For the first time in Islamic history, millions of Muslims are living a new reality: As a religious minority in non-Muslim Western societies. This new situation requires renewed thinking in Islamic legal and theological scholarship.

Continue »

Among the most significant contributions of the Abrahamic faiths to the well-being of society is the concept of covenant. Covenant is distinctly more encompassing than contract, which is legalistic in character. Covenant for me conveys a partnership whereby the Divine-human relationship is translated into the manner whereby humans relate to one another.

I am particularly indebted to the teachings of Martin Buber who conveys to us the principles of the I-thou relationship. Buber applies the I-thou covenantal relationship to the dynamics of a healthy marriage which must embrace growth, reciprocity, the sanctity of otherness and the willingness and ability to become the total listener.

A covenantal marriage, relationship also involves the inclusion of a sense of mystery or as Buber so nobly states it “The world may not always be comprehensive but it is embraceable.”

I believe that everyone entering into a marital union should be able to participate in an I-thou covenantal union which does not take place in a civil court house, judge’s chamber or justice of the peace setting. As I prepare couples for marriage I engage them in a dialogue where they can understand that the ritual of the marriage ceremony itself embodies the principles of Buberian thought.

Continue »

I designed this ceremony with and for friends. Who would not do everything one could for friends who are in love?

It is composed of elements from the wedding ceremonies of the Episcopal Church and of Reform Judaism (via Rabbi Judith Lewis). They are interwoven rather than blended -- not to make a hybrid religious entity but to honor each faith tradition.

A ceremony that manifested the presence of God in this couple’s relationship was important to both the bride and groom; our desire was to make that statement from both faith perspectives.

The hope was to make the ceremony familiar to each tradition so as to celebrate each in its own right, but to do so without causing offense to either. Thus the absence of references to Christ himself. Christians can recognize that in all prayers to God we believe Christ to be (at the least) included in that address. Combining that confidence with the recognition of familiar elements allows a Christian to "read" faith in Jesus into the ceremony.

Jewish listeners were able to hear all references to God in their own way, and recognize portions of their service without hearing them joined together with overt Christian claims. All Christian liturgies are derived from Jewish worship practices; all New Testament writings draw on the Jewish Scriptures; to celebrate a shared heritage is not to pit one against another, nor to let one supercede the other. Which, of course, is a reasonable hope for any marriage.

The goal was not to be wishy-washy, but to take a stand for faith itself, for the idea shared by Judaism and Christianity that God is love and therefore all human love is of God. An interfaith marriage therefore can be an opportunity to explore, with the couple, the fundamental appeals of these faiths without moving immediately to each faith’s competitive claims to ultimate truth.

Such claims in both traditions are human interpretations of divine revelations, and as such are subject to constant reinterpretation and challenge. This can be a fascinating line of inquiry for parties motivated by either disinterest or anxiety, but in the context of love it pales in comparison to the exploration of that love itself and its origin in divine love.

No worship service is perfect, but the imperfections themselves manifest the relationship of humans to God, of the limited and imperfect to the unlimited and perfect.

This ceremony was one couple’s effort to express their love and their hope for God’s grace in their lives. Its intermingling and sometimes uncomfortable juxtapositions express the same imperfections found in any relationship of human love that hopes to find its perfection in the divine.

Continue »

The Episcopal Church continues to focus on its mission of reconciling the world, particularly as it cares for the least, the lost, and the left out.

While the Episcopal Church laments the recent votes by some persons in Virginia congregations to leave this Church, we are clear that individuals may depart, but congregations do not. Congregations are created and recognized by the diocese in which they exist, and can only be closed by action of the bishop and diocesan governing bodies. Even if a large percentage of a congregation departs, the remaining people will be assisted by the diocese and the larger Church to reconstitute their congregation and continue in mission and ministry in that place.

These recent departures have received a significant amount of publicity, but they represent a tiny percentage of the total number of Episcopalians in the Church. We regret and grieve their departure, and pray that they may continue their journey as Christians in another home.
In the hope that some may decide to return, we intend to keep the door open and the light on.

Those Episcopalians who remain will be offered every pastoral assistance we can provide, in the hope and expectation that mission and ministry continue in their communities. Our Anglican tradition is a broad and comprehensive one, with space for people of widely varying theological opinions. We will continue to model an expansive welcome for all people.

Our mission as a Church is the reconciliation of the world. We will continue to feed the hungry, house the homeless, educate children, heal the sick, minister to those in prison, and speak good news to those who have only heard the world's bad news. That is the work to which Jesus calls us, and that is the work we shall continue - with a priority of peace and justice work framed by the Millennium Development Goals. May God bless that which seeks to unite and build up and heal this broken world.

The Most Reverend Katharine Jefferts Schori is Presiding Bishop and Primate of the Episcopal Church.

When Barbara Walters decided to do a special on God last year, she had never done a piece about religion before.

"I don't remember ever doing an interview about God," said the noted television personality, who added that religion was something she hadn't thought about that much. Her parents had not been religious and she really didn't know about how her friends felt about it.

"Before the show ran," she recalled in a recent interview, "at dinner parties I'd ask how many people believed they were going to heaven. Not many did."

So you can imagine her surprise when her special, Heaven: Where Is It? How Do We Get There? was the most highly-rated show of the year on ABC. It was so popular that the network plans to air it again this Friday night, Dec. 22. On the show, Walters interviews Roman Catholic Cardinal Theodore McCarrick, Rabbi Neil Gilman, Joel Osteen, the Reverend Calvin Butts, the Dalai Lama, actor Richard Gere, as well as a Muslim scholar, a scientist and a convicted terrorist.

Doing the show made Walters think more about religion, she said, though she doesn't normally discuss her own beliefs. "I'm a journalist," she says. "It just wouldn't be appropriate."

But Walters says she thinks that “it is enormously comforting to have faith and to believe in heaven and that things are going to be happy, and to have the Rose Kennedy point-of-view,” referring to the late mother of slain President John F. Kennedy, a woman noted for her devout Catholic faith.

"And of course the whole discussion of science, the belief in intelligent design, is very provocative," added Walters.

The famous interviewer, however, does talk easily about her upbringing and what she believes has given her the values by which she lives. "I had no religious education," Walters said. “I'm Jewish but because my father considered himself an atheist, religion was not part of our life. I never went to Sunday school." Her father, Lou Walters, who owned the Latin Quarter, one of the hottest night clubs of his era, did come home on Friday nights, when the Jewish Sabbath begins. Her mother, Walters added, "never gave [religion] much thought, though we did make a point, once in a while to light candles on Friday nights. But we never observed Yom Kippur or fasted. We never celebrated the holidays." She never went to temple, never remembers going to a Passover seder, nor celebrating Hannukah.

"We didn't have a Christmas tree either,” she recalled. “But I have a Christmas tree now. I love Christmas."

When Walters decided to do the show about heaven, it's original title was "Heaven: Does It Exist?" The network rejected that title. There had been an earlier show called "Resurrection" where the ratings were not as good as expected, possibly because of the way the show was promoted. They felt that people did not want to have their beliefs questioned and wouldn't tune in if they were.

During her many interviews for the piece, Walters was twice told that she was going to go to hell---once by an incarcerated, failed suicide bomber and once by the Rev. Ted Haggard, who said that if she wasn't a born-again Christian there was no guarantee she would go to heaven. "I was very cool," she recalled, "but it was a little chilling." Haggard’s interview was removed from the new version of the show because the national evangelical leader resigned from his Colorado Springs megachurch ministry after a male escort alleged that he and Haggard had had sexual relations. An interview with Houston-based megachurch pastor and televangelist Joel Osteen was added to the show.

Walters said the interview that affected her the most was one with the Dalai Lama. "He said the purpose of life was to be happy. That comes from being warm-hearted and compassionate." So, she said with a laugh, "for two weeks I was warm-hearted and compassionate….There was not an ounce of competitiveness in me…Then things went back to normal.”

Before she interviewed the Dalai Lama, she had rarely had anything to do with religion. "If my friends were Christian, or Jewish or Mormon I might know that, but I didn't know whether they would go to church or temple." She went a couple of times to hear the prominent black preacher Calvin Butts at the Abyssinian Church in Harlem. "Maybe twice I went to temple in a blue moon. When I was married to Merv (Adelson) we celebrated the holidays because it was important to him.” She adopted a daughter, Jackie, with her first husband Lee Guber. "Lee cared, so Jackie went to Sunday school. She considers herself Jewish.”

Because she did not have a religious upbringing, where she learn her values? "I don't remember my parents ever lecturing me or discussing values," she said. “I'm not sure where a moral compass comes from. Some people just don't have it. How do you get from meanness to kindness?” Walters added that because her sister, who died two years ago, had been mentally handicapped, “I grew up with a compassion I might not have had."

She also grew up in show business, first in Boston, where her father owned his first nightclub, then in New York. She was exposed to all sorts of famous people who were admired by everyone. "Yet because I knew them, I knew they had problems just like everyone else. I had a sense of balance and understanding I might not have had. I knew it didn't matter how important or celebrated or rich you were. It had nothing to do with the way you led your life."

Walters recalled that her father treated everybody the same, from the show girls to the celebrities. "I grew up with very little prejudice because all different kinds of people worked for my father, from all different religions to all different countries."

Perhaps it was that same kind of understanding that she found so appealing in the Dalai Lama. "I loved his own warm-heartedness, I loved my hand in his, his humor. I sat in the rain with hundreds of Buddhist monks of all ages listening to him. He is very appealing. He says he is not a god, that he is a teacher. He's very modest. If I believed in anything I would believe in reincarnation. That would help explain some of the misery in life….and that perhaps the next life will be better."

--Walters was interviewed by On Faith moderator Sally Quinn

This Christmas as I set the table, I will lay a piece of holly at every place. After we finish the meal, everyone will go into the living room where I'll read a poem. Then we will each make a wish and throw the holly on the fire.

We have been celebrating this tradition for the last 16 years, ever since we first heard of it at the annual Madrigal Evening in St. Mary's City, Md., the "home of religious freedom" founded in 1634.

I love this ritual, which works perfectly for the many guests of different faiths we have around our table every Christmas. It makes everyone feel good -- uplifted and hopeful.

It wasn't always like this.

Of course, every family has holiday traditions. Some of them are sentimental, some funny, some sad, some embarrassing, and since we all have dysfunctional families on a certain level, some are just too pathetic to mention.

My own family had one of those. My great aunt Anna used to get drunk at Christmas dinner and fall into her plate. She started on the sauce the minute she walked in the door (this was the only day of the year she drank, and she couldn't hold her liquor). The first words out of her mouth were "bourbon on the rocks." It was downhill from there.

Aunt Anna was not a great conversationalist to begin with, but when she'd had a couple of shots and the words started to slur, the whole family would fall into their prescribed roles.

Nana, my father's widowed mother and Anna's sister, would get that pinched look on her face, contemptuous and superior over how her sister always managed to ruin Christmas dinner. My father would pour himself another drink. My mother would announce that she was opening a bottle of champagne and then stay in the kitchen, basting the turkey for as long as she could. My little brother, Bill, would take refuge under the tree with his latest toy.

That left my sister, Donna, and me to entertain Aunt Anna. We managed to get her going about the old days and her late husband, Buck. Both of them, my father and his mother were from the Eastern Shore town of Crisfield, Md., the "seafood capital of the world" and home of the annual Hard Crab Derby. Buck was about 250 pounds, wore a Panama hat in the summer and a felt hat in the winter, had to get his Big Guy clothes in Baltimore and loved a good cigar. In fact, Buck was never without a cigar.

That was it. She regaled us with tales of Buck and his cigars, which we had memorized by that point, until my mother announced that the dinner was served.

This was the hard part. It was one thing for Anna to slur her words, but by the time we sat down to eat, she was completely in the bag. It never took long before her face was in the cornbread dressing and the gravy. My grandmother would be hyperventilating, and my brother, sister and I would be desperately trying not to laugh. Daddy would help her from the table and prop her on the sofa in the living room, where she would promptly pass out, and we would continue our dinner as though nothing had happened. As you can imagine, this was not particularly edifying, as Christmas traditions went.

At some point, while we were living abroad, Aunt Anna died and that was the end of that tradition.

Even before Aunt Anna developed her tipsy habits, we had started another tradition within the immediate family. Shortly after my father came back from the Korean War, I was 11, my sister was 9 and my brother was 3. My parents decided that if Santa was going to bring us presents we needed to do something for Santa, so we decided to perform a little pageant.

I was an aspiring actress (I later majored in theater in college). So I wrote, produced, directed, did the set and costume design and starred in the production. The first year we tried the Nativity scene, but my little brother was a lousy baby Jesus and Donna was really unhappy that I got to be the Virgin Mary and she had to be Joseph. So the next year we did "The Little Match Girl." I, naturally, played the title role, the orphan who sold matches on Christmas Eve in the snow because she was starving. It was a bravura performance. My sister played the tree and my brother played a rock.

My parents always seemed to love it. They would laugh hysterically at my histrionics as they downed another scotch and another glass of champagne. Every year Donna and Bill would complain bitterly and demand speaking parts, but I would never relent. After I left for college, they mutinied, and when I came back that Christmas they refused to do the show. Thus ended yet another family tradition. This one was never particularly edifying either.

When my son Quinn was about 2, we started leaving cookies and milk for Santa, but that was about it.

Then we went to the Madrigal Evening and I fell in love with the ritual.

So, every year since then, once we have finished our Christmas dinner, I stand up and read the poem. Here it is:

A tradition of this holiday season

That has its roots in magic and reason,

Holly is the tree of heavenly spring

That can your Christmas wishes bring.

So take you now a sprig of holly,

A Christmas wish to make.

Toss it gently into the yule log fire

And all your cares forsake.

A wish for thee, and a good big kiss.

A wish for thou, a bright New Year

We wish you now.

Then we all take our sprigs of holly, make wishes and throw them in the fire. Here's the secret: You cannot wish for your own private plane. You must wish something good for somebody else. And here's the magic: When your wish is for someone else, it almost always comes true. And that's what this holiday season is about, isn't it?

Each person has to deal with various facets of faith. In my book, Living Faith, I describe how all of us predicate our decisions and actions on faith. Early in life, we have faith in our parents, later in peers or school teachers, then in our religious beliefs and in our nation’s moral/political values. Cumulatively, we develop (or lack) self-confidence, or faith in ourselves.

Continue »