb and flow of hope and despair. Peacemakers know that even as their labors deplete them, they restore others allied with them in the same cause.

Peacemakers learn to be patient when progress is slow, faithful when the cause appears lost and to become a person of peace by first becoming a person at peace.

Prayer: O Holy One, give us the strength and courage to work for peace in whatever way we can, knowing that we cannot control the outcome of our actions, but also understanding that we act for peace in the belief that we are doing what You want us to do.

Remarks Delivered at the Hunger Awareness Day Program

2007-06-11T14:29:00.000-04:00

Muhammad Ali Center
Tuesday, June 5, 2007

By Terry Taylor

I’m working on a book right now about world religions and as part of my research I have been exploring what I call the core mythologies of the world’s religions.

In exploring those mythologies, I started asking the everyday people who practice the various religions what they thought the core mythology of their religion might be.

And as a Christian, I figured I better ask myself the same question…and I’m still not sure how to describe the core myth of Christianity….but after having attended well over a thousand church potluck suppers, I’m sure that it ends with the words, “Let’s go eat!”

And after much reflection about the work I have done with other religions over the years, I figure that ‘let’s go eat” is probably a part of every religion’s core mythology. Why? Because the act of eating together is a vitally important part of both our spirituality and our social life. So the sharing of meals may in fact the one practice that people of all religions have in common.

But something else about food connects us, too.

That is a shared concern for those who do not have enough to eat, whether they are here in our own city or halfway around the world. All religions share a commitment to making sure that everyone can come to the table. That everyone can “break bread” with us.

This evening men and women representing a number of different religious traditions will share with you a few words about the meaning of hunger from their perspectives, and perhaps a bit about what they think can be done about it.

Each speaker will bring a piece of bread from somewhere on the planet and place it in this basket as a symbol of their commitment to providing food to those in need.

At the conclusion of their remarks, they will all come forward and we will ask you to stand and join us in offering a blessing to those who distribute food and to those who receive it, and we will together make a commitment to ending hunger in our city, our nation and the world.

A Blessing

In the name of all that is sacred,
Holy and revered in our world,
Those of us gathered here tonight
Offer our blessing to those
In our community, our nation and our world
Who provide food
To those most in need of it.

And we bless, too, those who receive that food,
In recognition that their plight
Is a challenge to each and every one of us,
To work diligently
So that the day will soon arrive
When hunger is no longer a problem
In Louisville,
In America,
Or anywhere on our beloved planet.

Amen.

Remarks Delivered at the Memorial Day Interfaith Service

2007-05-29T16:15:00.000-04:00

As I begin my remarks I want to share with you the thoughts of a WWII veteran who is a friend of IP. He worries that many who fought in our wars felt remorse for the things they were forced to do but died without ever having a chance to feel forgiven.

He asked me to share this prayer with you on their behalf.

Dear God, Father and Mother of us all. Those who have fought in war have a special need for thy forgiveness and mercy, for we have killed thy children. Help us to follow now in the footsteps of Mohandas Gandhi and Martin Luther King. Amen.

As today we honor the memory of all who have died in war and other forms of organized violence, I know that there is a wish in all of our hearts that none of the horrors of war had ever happened, or that we could somehow undo them.

The celebrated American novelist Kurt Vonnegut spoke eloquently to this wish in his novel, Slaughter House Five. Vonnegut who died just a little over a month ago, was a survivor of the terrible fire bombing of the unarmed city of Dresden, Germany, in the closing weeks of WWII. That experience made him a tireless opponent of war. In his novel, Slaughter House Five, the main character, named Billy Pilgrim, watches a WWII era movie on TV that chronicles the activities of bomber pilots. In a strange twist, Billy Pilgrim watches the movie’s action unfold backwards in time.
Here is how Vonnegut described what Billy sees:

American planes, full of holes and wounded men and corpses took off backwards from an airfield in England . Over France , a few German fighter planes flew at them backwards, sucked bullets and shell fragments from some of the planes and crewmen. They did the same for wrecked American bombers on the ground, and those planes flew up backwards to join the formation.

The formation flew backwards over a German city that was in flames. The bombers opened their bomb bay doors, exerted a miraculous magnetism which shrunk the fires, gathered them into cylindrical steel containers, and lifted the containers into the bellies of the planes. The containers were stored neatly in racks.

When the bombers got back to their base, the steel cylinders were taken from the racks and shipped back to the United States of America, where factories were operating night and day, dismantling the cylinders, separating the dangerous contents into minerals. Touchingly, it was mainly women who did this work. The minerals were then shipped to specialists in remote areas. It was their business to put them into the ground, to hide them cleverly, so they would never hurt anybody ever again.

Would that we COULD undo it all.

Would that we could undo it all.

But we can't.

And if we can’t undo the past, our hope may be to look for models within our religious traditions of individuals who can find the spiritual resources to pursue peace and justice non-violently with the same fervor and determination with which nations pursue all-out war.

At a recent Tent of Abraham, Hagar and Sarah gathering I learned of one such story…that of Abdul Gaffar Khan.

Badshah Khan, as he was known, was a contemporary of Gandhi, who discovered the deep roots of non-violent direct action within his religion: Islam and its Holy Book the Qu’ran.

Badshah Khan was native to the land now known as Pakistan and was a Pashtun, a people renowned for being the fiercest of the fierce warriors in the sub-continent. In spite of that…perhaps because of that…Badshah Khan created a non-violent movement in 1929 called the Khudai Khidmatgar which eventually included more that 100,000 Pashtuns. These men, women and children withstood mass killings, torture and the destruction of their homes and fields and used active non-violence to seek peace and justice and political independence. They sought justice not only for themselves, but also for Hindus, Sikhs and others.

The Badshah interpreted Islam as a moral code with pacifism at its center. He told people that that Islam operates on a simple principle—never hurt anyone by tongue, by gun, or by hand…Not to lie, steal or harm is true Islam.”

My hope is that all of us will look ever more earnestly for the sources of non-violence within our own religions and most importantly within our own hearts.

What U.S. Muslims Are Up Against

2007-05-16T14:57:00.000-04:00

Qu’ran flushing.

Ahmed Bedier is a Muslim involved in inter-faith activities on behalf of Muslims in the Tampa Bay area in Florida. Ahmed (pronounced ach-med) recently got a phone call that stopped him cold.

One of his friends had called him to ask him if he had heard bout the man in the area who was holding daily Qu’ran flushings in his front yard.

Ahmed was in his car, and got the man’s address from his friend and made a detour to see if he could find out whether the story was true or not.

When he arrived at the address, sure enough, there in the front yard was a toilet. There was a sign that said, “Qu’ran flushing every day. 1 p.m. Public Invited.” Apparently, each day at the appointed hour the man who lived at this address would walk from his front door to the toilet, tear a few pages from the Muslim holy book and pitch them into the toilet bowl.

Ahmed could see that the front door of the house was open and that someone was obviously at home, so he walked up and knocked on the door. When a man came to the door, he told Ahmed that he was the host of the daily event. Ahmed asked him why he was hosting the flushings.

The man launched into the usual set of misinformation and lies about Islam, including the fact that no Muslims never denounced the acts of terrorism undertaken by crazed individuals in the name of Allah.

The man looked at Ahmed and said, “I’m not going to take the toilet down.” Ahmed assured him that he wasn’t going to ask him to remove the toilet or stop the Qu’ran flushings.

Ahmed then told the man that in fact lots of Muslims denounced these violent acts and actually worked for peace. He then invited the man out to his car and pulled up on his laptop computer some news stories that affirmed what he had just been telling the man about the peaceful nature of Islam.

The man looked and listened attentively.

Then he invited Ahmed to stay and have supper with him. Given the fact that no one knew where Ahmed was at the time, and also given the potentially violent nature of the situation, he sent an e-mail to his wife with the address and then joined the man for supper.

Ahmed made no attempt to argue with the man or to get him to remove the offending piece of porcelain or stop the flushings. But by the time they were through eating the man looked Ahmed in the eye and said, “You know, I think I’m gonna take the toilet down.”

They shook hands and Ahmed drove away.

Not all stories of potentially confrontational inter-religious interactions turn out this way, but Ahmed’s non-confrontational way of approaching this situation illustrates how a few kind words and an attitude of inquisitiveness rather than condemnation can lead to better understanding among practitioners of different religions.

The Legacy of Gun Violence

2007-04-25T14:13:00.000-04:00

The Legacy of Gun Violence

CAUTION: Some Readers May Find the Details in this Commentary Disturbing

A TV reporter asked me a question the other day that made me flinch.

The question came at just before a prayer vigil here in Louisville that was being held in response to the massacre at Virginia Tech.

Because I am interviewed frequently by reporters from TV and radio about events that are sponsored by Interfaith Paths to Peace, I am used to being asked impersonal questions that require me to make global comments about peace or religion or spirituality.

But that evening the reporter suddenly looked me in the eye and asked me, “Does the violence at Virginia Tech touch you in any personal way.”

I wasn’t expecting that, and actually looked away from her for a moment. I had to make an instantaneous decision about whether I was going to open my life and share my personal experience of gun violence.

Then I looked at her and I said “Yes, it does.”

I then told the reporter, and thousands of people in Louisville , that my stepbrother had committed suicide using a gun when I was thirteen, and that I had watched him die. It would be more accurate to say that I was a witness to some of his agony as he died.

Jimmy was 10 years older than me. Late on the night of the Friday before Memorial Day in 1964, after a disastrous experience in the Navy and a protracted bout of severe depression, he shot himself in the heart.

Jimmy pulled the trigger some time after the rest of the family had gone to sleep. I remember being awakened from a dream by a loud sound. I opened my eyes to the darkness and listened to the sound of my stepmother—Jimmy’s mother—getting out of bed and walking into the living room to see what had happened.

Then she started screaming. She didn’t stop screaming for a long time. My father, another step brother, and I all ran into the living room where Jimmy’s body lay askew in an easy chair. He wasn’t dead yet.

My father ordered us boys to get out of the room, which we did. But not before seeing things and hearing things that I can never forget. In the pale gray light coming through the curtains from the street lamp I could see the spreading dark stain on Jimmy’s pajama top. I could make out the barrel of the 22 rifle sliding slowly down his thigh. I hear the gurgling sound he made as he tried to breathe.

Jimmy died before the ambulance arrived. A few minutes after that a police detective apologized to me for having to ask me questions at such a horrible time. Then he asked them.

I don’t remember where we slept before Jimmy’s funeral, but it wasn’t at home. When the funeral was over, the surviving family members went to the lake for a few days so that the blood-soaked chair and carpeting could be removed and replaced.

When I returned to school, a couple of caring teachers who had somehow learned of Jimmy’s suicide asked me if I was ok. Like any 13-year-old, I shrugged. There was no counseling. No psychiatric help. After all, it was the 1960s.

The worst thing for me was that it was made clear to me that we were not to mention Jimmy’s name again; it would be just too painful for his mother. Still, the memory of him and the explosion of violence in my home that Friday night live on.

I used to delude myself with thoughts that that somehow I had dealt with Jimmy’s suicide, that I had put it behind me. Then Virginia Tech happened, (as have other acts of gun violence that I see or hear about from time to time) and the details of that May night flood back in.

And that permanent and persistent vivid memory of violence is the personal connection for me with the survivors and family of the fallen in Virginia . I fear that their lives, like mine, have been changed forever.

Of course, some of them will learn to cope with their loss (as I have). Some will steel themselves and act brave (as I try to do). But things will happen from time to time for all of them that will bring the details of that horrible Monday back to life in ways they will be unable to escape, just as I can’t escape from the memories of that night 44 years ago.

That’s the legacy of gun violence.

Terry

Terence Cozad Taylor
(502) 214-7322
(502) 299-7591 cell

What Are We Walking Away From And What Are We Walking Toward?

2007-02-08T11:27:00.000-05:00

What Are We Walking Away From
And What Are We Walking Toward?
By Terence Cozad Taylor
Executive Director, Interfaith Paths to Peace

On Thursday, February 8, I will depart Louisville for a two-week journey of exploration and pilgrimage through the Holy Land in Israel, Palestine and Jordan.

I will be traveling in the company of Omar Attum of Bellarmine University and two members of the Interfaith Paths to Peace board: Mark Isaacs and Bashar Masri.

Mark is an American Jew who has lived in Israel for a year. Bashar is an American Muslim who was raised in the city of Nablus in Palestine. Together Mark and Bashar (with the help of Omar) lead a Louisville organization called Together for Two States, a group of Muslims and Jews who promote a sensible plan for national states of Israel and Palestine that can live side by side in peace, justice, and security.

Over the next 15 days we will be visiting the Vatican’s study center in Jerusalem, the Quaker school and meeting in Ramallah. We will also meeting with individuals and groups struggling in Israel, Jordan and Palestine to find a peaceful solution to the conflict and divisions that plague that region.

On Sunday, February 4th Mark Isaacs, Omar Attum and I attended Mass at St. William Catholic Church. At the conclusion of that Mass the members of St. William lifted their hands and spoke words of blessing to us for our journey (Bashar has already left for the Middle East.. The parishoners of St. William were joined in blessing us by G.A. Shareef of the Islamic Cultural Center, Chris Harmer of the Quaker Meeting, Fran Englander a local independent Jewish leader, and Anthony Redfeather Nava of Kentuckiana American Indian Advocates. Following the Mass many of those present offered us their own best wishes and expressed concern for us as we enter a geographic area that suffers from almost daily violence.

For all four of us, but particularly for me, this trip will be a pilgrimage. This will be my first time to set foot in the Holy Land. But oddly, as I prepare my thoughts have not been focused on visiting sacred geography. Perhaps if I were traveling alone I would be concentrating on visiting the Wailing Wall, the Dome of the Rock and the Way of the Cross.

Not by choice, but rather out of concern, my preparation for this pilgrimage has been concentrated on thinking about the conflict in Israel and Palestine and what we here in the inter-religious community in Louisville can learn from it. I have no illusions that we four have anything we can tell the people we meet about how to solve their problems.

I do have hope that as this group--comprising a Christian, a Jew, and two Muslim--travels together, we will express the feeling that “we” can get along no matter where we are on the planet.

Last summer 50 of us from throughout the nation took part in a five day, 60-pilgrimage for peace and non-violence, walking from the Abbey of Gethsemani in Nelson County to downtown Louisville.

Joe Grant, a Louisville peacemaker who had the original idea for this pilgrimage prepared us for our journey by asking each of us to consider what we were walking away from and what we would be walking toward. The question was posed to us on each day of the walk.

The trip we begin tomorrow literally grew out of that earlier pilgrimage and I am asking myself again, “What are you walking away from and what are you walking toward?”

I’m not sure of the answer to either part of the question. But I guess I am walking away from preconceived notions about what seems to be an endless struggle half way around the world. And I guess I am walking toward a place where my heart will be open to hearing the ideas of people whose lives are filled with fear, anxiety and suffering every day. I guess I am walking toward a place in my own heart where I can feel compassion for all I meet.

Some are Guilty: All are Responsible

2007-01-31T13:24:00.000-05:00

Some are Guilty; All are Responsible

How far is each of us from being a torturer or someone who is tortured?

That’s not a question most of us spend time thinking about, but it did come up in the discussion at an IPP event last Saturday night.

The event was the presentation and discussion of a 20-minute contemporary film about the Holocaust called “Das Spandau Ballett.”

“Das Spandau Ballett” was the sick term the Nazi’s used to describe the writhing in agony of the Jews who were being gassed. Ironically, the same term was used by the Allies to describe the Nazi war criminals as they danced at the end of a rope when they were hanged.

The film, which featured Louisville dancer Hannah Jones, used the language of dance to explore what happened to one individual victim of the holocaust as she was put to death.

The discussion that followed the film was powerful. The 25 or so persons who were gathered at Thomas Jefferson Unitarian Church included one individual who had escaped the Holocaust. Comments ranged from puzzlement about why the director had chosen this particular way to tell his story, to questions about what he intended to say with the film, to comparisons with the new award-winning foreign film, “Pan’s Labyrinth.”

But when the formal discussion was over and the equipment was being disassembled and the audience was beginning to depart one person made a comment about the film that really stunned me.

As she held her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart, she said, “You know each of us is about this far away from being the Nazi or the victim.” (Personally, I’m more worried about our becoming like the Nazis than I am about our being victims.)

She went on to talk about the horrors of Abu Ghraib, and how ordinary American men and women took apparent glee in torturing and humiliating their Iraqi prisoners. (And then there’s Guantanamo and “Special Rendition” and…sadly the list goes on.)

But I don’t want to point the finger solely at those who run our government or the military. As the great Jewish thinker Abraham Joshua Heschel said, “In a free society, all are involved in what some are doing. Some are guilty, all are responsible.”

It is the job of all us, whatever religion we embrace, to constantly voice the reminder (especially ourselves) that each and every person on the planet is human and deserving of basic human rights. All should be free from torture and abuse.

Let’s Recognize and Honor the Memory of EVERYONE Who has died In the Iraq War

2007-01-17T10:34:00.000-05:00

Let’s Recognize and Honor the Memory of EVERYONE
Who has died In the Iraq War
…Civilian as well as Military

By Terence Cozad Taylor

In the last month or so we have witnessed three major milestones in the War in Iraq. In mid December the total number of U.S. military casualties surpassed 25,000. On the last day of 2006, the number of U.S. military deaths reached 3,000. And just this week our President announced that he would be sending an additional 20,000 troops to Iraq. The first two of those numbers are very sad. The third is troubling.

But perhaps even more troubling is a number that rarely gets reported in the Courier-Journal when U.S. casualties are listed: the total of Iraqis who have died as a result of the war since it began nearly four years ago. The most conservative estimate I can find lists just over 53,000 Iraqi dead. The highest estimate I have found suggests as many as 650,000. The real number probably lies somewhere in between.

But whatever that number is, I believe that it should be listed in the Courier-Journal alongside the number of U.S. deaths in order to give a more complete and accurate picture of the real impact of this war.

I am the head of an interfaith organization in Louisville. Not many people know that I also possess a master’s degree in journalism from Ball State University.

My education in journalism taught me that in reporting a story I should strive to give as complete and accurate a picture as I could, preferably in the fewest words possible.

I don’t think that the readers of the Courier-Journal can get a complete and accurate picture of the war in Iraq without reading the number of Iraqi casualties on a day-to-day basis.

I suggest using the most conservative estimate of Iraqi dead: 53,000. But let’s look at this number as it relates to the population of Iraq. The CIA website estimates the population of Iraq at 26,783,383 as of July 2006. The population of the United States is now 300 million. Thus, the population of the United States is more than 10 times that of Iraq. That means that if an equivalent number of Americans had died in this war, we would be looking at a U.S. body count of over 500,000. That’s nearly 10 times the number of men and women we lost in the entire Viet Nam War.

I don’t think anyone has an accurate estimate of the number of Iraqis who have been wounded, but it must be well into the hundreds of thousands.

Still, one other number may help us understand what a tragedy this war has become for a nation that two decades ago was at least marginally a First World Country: the number of Iraqis who have been made refugees. As of November 4, 2006, the U.N. High Commissioner on Refugees estimated that 1.8 million Iraqis had been displaced to neighboring countries, and 1.6 million were displaced internally, with nearly 100,000 Iraqis fleeing to Syria and Jordan each month.

But as we all know, numbers don’t tell the full story. We need to remember that every American or Iraqi killed, wounded or made homeless represents a real human being with hopes and dreams that have now been shattered. It isn’t possible the whole story in one newspaper article or a thousand. But this weekend some of us will make a modest attempt to honor that horrific story.

Representatives of every major religion will gather at 2 p.m. on Sunday, January 14 at Strathmoor Presbyterian Church for an interfaith service honoring the memory of all who have died or suffered in Iraq, whether they are members of the military or civilians.

Sponsoring groups for this event include:

Interfaith Paths to Peace
Strathmoor Presbyterian Church
Kentucky Council of Churches
Independent Muslims of Louisville
The Community Relations Council of the Jewish Community Federation of Louisville
The Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Louisville
St. William Catholic Church
The Episcopal Diocese of Kentucky
Friends (Quaker) Meeting of Louisville
The Hindu Temple of Louisville
The Mid-Kentucky Presbytery of the Presbyterian Church USA
The Center for Faith and Action
Drepung Gomang (Tibetan Buddhist) Institute of Louisville
James Lees Presbyterian Church
Unity of Middletown
Baha’is of Louisville
The Louisville Chapter of the Fellowship of Reconciliation
Kentuckiana American Indian Advocates

We will be acknowledging all who have become victims. Whether you support the war or oppose it, I hope that you will join us as we honor the dead and pray for a just peace to come soon to the people of Iraq.

And I hope that from this day forward the Courier-Journal will report the most accurate estimate of Iraqi dead when it reports the tragic number of Americans who have died. The readers of this great newspaper deserve no less than that.

Terence Cozad Taylor is Executive Director of Interfaith Paths to Peace

A Reflection from Hiroshima

2006-08-07T21:20:00.000-04:00

Observations from the Peace Ceremony in Hiroshima, Japan, on August 6, 2006
The 61st Anniversary of the first use of atomic weapons against human beings

By Terry Taylor, Executive Director, Interfaith Paths to Peace, a Louisville-based non-profit organization.

At 8:15 a.m. local time 61 years ago today, anyone occupying the space where I sit typing these words would have been instantly killed. It is a sobering thought.

I am in a hotel room about 500 yards from where the atomic bomb exploded 1,200 feet above this city one August morning at the end of WWII.

This morning I attended the annual ceremony at the Peace Park in Hiroshima marking the anniversary of that atomic bombing. I traveled here at the invitation of Tadatoshi Akiba, the Mayor of Hiroshima, who visited Louisville as the guest of Louisville peace groups in April of 2005.

I began my day in front of the now famous skeletal remains of the A-bomb Dome that has been preserved by the Japanese people as the perpetual symbol of atomic warfare.

Today dawned much like that day in August of 1945. Although the ceremony didn’t officially begin until 8 a.m., I arrived at the Park at 6:45. The sky was clear and blue. It wasn’t quite hot yet where I sat in the shade watching thousand of citizens from around the world pour into the Park.

The only noticeable sound was the rhythmic chorus of cicadas humming a mourning song like 61-year-old ghosts. The sense of ghostly presence is very real here, both in the haunting images and artifacts of the atomic bombing that I saw in the Peace Museum yesterday, and in the eyes of the atomic bomb survivors I have spoken to both in Louisville and in Hiroshima.

The ceremony itself lasted only 45 minutes. There were the usual carefully worded speeches from dignitaries including the Japanese Prime minister and my friend Mayor Akiba. But what had the greatest impact on me were the rituals and wordless sounds and images I observed.

Before the ceremony began, pure water from 16 different locations in and around Hiroshima was offered to the spirits of the atomic bomb’s deceased victims who in their agony sought so desperately to quench their fiery thirst. Those victims now number nearly 250,000.

At precisely 8:15 this morning, those attending the ceremony were asked to rise and pray silently for those victims as a bell was tolled and tolled again. After each strike, the bell’s sound resonated in waves that could have been mistaken for the wailing warning of an air raid siren.

As I prayed silently, I thought of the young man from Columbus, Ohio, I sat next to on the plane bringing me to Japan just two days ago. He told me he was in the Navy. He said he was on his way to join the crew of the aircraft carrier Enterprise where his job would be to make bombs. I’m guessing that some of those bombs he will be making are atomic.

And then the doves.

Near the end of the program hundreds of doves were released as a sign of hope. This year they left the podium area, flew in the direction from which the bomb blast had come six decades ago, and as if realizing that, turned back and flew over the crowd.

One lone white bird left the disappearing flock and returned to circle the Peace Park one more time, as if to remind us that each of the quarter million victims of the atomic bombing was an individual with a family, and hopes and plans that would never be fulfilled.

Perhaps that dove wanted to remind us that what happened here, and three days later at Hiroshima’s sister city of Nagasaki, should never happen to any city ever again.

A few words about the fire we're in

2006-01-09T09:40:00.000-05:00

Back in 1990 I attended a concert featuring the performance artist Laurie Anderson. At the end of the event, as she walked off stage, some words came up on a screen behind the stage. They said: “Tonight’s performance is dedicated to the memory or Abbie Hoffman who shouted ‘Theater!’ in a crowded fire.”

Abbie, who had just taken his own life, was a member of the Yippies back in the 1960s. The Yippies were masters of street theater who had once during the Viet Nam War in a brilliant piece of street theater convinced military leaders at the Pentagon that they were about to levitate that massive building.

Abbie understood that he was standing in the midst of a conflagration that was singeing the souls of every American.

I was in a real fire once when I was a teenager. As everyone who has survived a fire will tell you, they never again enter a building without noting where all the fire exits are just in case they need to flee.

I’m sure that Abbie knew where the fire exits were back in the sixties. But he decided to stay in the fire and shout “theater” as loud as he could.

Well, the world is once again on fire. We are wasting thousands of lives in an unnecessary war half way around the world. Our streets are populated with the homeless. Fewer and fewer people can afford medical care. And we are beginning to experience the disastrous results of man-made Global Warming.

The problems are fearsome, and I have to be honest and admit that many of us are looking for fire exits. But, a friend of mine insists that we need to stay where we are and fight the flames. We need to be shouting “Theater” as loud as we can. It may be time once again to levitate the Pentagon. And maybe the White House, too.

Please consider making a gift to IPP

2005-12-29T14:22:00.000-05:00

Please consider making a New Year's year gift to IPP. The letter from our Board President Keith Eiken and the annual report that follows it will explain why our work is so important and why we need your help.

Please mail checks to Interfaith Paths to Peace, 425 South Second Street, Louisville, Kentucky 40202. Thanks!

December 26, 2005

Dear Friend,

Interfaith Paths to Peace (IPP) has made great strides in the last year---not only in the number and quality of programs it offers, but also in the number and kinds of people we work with and serve. I am enclosing a copy of our 2004-2005 annual report so that you can see for yourself.

Here are five good reasons why you should invest in Interfaith Paths to Peace:

First, we are the only inter-religious organization in the area that has the word ‘Peace’ in our name. Our mission is to bring people of different religions together for dialogue, programming and events that help them to better know and understand each other.

Second, we have addressed many of humanity’s deepest concerns through our Vow of Non-Violence campaign (joined by over 800 people in 2005), our concert to aid victims of the tsunami, and 9 days of events marking the 60th anniversary of the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

Third, we have presented to the Louisville community at low or no charge such outstanding individuals as Matthew Fox (of Creation Spirituality), the Mayor of Hiroshima, Japan, John Seed, (co-creator with Joanna Macy of the Council of All Beings).

Fourth, IPP has cooperated with nearly 40 different organizations, churches, mosques, temples, governmental entities, universities and businesses in delivering over 100 programs and events in FY 2004-2005.

Fifth, we have offered programming on a nearly weekly basis throughout the year that addresses the full spectrum of human endeavors including art, film, music, lectures, meditation techniques, conferences, and workshops.

We need your help to keep moving forward at the same pace in serving the needs of the greater Louisville area. Please make a generous contribution today!

Thank you for helping us,

Keith P. Eiken
President of the Board
Interfaith Paths to Peace

P.S. If you need more reasons to give, check out our web site!
www.interfaithpathstopeace.org

Interfaith Paths to Peace
2004-2005 Annual Report
Submitted by Terry Taylor, IPP Executive Director

OUR MISSION

Working with faith communities and others with parallel interests
to educate, advocate, coordinate and empower the larger community
in support of peace, human rights, and justice through interfaith dialogue.

PROGRAM HIGHLIGHTS

• Programs sponsored or co-sponsored by IPP served approximately 6,040 individuals from a wide variety of religious backgrounds in the greater Louisville area.
• IPP offered a one-day workshop for teenagers on Non-violence. This was done in co-operation with the Plymouth Community Center and under the direction of Board member Gerry Stribling.
• More than 800 persons have now taken the Vow of Non-Violence.
• IPP hosted a visit to Louisville in April by the Mayor of Hiroshima including a major presentation at the Memorial Auditorium. The event was co-sponsored by the Louisville Metro Mayor’s Office for International and Inter-cultural Affairs. The Mayor was also interviewed on WFPL radio’s State of Affairs program.
• IPP partnered with Cultivating Connections in April in sponsoring a three-day series of events with renowned spiritual leader Matt Fox. The events drew over 1,000 people. Dr. Fox was interviewed on WFPL’s State of Affairs program.
• IPP’s Memorial Day Celebration in May was its most successful in years and drew well over 100 people.
• In July IPP co-sponsored a “Council of All Beings” at Bernheim Forest with internationally renowned rain forest defender and spiritual leader John Seed.
• IPP co-hosted a Matt Fox-style Sacred Celebration at Christ Church Cathedral.
• Our summer film series with Dr. Linda Peeno was extremely successful. Each of the film events drew over 30 persons.
• IPP took the leadership role in presenting nine days of activities in August marking the 60th anniversary of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
• In August IPP co-sponsored with the UN Association of Louisville a visit and several events featuring John

• Washburn, head of the key American NGO supporting the International Criminal Court. Mr. Washburn was featured on WFPL radio’s State of Affairs program.
• IPP presented Concerts for Contemplation featuring Harry Pickens at St. Williams Catholic Church, St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church, and Cathedral of the Assumption.
• In September IPP co-sponsored a visit to Louisville by Bishop Djomo of the Congo, one of the leading humanitarian workers in Africa. Bishop Djomo spoke at Bellarmine University.
• In September IPP co-sponsored with the Cathedral Heritage Foundation the third annual Inter-religious Prayer Service at the Abbey of Gethsemani. It was attended by 330 persons.
• Our web site has been dramatically updated and revised.
• IPP published its first book, Putting Your Faith to Work: Practical Things You Need to Know about Getting Organized for Social Justice Work by Tom Louderback of the Louisville Friends Community.
• IPP hosted monthly meditation sessions featuring Zen teacher Richard Sisto.
• Mayor Abramson declared special days for non-violence (in January) and for Hiroshima and Nagasaki Remembrance (in August).
• IPP co-hosted a film event with the Speed Museum in July.
• IPP hosted a visit in August by the chief inter-religious leader in Indonesia.
• IPP took part in an event honoring murder victims and their families.
• IPP took part in the Mayor’s International Festival in September.

BOARD HIGHLIGHTS

In 2004-2005 IPP added to its Board:

• Peter Anik
• Riffat Hassan
• Gray Henry Blakemore
• Mark Isaacs
• Bashar Masri
• Mary Nancy Todd
• Dr. Linda Peeno
• Fr. George Kilcourse

IPP PARTNERED WITH:

The Kentucky Council of Churches
The Archdiocese of Louisville
The Islamic Cultural Center
The Jewish Federation of Louisville
The Presbytery of Mid-Kentucky
The U.N. Association of Louisville
Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary
The Thomas Merton Center t Bellarmine University
Unity of Louisville
The Louisville International Cultural Center
The Public Radio Partnership
James Lees Presbyterian Church
The Baha’i Community of Louisville
The Louisville Metro Mayor’s Office for International Cultural Affairs
Cultivating Connections
10,000 Buddhas Summit Monastery
Bernheim Forest
Carmichaels Bookstores
Center for Faith and Action
Clifton Unitarian Church
Epiphany Catholic Church
Full Moon Yoga
Orbis Yoga Center
The Cathedral Heritage Foundation
The Kentuckiana Interfaith Community
The Abbey of Gethsemani
Rainbow Blossom Whole Foods
Leadership Louisville
Louisville Metro United Way
St. William Catholic Church
First Unitarian Church
St. Andrew Episcopal Church Episcopal Church of the Advent
Christ Church Cathedral
First Unitarian Church
St. Francis High School
The Cathedral of the Assumption
Pax Christi Louisville
FOR Louisville
Episcopal Peace Fellowship
CARR
M.I.N.D.S.

BUDGET HIGHLIGHTS

• IPP ended the year in the black.
• IPP exceeded its income goal.
• IPP raised more than $9,000 for Tsunami relief.
• IPP exceeded its goal for grants.
• IPP met its goal for membership dollars.
• IPP exceeded its goal for donations
• IPP raised over $1,300 for next year’s Hiroshima events.

The threat of our toxic culture

2005-12-27T12:28:00.000-05:00

It is hard to experience December 25 and its National Gift Giving Day (which I keep separate in my mind from the spiritual celebration of Christmas) without feeling that our culture is both addictive and toxic. And it is when we let our addictive/toxic culture supplant our spiritual values that we end up wandering around as what Buddhists refer to as hungry ghosts. Television is the needle most of us use to inject ourselves with dangerous obsessions.

Television is more addictive for me than I can tell you. Anyone who channel surfs will know what I am talking about. Channel after channel after channel is filled with people who shout at us with reminders that we are not ok just the way we are. Women need larger breasts and better makeup to look younger. Men need hair pieces and sexual stimulants. And we all need more household appliances. Television tells us that we need more and different. It tells us how to make more money so that we can acquire more things to make us hungrier for more things that won’t satisfy our hunger.

And the programming is even worse. It is a constant deluge of nonsense, vanity, sex and violence. And it isn’t just television. Everywhere we turn, every aspect of our life is invited into an opium den of self destruction…whether from unhealthy diet, or the ways we waste our time, or the things we pay attention to.

Trying to just be human is a daunting task, but it may be our only hope. I have come to the conclusion that the only way to deal with this tsunami of addictions is to take small steps to unplug.

It means that I have to stop drinking in the things I am addicted to in our culture and start having support group meetings with other folks who want to kick their habits.

I just cancelled my cable TV service. It is a small step, but an import one. I plan to examine all of the facets of my life to see what I am plugged into that won’t let me go. I am also going to draw together a small group of friends who together can find ways to survive both physically and spiritually.

AA is right. If you want to recover from your addiction, go to meetings and don’t drink.

A Few Words About Drumming

2005-12-19T09:55:00.000-05:00

So I played for him
Spirituality By Terry Taylor

Come they told me, pa rum pum pum pum
A new born King to see, pa rum pum pum pum
Our finest gifts we bring, pa rum pum pum pum
To lay before the King, pa rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum,

So to honor Him, pa rum pum pum pum,
When we come.

Little Baby, pa rum pum pum pum
I am a poor boy too, pa rum pum pum pum
I have no gift to bring, pa rum pum pum pum
That’s fit to give the King, pa rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum,

Shall I play for you, pa rum pum pum pum,
On my drum?

Mary nodded, pa rum pum pum pum
The ox and lamb kept time, pa rum pum pum pum
I played my drum for Him, pa rum pum pum pum
I played my best for Him, pa rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum,

Then He smiled at me, pa rum pum pum pum
Me and my drum.

I remember the exact moment when my spirituality was born.

It was a few days before Christmas in 1958. I was 7 years old and in the second grade. School was out for the winter holiday. I was at my Aunt Helen’s house in Griffith, Ind., and I was walking through the kitchen when I heard a song playing on the radio. I stopped to listen. What I heard was the newly released Christmas carol, “The Little Drummer Boy.”

It grabbed my attention immediately, not only because of its haunting melody but also because it told the story of someone who was just like me: poor and seemingly unacceptable.

The reason I was at my Aunt Helen’s house that Christmas was that my mother and I had literally been put out on the street by the sheriff a few months earlier, and we had no other place to go. Aunt Helen had a husband and three kids but grudgingly agreed to take us in. I lived and played with my three cousins in the main part of the house. At night I slept in the unfinished and unheated basement.

Before I heard “The Little Drummer Boy,” I had had a few brief introductions to the world of religion. I knew how to say grace. I knew my, “Now I lay me down to sleep …” bedtime ritual. And when I was 5, I had gone to Latin Mass at a Catholic church with a kindergarten classmate, but of course had no idea what was going on.

And while I was living at Aunt Helen’s, I joined my cousins for Sunday School at a Baptist church. The only thing I remember from Sunday School that year was the teacher trying to demonstrate the gift of “God’s grace” by pulling me up in front of the class and giving me a shiny blue fountain pen. Of course, I had no idea what grace was. I suspect that I came away with nothing more than a growing lust for shiny objects.

But the Drummer Boy reached me where I lived. It said to me that God or whatever was transcendent in the universe cared about everyone — especially about those who had nothing to bring as a gift. I didn’t even have a drum to play, but I knew that my smile at the radio as it played this powerful song traveled on and somehow reached the God who was the God of everyone.

“The Little Drummer Boy” is still my favorite Christmas carol, but I think of it these days as much more than a song that belongs to Christians. It is a song for folks of all ages and all religions who can’t afford to buy a gift to say happy birthday to God. It is a song for those poor folks who still manage to drum out a welcome to the God who breaks into the physical universe with a gift of compassion and solidarity with the poor.

Terry Taylor is the executive director of Interfaith Paths to Peace. Contact him at leo@leoweekly.com

A few words about meeting homeless people

2005-12-12T11:07:00.001-05:00

A couple of weeks ago, I was leaving my office to get a cup of tea when I noticed a man coming up the stairs. The stairs to my floor are separated from our hallway by a glass wall and a locked door that is designed to keep out people we don’t want to deal with. The man coming up the stairs was, from his appearance, homeless. As I watched him my anxiety level began to rise.

As he reached the top of the stairs we made eye contact. He motioned for me to open the door. I wouldn’t do that. But, since I wasn’t in any particular hurry, I wandered over to the wall and asked him through the glass what he wanted. He again motioned for me to open the door, this time more insistently. I paused for a second and then opened it a crack. I could smell alcohol on him and his face bore multiple scars.

The homeless man then asked me why I talked to him through the glass rather than opening the door. He was angry. He told me that people talk to dogs through glass, not to other people. I was really beginning to feel bad. Then he said, “Reverend, if I had been wearing a suit you would have opened the door to me, wouldn’t you?” I told him that I wasn’t a minister. I didn’t answer his question.

But in my heart I knew he was right. He then told me that he needed a bus ticket to get to Memphis. The need for a bus ticket seems to be the current pan handling technique of choice. I told him that I couldn’t help him and that he should see the folks in the help office on the ground floor of our building. He then turned and walked back down the stairs.

Of course, I know that what he said was intended to make me feel guilty and thus increase his chances of getting money from me. I’m not naïve.

But his words about my talking to him through the glass have stayed in my heart. He was right. I hadn’t treated him like a human being. I still don’t know his name or anything about him.

Later I asked a friend what I should have done. If asked for money my friend does what he can. If they are asking for too much or something that seems inappropriate, he says, “I can’t do that; but here’s what I will do.” That might mean buying a meal, handing out leftovers, or even sharing a banana. But most of all what my friend gives is recognition. Recognition of people on the street as human beings; human beings with names, lives, and stories to tell. Just like my friend. And just like me.

My friend says that when approached by homeless persons he always tells them his first name and asks theirs. Then he asks them to tell their personal stories.

This morning I spoke to a homeless man sitting on a bench inside the church door downstairs. His name is George. He told me about the time he was allowed to sleep inside the church but someone called the police who showed up in large numbers.

Then I introduced myself to a man named Mike who was getting on the elevator. He walked with crutches and seemed out of breath. Even though he had only walked about a block, he was out of breath, the result of a recent heart attack.

I now know the names of Mike and George and they know mine. I now know a little piece of their stories. When we see each other again, I hope I get the chance to tell them a little bit of mine.

A few words about meeting homeless people

2005-12-12T11:07:00.000-05:00

The gift of ‘sound spirituality’

2005-10-24T10:16:00.000-04:00

The gift of ‘sound spirituality’
by Terry Taylor

Do you listen? REALLY listen? I’m not talking about listening to people or music or even dialogue (which seems to be the buzz word these days for deep listening). I’m talking about listening to the universe. Turning off the radio, the TV and anything else that makes noise and giving our hearts over to the deep sound that fills the universe, and from which all music ultimately originates.

The problem is that in our religious activities we fill our heads with too much information — so much that we don’t have a chance to listen with our hearts. As a friend recently said when I asked why she had stopped coming to church, “There are too many words.” She’s right. But something is happening soon that will give all of us a chance to embrace the soul of the universe through sound.

This weekend, Louisville will be visited by a wonderful spiritual leader named Russill Paul. He is a native of Southern India who brings together in his life the spirituality and practices of both Hinduism and Christianity. Russill will lead a daylong workshop on the “Yoga of Sound.”

“Knowledgeably informing our spiritual practice with a sonic dimension is crucial to our finding balance in modern Western society that has long been weaned on excessive nutrition to the eyes,” Russill says. “Yoga of Sound offers a contemporary platform that unifies thousands of years of research into the relationship between sound, music and consciousness. The ancient practice of mantra, together with the therapeutic use of sacred music, is rapidly being rediscovered today as an efficacious means in the overall support of better health, vibrant mental powers and profound spiritual fulfillment.”

In 1984, Russill underwent a powerful spiritual transition that motivated him to live the unusual combination of a Benedictine monk and yogi under the direction of Dom Bede Griffiths. Dom Bede was a pioneering Benedictine monk and revered sage who directed Shantivanam, a Benedictine monastery that expressed itself through the yogic culture of India. During the five years he spent as a monk, Russill studied traditional Sanskrit chanting and South Indian classical music, as well as yoga, meditation, philosophy and cosmology. In addition to his training at the monastery, Russill was initiated into sacred learning in several ancient temple cities of South India that propagate the arts and religious studies. It was during this period he developed the tools related to his lifework, which is, of course, the Yoga of Sound.“For thousands of years,” he says, “Hindu spirituality has understood the profound effect that sound has on our well-being, an insight that Western medicine is rapidly rediscovering today. In the treatment of Alzheimer’s, cancer, pre- and post-surgical trauma, insomnia and even the dissolving of kidney stones, overwhelming clinical studies have verified that the use of sound (particularly through chanting) can stabilize heart rate, reduce blood pressure, improve circulation, produce endorphins (the body’s natural painkillers), nourish DNA and generate important proteins in body, such as interleukin-1 and 2.”A good portion of the Yoga of Sound concerns itself with chanting, particularly in the ancient language of Sanskrit. Chanting is much simpler than singing and far more energizing than regular speech. Spiritual traditions from around the world have successfully employed it in their religious life and rituals of healing for thousands of years. It is now ours to reclaim, reinvent and reemploy this great gift to our species, aware that it has nothing to do with having a good voice or being musically competent.

If the meditation practices many of us follow these days are designed to slow down or even stop the senseless chatter in our minds, then chanting takes us one step further. It helps us replace useless brain waves with the basic sounds and rhythms of the universe.

The Yoga of Sound isn’t the latest fad. On the contrary, it is very possibly the world’s oldest spiritual practice. Cultivating Connections, the organization that is bringing Russill here, chose to do so because Yoga of Sound is the one spiritual activity that brings together all elements of the religious life: ritual, silence, sound, prayer, physical discipline, meditation and, if practiced in a truly heartfelt way, gratitude.For details about Russill’s workshop and other activities, visit cultivatingconnections.org or call 897-2721. Terry Taylor is the executive director of Interfaith Paths to Peace. Contact him at tatduende2@yahoo.com

Journey to Gethsemani

2005-09-25T09:47:00.000-04:00

Journey to Gethsemani
by Terry Taylor
Executive Director, Interfaith Paths to Peace

I first visited the Trappist Abbey of Gethsemani on the day after Thanksgiving in 1979. I had been drawn to the Abbey by a book called The Seven Storey Mountain by a monk named Thomas Merton who had been a part of the monastery community from 1941 until his accidental death in 1968. The book had given focus to the spirituality that was beginning to grow in my life as I neared my thirtieth birthday. In 1979 I was working at Purdue University in West Lafayette, Indiana. I rose before dawn on that November morning and drove for six hours and more down I-65, and then on the two-lane highways that led me to and through the city of Bardstown.
The closer I got to Gethsemani, the more apprehensive I became. The bleak gray morning sky and the trees already denuded of leaves seemed to mirror my anxiety. My expectations were so high that I was terribly afraid that there was no way that Gethsemani could be as good as I hoped.
But as I passed over a low rise and the monastery steeple and the walled guesthouse courtyard came into view, I began to relax and smile. There were no signs that blared out “Home of famous monk Thomas Merton.” In fact, if you weren’t looking for the monastery and hoping to find it via directional signs, you might have stayed lost forever.
I stayed for three days on that trip, reading, walking in the woods across the highway, attending the “divine office” as the monks chanted the Psalms every three hours or so throughout the day. Everything and everyone I encountered at Gethsemani spoke (as had Merton’s words) of the beauty of silence and solitude and the presence of God.
The monastery and its guest house in 1979 were very different from the way they were when Merton joined the community three days after the attack on Pearl Harbor in WWII. Back in the 1940s, Life Magazine had called the Trappists “the Marines of the religious orders” because of the severity of their life style. The monks slept on straw mattresses, lived and worked without heat even in the coldest winters, hardly spoke a word to each other, and ate a meager vegetarian diet. Their community life was so demanding that paradoxically there was little time for individual prayer.
When I first walked into the guesthouse 38 years later, almost everything had changed. Merton had been drawn by the severity of the place. But in 1979, things were a bit easier, for monks and guests. The buildings were heated, the food was ample and delicious, the monks worked a reasonable day, spoke when they needed to, and had ample time for personal reflection and individual prayer.
But the soul of the monastery was what had really changed. Even though Merton was drawn to Gethsemani by its difficult challenges and its separation from the world, over his 27 years as a monk his life and writings helped to radically transform the spiritual life of his own monastery, but also the world of religious practice for millions of Americans, Catholic and Protestant, Jew and Muslim. Even Buddhists.
Merton was a pioneer in three major areas: returning to religion of contemplative spirituality, connecting healthy spirituality to work for pe3ace and justice, and breaking down the walls that separated members of one religion from another.

As his own understanding of what it meant to be a “religious” person changed more and more until on March 18, 1958, he stood at the corner of 4th and Walnut Streets in downtown Louisville and realized two important facts. First, even though he was a cloistered monk, his life as a human being was not fundamentally different from that of anyone else in the workaday world. Second, his life behind the wall did not absolve him from responsibility for those outside the confines of the monastery.
On that day, in a very real sense, Merton knocked down the wall that surrounded Gethsemani and every other monastery. And when the wall had crumbled he took a step out into the secular world to embrace its problems, challenges and joys. But perhaps more importantly, he invited all of us to step over the rubble and into the world of spirituality.
It is hard to understand the significance of this today when every bookstore and magazine rack shouts out some new miraculous spiritual insight, but in the 1950s and before, many people saw ministers, priests, rabbis and others in “the religion business” as responsible for everyone’s spiritual needs. As laypersons we might go to church and read the Bible, but spirituality was left to the professionals.
Because of the work that Merton began in his lifetime, we live in a very different world. A world where all of us can proclaim our spirituality, and Jews can be friends with Muslims, Catholics with Protestants. And Gethsemani itself has become a popular stopping place for people from virtually every Christian denomination, for Jewish leaders, Muslims, and Buddhists. All are welcome.
The Inter-religious Celebration of Thanksgiving that will take place at Gethsemani on September 25 will bring together as concelebrants leaders from the world’s great religions. Those who attend the service will, we hope, mirror that rainbow of humanity.
And if you decide to attend, and you notice that there is still a wall surrounding the Guesthouse courtyard, take a moment to look closer. The wall hasn’t literally crumbled, but there is a door at one corner. And it isn’t locked.

Discovering the Ground of All Spirituality

2005-08-23T15:24:00.000-04:00

Discovering the Ground of All Spirituality

Back in the middle part of the Twentieth Century, Protestant theologians began speaking of God as ‘the ground of all being”. I had an experience a week or so ago that gave me an insight hat made me think about religion and spirituality in a radically different way a way that led me to see for the first time that there may be a “ground of all spirituality.

On Friday, August 12, a group of about 45 people gathered together at James Lees Presbyterian Church here in Louisville to view and discuss the film “What the Bleep Do We Know.” Frankly, I still don’t know what the bleep this film is really about, but the film sparked a lively and satisfying conversation among those gathered.

But it wasn’t the content of what people were saying that grabbed my attention; what captured me was the fact that no one who spoke mentioned a religious affiliation. No one began speaking by saying, “As a Catholic…” or “As a Buddhist…” Instead, all of us seemed to let go of our religious identities to come together in the safe and satisfying realm called spirituality.

I have noticed that people these days frequently say “I don’t practice any particular religion, but I am spiritual.” Sometimes that’s a copout, but in a very real sense the walls that have separated the world’s many religions are beginning to crumble. We are all beginning to wander out beyond the walls into common ground, a common ground that may in some sense be “the ground of all spirituality.” The elements of that common spirituality are not rigidly fixed, but some of the elements that are obvious to me are a devotion to some form of the golden rule, a sense of compassion, a commitment to work for peace and justice, and, most importantly, a strong feeling of awe in the presence of the transcendent.

The more time we spend in this common ground, the less time there will be for the disagreement and strife that more often than not grow out of religion…not spirituality.

DEEP ECOLOGY vs. STEWARDSHIP

2005-07-21T15:36:00.000-04:00

I was raised in a religious tradition that taught me that humans had dominion over creation and that as a result homo sapiens had a special responsibility to be good a steward of the environment and our natural resources.

I accepted that idea until just recently when I learned about something called “Deep Ecology.” A chief proponent of Deep Ecology, Australian John Seed, visited the Louisville area recently for a series of events co-sponsored by IPP and Cultivating Connections. John is one of the world’s foremost defenders of the rainforest. He sees that what we need to counteract rainforest destruction and other environmental disasters is a change in the way we look at the world. He suggests that we adopt Deep Ecology.
Deep Ecology challenges the notion that we are separate from the rest of creation. The idea of stewardship, of course, implies this separateness. Deep Ecology calls us to see that separateness is an illusion, that the environment is actually a seamless garment of life, including all living and nonliving creatures. It shows us that the earth itself is a living organism.

This idea has profound implications. Oren Lyons, spiritual leader of the Onondaga nation, says, “What your people refer to as natural resources, my people refer to as our relatives.”

Thinking of the natural world as “blood of our blood” sets up a completely different attitude, not that the world and all it gives are our possessions that we should care for, but rather that the entire planet depends on us just as much as we depend on it. But Deep Ecology takes this one step further in asserting that the planet and its biosphere are more than just our relatives; they are a living part of us, and we of them.
Deep Ecology helps us to see that when we pollute our rivers, we aren’t simply doing something bad to the environment; we are polluting our own bloodstream. When mining companies engage in “mountain topping” they are amputating our healthy limbs. When humans burn off the rainforest, they put at risk more than half of the species on the planet.

Our species is running the risk that by not seeing our connection to the rest of planet we put the natural balance so out of whack that we may endanger all of life…including ourselves.

A Heart to Heart Talk With the Universe (and Matthew Fox)

2005-04-20T14:24:00.000-04:00

A Heart to Heart Talk With the Universe (and Matthew Fox)
By Terry Taylor, Executive Director, Interfaith Paths to Peace

“[Recently] I had a visit from a seventy five year old Dominican from Chicago who is a fine man and a good priest. He said to me: "If you visit any church in Chicago today, you will find no one who is under forty years of age." But why have young people disappeared in large numbers from religious services? Is the younger generation uninterested in heart work? Or might they be so far ahead of the guardians of our religious institutions that they are utterly bored at worship?”
Those are the words of Matthew Fox, a radical spiritual thinker who visited Louisville April 14-16 to engage in spiritual activities and conversations that seek to remedy this sad situation. At the heart of Fox’s approach to the problem are his assertions that humans are fundamentally creative beings and that creativity is central to the worship process. For making those assertions and a number of others that challenged traditional religious beliefs, Fox was silenced by the Vatican in 1989, and dismissed from Dominican order in 1993. Today he is an Episcopal priest, and has published more than two-dozen books.
Sometimes we are blind to the most obvious things in front of us, especially in spiritual matters. One of those things is the fact that genuine creativity is a fundamental part of spiritual life, even though most major religions do not make creativity part of their religious practices, and even though God’s first and most fundamental act in the first chapter of Genesis was creative. If we are to believe, at least as Christians and Jews do, that humans are made in God’s image, how can we ignore our creative nature?
That is one of the important questions that theologian and spiritual leader Matthew Fox asks as part of his Creation Spirituality movement.
Are his ideas so radical that he deserves to be called a heretic? Judge for yourself.
According to Fox, “Creation Spirituality is not a new religion but is concerned with renewing theologies and practices within religion and culture that promote personal wholeness, planetary survival and universal interdependence.
“The Creation Spirituality movement seeks to integrate the wisdom of western spirituality and global indigenous cultures with the emerging scientific understanding of the universe and the passionate creativity of art. Moreover, it provides a solid foundation and holistic perspective from which to address the critical issues of our times, including the revitalization of religion and culture, the honoring of women's wisdom, the celebration of hope in today's youth, and the promotion of social and ecological justice.”
The ten key principles of Creation Spirituality, include the ideas that: we were all born with an original blessing, rather than poisoned with original sin; we are all mystics and prophets; we must dig deep within ourselves to discover our true natures; the divine is in all things; we must honor the feminine aspects of the divine; we are all sons and daughters of God and thus have divine blood in our veins and divine breath in our lungs; and (most importantly) the basic work of God is Compassion.
But it is probably no accident that creativity is number 7 (the perennial lucky number) on Creation Spirituality’s top ten. Why does creativity hold such a meaningful place? As Fox says, precisely because “everyone is an artist in some way and art as meditation is a primary form of prayer for releasing our images and empowering the community and each of us. Art finds its fulfillment in ritual, the community's art.”
And if we fail to adequately nurture creative expression, the young and old alike will drift away from our religious services in ever increasing numbers. A story Fox tells illustrates this point.
“I [recently] had a visit from a seventy five year old Dominican from Chicago who is a fine man and a good priest and he said to me: ‘If you visit any church in Chicago today, you will find no one who is under forty years of age.’ This strikes me as an important sociological statement. Is the younger generation uninterested in heart work? Or might they be so far ahead of the guardians of our ecclesial institutions that they are utterly bored at worship?”
But why should we care about the connection between our creative spirit and the community’s need for ritual? According to Fox, “African Spiritual teacher Melidoma Soma says that there is no community without ritual. If ritual is dead or boring so boring that no young people show up then community does not have a chance. Where there is lively ritual, community can happen.”
"When we consider creativity we are considering the most elemental and innermost and deeply spiritual aspect of our beings," writes Fox. “The ancient peoples told the BIG stories to the young ones through ritual. This is still the case today. The Big Stories we have to share are stories of our shared origin and how we got here and where ‘here’ is and its timeline, stories of our shared grief and pain and of our shared awe and wonder all these can happen anew in revitalized ritual.”
On Friday evening, April 15 at 8 p.m. Fox led a Cosmic Celebration at First Unitarian Church in downtown Louisville. This Celebration amply illustrates a contemporary, exciting and inviting approach to creativity and ritual.
And on Saturday, April 16 from 9:30 a.m. to 4 p.m. at the Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary, Fox took part in a day long exploration of creativity and spirituality that invited the participants to walk the walk as they talk the talk.
You can contact Terry Taylor at director@InterfaithpathsToPeace.org

How to respond to violence with non-violence

2005-03-16T14:54:00.000-05:00

The Source of Peaceful Response in the Face of Violence
By Terry Taylor
February 2005
Just about five years ago I had a phone conversation with one of one of the giants of the Civil Rights Movement—the Rev. Jim Lawson.
Congressman John Lewis of Atlanta calls him "the architect" of the nonviolence movement in the 60’s. He stood as a central figure in the Civil Rights movement in the 1960s. In fact, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. labeled him "the leading nonviolence theorist in the world."
Back in 2000, I had to call Rev. Lawson to handle details of a conference he was supposed to attend at the Abbey of Gethsemani south of Bardstown. After weeks of trying unsuccessfully to reach him, I was startled when one afternoon he finally answered the phone. As we began to talk it became clear he wasn't coming to Kentucky.
I realized very quickly that this was perhaps my one and only time to talk with him, and so I asked him for help with a problem that had been troubling me for a long time. You see, I espouse nonviolence, but I am quick to respond with angry words if someone becomes verbally abusive to me. That’s probably because I was multiply abused as a child.
I told Jim about this and then said, "Rev. Lawson, back in the Civil Rights era you stood there while angry people punched you, spat on you, jeered at you. You didn't respond with anger and you didn’t fight back. There must be somewhere you turned to get the courage to do that. I need that kind of resource to overcome my own anger. Please tell me what gave you the courage to remain non-violent when you were physically under attack? Was it words you found in a book? Did you look to the example of someone who was your hero? Did a gospel song give you grace under such terrifying pressure ?"
His response to my queries took the form of silence. A long silence. 45 seconds or more. Forty-five seconds of dead air on the phone is eternity.
As the silence dragged on, I began to think to myself, "Boy, I've really made this guy angry. He's probably saying to himself, ‘why is this idiot in Louisville pestering me?’ But Jim wasn't thinking that at all. In fact, he WAS thinking, but thinking more with his heart, than his head.
And when he finally broke the silence, he told me with quietness, calmness and sincerity, that the resource that gave him the strength to withstand violence without retaliating was a Quaker book called, A Testament of Devotion. And that was it. He didn't say another word. So I thanked him and hung up, thrilled that I had finally found the antidote for the darkness in my soul.
That night I rushed out and bought the book Rev. Lawson had told me about. I got into bed and read it from cover to cover. I wish I could tell you that it changed my life. But it didn't. In fact, it didn't do anything for me. Then it dawned on me that the reason it didn’t is that there is probably a unique resource for each person, I just hadn't yet found the one that would work for me.
With resignation, I have continued to search. It has taken me the full five years since I first talked to Jim Lawson in 2000 to find the resource I have been looking for all my life--It was right in front of me; I just couldn’t see it. It wasn't a book or a movie or a song. It was Jim Lawson and the example of his peaceful humanity. A different kind of humanity, I'll admit, but the kind of humanity that can save us from ourselves. A humanity that understands that hurting someone who has hurt me is not ever going to put an end to the cycle of violence in our world. As Jim has demonstrated through the loss of his own blood, we must always be willing to die for what we believe in.…but we must never be willing to kill or hurt someone for what we believe.