Sikh activist and author Valarie Kaur recalls an experience of a childhood friendship ending because of a difference in faith:
I was in eighth grade, sitting in the library with my very best friend in the whole world. Her name was Lisa. We were working …, but we were really giggling and passing notes to each other and messing around, when Lisa gets really quiet for a moment. She has this far-away look in her eyes and she says, “Valarie, I just can’t wait until judgment day.”…
I said, “What do you mean?” She said, “Well, then it’ll just be us. It’ll just be us. I can’t wait until it’s just us who are left.” I said, “Well, where will everyone else go?” Then she looked at me, very uncomfortable. She said, “Well, you know, down there.” It was that moment that I had to break to my very best friend the fact that I was not Christian…. I could see the blood drain from her face…. How could her very best friend not be saved? Not be good? Not be Christian?…
She had inherited a theology that divided the world into good and bad, right and wrong, saved and unsaved. Her theology severed her from her own deep knowing that her best friend was good and beloved. It’s like her theology stole me from home. She was trying to make it all make sense, try to hold both, but she couldn’t hold both. She had to let me go. [1]
In the wake of that loss, Kaur visits a church where she can confront a Christian about the belief in a God who discriminates against people of other faiths. There, she meets a church organist and recalls saying,
“I just can’t believe that there could be a God who would send me to hell,” I said. There was a pause as she looked at me. I was ready to fight.
“I can’t either,” she said. She saw my shock and explained. “I think that there are many paths. It just doesn’t make sense otherwise….” Her name was Faye and she was the first Christian I had ever met who did not believe I was going to hell. I would go on to meet many more people like her and learn that there are many ways to be Christian, just as there are many ways to be Sikh. Our traditions are like treasure chests filled with scriptures, songs, and stories—some empower us to cast judgment and others shimmer with the call to love above all….
Fifteen years after I thought our friendship was over, Lisa would reach out with an apology. She would still be Christian and I would still be Sikh, but she would have long abandoned the particular theology that had tried to sever us from one another. She had gone on her own journey … and had eventually come back to our friendship. In the end, we learned that love was the way, the truth, and the life. [2]
References:
[1] Adapted from Brian McLaren, host, with Valarie Kaur, Learning How to See with Brian McLaren, podcast, season 3, ep. 5, “Christianity as Neighbor, Part 2,” Center for Action and Contemplation, June 10, 2022. Available as MP3 audio download and PDF transcript.
[2] Valarie Kaur, See No Stranger: A Memoir and Manifesto of Revolutionary Love (OneWorld, 2021), 25–26, 28.
Image credit and inspiration: Ashkan Forouzani, untitled (detail), 2020, photo, Iran, Unsplash. Click here to enlarge image. Each bead in a strand could represent a faith tradition—rising beyond rivalry to something new, larger, and whole—while holding fast to the beauty of its own singular shape.
Story from Our Community:
At first glance, the contemplative path may appear to be a weak option when so many others are taking sides. In reality, the contemplative path means centering the experience of others alongside yourself. The path is like walking a razor’s edge—every step is fraught with personal risks to reputation and friendships. I still experience pressure to take sides and join the madness of the crowd, but contemplation invites me to remain centered in both stillness and courage.
—Chris L.
