Newsweek and the Washington Post bring us “What Islam Really Says” about various issues. They, correctly, have asked various Muslim experts. After all, the inheritors of a faith tradition have a privileged relationship with that faith tradition’s meaning, as do scholars of it. Non-Muslims, including, I daresay, most of the publishing staff of Newsweek and the Washington Post, should provide a forum in which the necessarily Muslim debate about the meaning of Islam can take place.

One voice in the present debate belongs to Irshad Manji and her recent campaign Project Itjihad, “a charitable initiative to promote the spirit of Ijtihad, Islam’s own tradition of critical thinking, debate and dissent.” In calling for diversity and reform in Islamic thought, she necessarily addresses Muslims; she necessarily addresses non-Muslims in calling for human rights, including women’s rights, for all Muslims. When we ask, “What does Islam say?” we ask, “What interpretation of Islam on Islam’s terms is there that accords with core ‘Western’ beliefs?”

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I wrote several days ago about doing good. I wrote yesterday about President Kennedy’s inaugural asking people to do goo. He asks us citizens of the world to sacrifice in order to bring “a new rule of law, where the strong are just, the weak secure, and the peace preserved.” Kennedy asks also when we ought to do good.

History, I believe, marches, inevitably, towards its end – the World to Come, perhaps – and our actions either drive history’s arc closer to or farther from its, or God’s desired end.

With this as“All this will not be finished in the first 100 days, nor will it be finished in the first 1000 days, nor in the life of this administration, nor even perhaps in our lifetime on this planet, but let us begin.” Kennedy’s intuition is borrowed from Rabbi Tarphon: "The day is short, the work is great, the workmen are slothful, the reward is rich, and the Master is urgent.” He also said: "It is not incumbent on thee to complete the whole task, but thou art not at liberty therefore to neglect it entirely. . . faithful is the Master of thy work, who will pay thee the reward of thy work; and know also that the gift of the recompense of the righteous is for the world to come."

We forget, sometimes, what that means, and I don’t think a political lecture is here necessary, but I do think that people often forget how much they can affirm or deny the processes around them that may be good or bad. Every time you purchase an item, you vote. Every you take a job, you vote. And every day, here on earth, provides you a new opportunity to make sure that ours is truly God’s work.sumption I find great power in the speech.

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In teaching John F. Kennedy’s presidential inaugural address, I noted, for the first time, how the speech ends: “Finally, whether you are citizens of America or citizens of the world, ask of us here the same high standards of strength and sacrifice which we ask of you. With a good conscience our only sure reward, with history the final judge of our deeds, let us go forth to lead the land we love, asking His blessing and His help, but knowing that here on earth God's work must truly be our own.”

First, Kennedy intends to do God’s work – a constant trope of American rhetoric, and one that I hope will invite my readers to comment. Second, he appeals to history as the final judge of our deeds. One might often think the Final Judge to be Someone Else, but President Kennedy has collapsed whom Patrick Henry called: “a just God who presides over the destinies of nations” into the very destinies of nations themselves.

Why do God’s work? Why do good? The Jewish tradition, to my knowledge, says little about eternal punishment, more concerned with what goes in the land of the living than in the realm of those who have lived. Man is meant to do right, as I see it, for love of good and not for fear of heavenly displeasure. More about this tomorrow. For now, I invite comments.

Dispatch from the Drugstore:

Why does Hallmark place the “Get Well” cards directly next to the “Sorry that you died” cards? Doesn’t that depressing juxtaposition makes the get well card seem rather disingenuous? Heck, your prolonged illness followed by your tragic death is good for business! Does the merchandising department of Hallmark think that upon hearing of your illness, your well wisher will pick up a get well card, and grab a sympathy card just in case? Note to future get well card senders: skip the stationary. Send me some Advil and an ice pack instead.

I, ever a lighthearted puff of sunshine and lollipops, have death on the brain. I have just returned from Egypt, a land haunted by the accomplishments of its ancestors. Many of the tourist attractions –from the Pyramids of Giza to the Valley of the Kings, pull real, live people from around the world to marvel at the funerary practices of a distant civilization’s dead people. ‘My, what a lovely nasal-passage entering, brain-removing hook,' you might comment upon gazing upon this beauty. It was all quite uplifting, really.

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I have come to a conclusion that you doubtless reached long ago: work is hard. And I’ve come to another conclusion: good work is not necessarily romantic, or large, or even particularly interesting. Good work is work that makes a good system work, so that the good can be in the most banal of activities – in my case, walking down Chapel Street in New Haven with green balloons.

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I used to be a lector at my parish on Long Island. Have you ever heard the Old Testament read with a Long Island accent? God sounds like Fran Drescher from The Nanny: “And the Lawd Gawd said ta Moses: I am the Lawd your Gawd; you shall nawt have otha Gawds befaw Me.”

Before each Sunday that I was assigned to lector, I would read the scripture commentary on that week’s passages, and pray that I, like a good student of the Franciscans, could be made an instrument of God’s peace. This preparation, however, would often collapse into a warm up for the verbal Olympics as I practiced enunciating words like Melchizedek -Mel-cheese-e-deck, over and over again. As a lector, I was able to be a woman on the altar, a woman present, but not silent. Maybe I was just trying to get my fellow parishioners comfortable with the idea.

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My last post wastongue-in-cheek effort about the Catholic Church’s assertion of truth. It is rather redundant for the leaders of a particular faith to make pronouncements of truth –of course the hierarchy of the Catholic Church believes the Church is correct. This is why its members are Catholic.

A bit more challenging are the implications of such a declaration for the ecumenical movement. A statement like this one runs the risk of making conversations with other dedicated followers of Christ more difficult and may further fracture the cause of Jesus in the world. This is a critical problem because I do believe that Jesus’ message is one desperately needed, not least of all to His own followers.

As a “roaming Catholic” I am torn by the Church’s statement. On the one hand, the church remains steadfast in the face of what it would call ‘moral relativism.’ If Catholicism can assert its truth and remain Christ-like to the core, the Church will make no enemies. On the other hand, I do not believe the Church has done an adequate job of engaging its struggling masses, myself among them, who face intellectual, spiritual and emotional assaults in an increasingly confusing world. A church that merely asserts its righteousness without humility and outreach –to its own people –is one that is tragically out of touch.

Georgetown University’s Center for Applied Research in the Apostolate recently reported that the number of lay Catholics studying for ministry jumped 25 percent in one year, while the number of seminarians is down. Is this a sign of desolation or rebirth? I think it depends on whom you ask.

Today I discovered that, as a Catholic, I am a member of The One True Faith. This is a tremendous relief.

As a sometimes anxious student of religion, I have studied other religions, often at a frantic pace. And like many of my Catholic peers, I have investigated and experienced other divergent Christian expressions of Jesus’ teachings, found in places like Radiant Magazine, D.C.’s mega-churches and small town Baptist services. I have found that Mormonism enthralls me. Anglicanism tempts me. And Quakerism inspires me. But today, my disloyal, wandering mind has been placated: we Catholics have been right all along.

Several articles I read tried to play on a strange [contradictory?] balance between a commitment to ecumenism and the Catholic Church’s truth claims. According to some accounts, the duality comes down to this: We [Catholics] are right, so let us dialogue about how you [non-Catholics] can re-enter the fullness of truth. Yes, interfaith dialogue is so much easier when one faith is correct. It rather streamlines the process. Meet Jesus --the modern-day consultant.

Here is my barometer for truth: How Christ-like is this value/behavior/teaching? In other words: What would Jesus do? And let us, in our quest for truth, not forget His tendency towards anti-establishment behavior. That Jesus of ours was quite willing to rebuff the arrogance of the religious zealots of His time. What would He say today?

I found a brilliant response to that pesky WWJD question on a Catholic blog I read from time to time:

When someone tells you to ask yourself,
”What would Jesus do?”
Remember that at least one valid answer is,
"Freak out and knock over tables.”

As of today, there are ten days remaining until the seventh and final Harry Potter book releases internationally. Ten days until the entire series will end. A part of me will end with it.

Harry has followed me through so much. He has followed me from when I was a shy, eleven-year-old sixth grader to now, a twenty-year-old college student. And everything in between. All the terrible times I have had, I have picked up one of J.K. Rowling’s magical books, and escaped. And not only did I escape, I learned that “What will come, will come, and we shall have to face it when it does” (Goblet of Fire). Rarely was there a time when Harry was not there when I needed him.

Stephen King recently wrote an editorial about saying goodbye to Harry. I find myself unable to do so. Because he describes in his article children who have grown up with Harry, reading on their back porches or, in my case, their grandmother’s empty beds from when she went to Pakistan. And he mentions that in some measure, when they close Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, they close in essence a great part of their childhood.

I am not ready for that. I know that in ten days, when I pick up my copy of the book, and in eleven days, when I will have finished reading it, I will not be ready to close my childhood. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for that.

Last night, before the thunderstorm, I sat in Grant Park, mesmerized by the fireworks being shot over Lake Michigan. Amid the claps and cheers that followed, I felt a certain sense of community with these people. Even though there were nearly one million people there.

Here we were, celebrating the beauty of our country. The country that has shaped who we are, and what we will do. For a moment, we could forget that we are fighting a war that most of us don’t believe should be happening. For a moment, we could forget our differences.

And no matter how many times I may complain about the situation Muslims are in the United States, I can always take some time to be grateful for everything I have because of being here.

And we have to remember, I think, that being patriotic is not the same as declaring America perfect. I love this country and its people, and that is why I fight. I love this country enough to have the need for it to be better than what it is right now.

This morning I take an early morning flight back to America, arriving just in time for the Fourth of July. Despite having a boyfriend in the military, I have not been particularly patriotic these last few years. Two brutal wars, a young adult’s cynicism and the study of post-modern theology can do that to a soul. Dare I admit that Uncle Sam has proudly found his way back into my identity, in Egypt of all places?

I have traveled Egypt at a brutal pace for three weeks. The last two of those weeks I was with Intrepid Travel, exploring with the help of with our spunky tour leader Huda, a Cairo native and perfect host. In all, I visited most of the country’s major cities, including Sharm al-Sheik, Dahab, Cairo, Aswan, Luxor, Alexandria, Siwa, Bahariyya, the Western Desert and many small towns in between. This country has taken a toll on more than just my digestive system: I have been scared, thrilled, enthralled and exhausted. I am glad I came.

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The rain pours down the streets of Chicago. Falling idly from the gray black clouds, it hits each skyscraper with a thud. The thunder booms. Lightening. Puddles of water, murky gray and green from the dirt of sidewalks, stream quickly into the sewers. It moves away from sight and sound. Away from experience.

This experience, me with the members of Jordan Interfaith Action, the Chicago Youth Council, and Interfaith Youth Core's staff will be the same. Just one rainstorm in the life of a city. Just one week of my life.

Talking about our faith, what brought us here, and why. Discussion after visiting a Buddhist temple, a Jewish synagogue, and a Hindu temple. What we saw, how we felt. The connection between all of them and me. And perhaps what is discussed even more: the differences between all of them and me. The power of those differences.

The fact is that we can be friends with those blinding differences. Differences that people usually kill each other over.

We joke around on a school bus on the way to service projects, on the stage performing our time with refugee children from all over the world, in dorm rooms in the University Center of Chicago. We laugh over stereotypes, over language barriers, over all-encompassing cultural differences.

This week has been about those jokes, that laugher -- because of our never-ending hunger to change the world.