'Who Is My Neighbor?'

Reflections on the Anniversary of September 11

As an Arabic language and Islamic Studies teacher, I used to joke that "If it weren’t for people like Mu’ammar Ghaddafi and Saddam Hussein, I’d be out of a job." Indeed, after the oil embargo of the early 1970’s there was a large increase in student enrollments in my fields, as was the case with the bombing of Pan Am flight 103 and the Gulf crises of a decade ago.

My comment is something that I haven’t shared since last fall, when all work stopped at Hartford Seminary as we helplessly watched a horror that played itself out on a television screen usually reserved for showing videos in class. I doubt my comment would even elicit a smile these days, much less any laughter, even if we Americans have learned to laugh again after the atrocities of September 11, 2001.

Many Christians have forgotten that Jesus was a practicing Jew, portrayed here by Martin Norz in the 1990 Oberammergau Passion Play.

Strangely, since last fall I have not seen a surge in students seeking to learn Arabic, contrary to events of the last few decades when something like a "know your enemy" reflex led many to sign up for that language. As we used to say in the 1960’s, the optimists among us were learning Russian, while the pessimists were signing up for Chinese. But these days who is studying either of the major Semitic languages, Arabic and Hebrew? Far too few of us, I’m afraid. And that bodes ill when we try to answer the question, as people of faith, as to "Who Is My Neighbor?" For how can we understand someone if we do not know their language, and if they don’t know ours?

From a religious point of view, our two closest neighbors are "The People of the Book"—adherents of those scripture-based religions, in addition to Christianity, that affirm monotheism as traced back to the God whom the patriarch Abraham came to know, worship, and obey. These two other faiths, of course, are Judaism and Islam.

Despite historical and thematic affinities among these three religions, much has been made over the centuries in attempts to contrast them one from another, so much so that "neighbor" is a word rarely used to describe the relationships among them.

Thus, Jews suggest that one cannot be a Christian or "messianic" Jew and still be, properly speaking, Jewish, while Christians have historically blamed the execution of their Savior not on the Romans, but on Jesus’ coreligionists. In fact, many Christians have "forgotten" that Jesus was, indeed, a practicing Jew. Unfortunately, the articulation and affirmation of such differences have not only led to much ink being spilled, but much blood as well. So much for neighborliness.

For their part, Muslims generally assert that as trinitarians, Christians are not, properly speaking, monotheists, though they are still regarded as People of the Book. Indeed, one of the basic Arabic words for theology translates as "declaring oneness"; some have even defined this word thus: "unitarianizing." By this definition, Jews are closer to Islam than Christians are, notwithstanding the Qur’anic revelation that of all religious persons, Christians are the closest to Muslims "in terms of affection."

It is central to the Muslim tradition, as with Christianity and Judaism, to yearn for peace.

Similarly, many Christians assert that they do not worship the same God that Muslims worship. For example, the Rev. Jerry Vines, a Southern Baptist pastor, made headlines recently when he said something along these lines, buttressing his remarks with comments to the effect that the Judeo-Christian God would not turn people into terrorists, whereas the God of Muhammad not only would, but has already done so repeatedly. Such is not the language of neighborliness.

Still, we would all agree, I suspect, with Vines’ remarks at least to the extent that a God of love and grace and compassion, indeed the God of Abraham, would not turn anyone into a terrorist. And, as modern 21st century Christians, we are quick to dissociate ourselves from the waves of persecution perpetrated against our Jewish neighbors over the centuries by our religious forebears, even as recently as in the days of the Ku Klux Klan.

The Klan deliberately adopted Christian imagery and language in their terror tactics against not only Jews, but also against other Protestants who happened to be of African descent. But can Christians and Christianity therefore be held responsible for the lynchings and terror tactics of white hoods and burning crosses? And while Presbyterians and Catholics continue to terrorize each other in Ireland, is not the overwhelming majority of Christians quick to dissociate themselves from both parties, even if their sympathies naturally lie with one group over the other? We are loathe to identify any of these violent types of people as our "neighbors," much less as "our own."

But all this begs the question as to why 19 hijackers of four airplanes did what they did last fall. Is the God of Muhammad responsible for their actions?

If we answer the question in the affirmative, saying along with Pastor Vines that the God of Muhammad is indeed responsible for the acts of those who call themselves Muslims, then we are duty-bound to ask: Was the God of Abraham responsible for the acts of terrorism carried out by the Stern Gang and the Irgun against civilians in what was to become the modern state of Israel? Similarly, was the God of Jesus responsible for the acts of terrorism and oppression carried out by faithful members of the Reformed Church in South Africa under the apartheid regime?

These are not easy questions, and some would prefer to whitewash one or another faith while simultaneously tarring another with a broad brush. But to turn a blind eye to the violent impulse in one’s own religious tradition, or to do the same with regard to another faith out of some ecumenical impulse or political correctness, is dangerously deceptive and intellectually dishonest. To be a good neighbor is to speak the truth to others in mercy, not only concerning ourselves, but with regard to them as well.

The existence of an interconnection between religion and violence has been devastatingly articulated not by an atheist, nor by an adherent of a non-monotheistic religion, but by Dr. Kelton Cobb, Professor of Theology and Ethics at Hartford Seminary. In a recent article entitled "A Season of Violence," http://macdonald.hartsem.edu/cobb1.htm Dr. Cobb sees the notion of sacrifice to be at the nexus of this interrelationship. He writes,

"sacrifice is an action of surrender or loss of something of value which brings something of greater value into the world. To sacrifice is to make or produce the sacred, to wrestle it into the world of human experience through an action that is often violent. Every religious tradition practices sacrifice in some form; every religious tradition understands the logic of sacrifice. Give up something in order to bring more of that which is holy into the world. Sacrifice gets God’s attention; sacrifice forces God’s hand."

Indeed, the terrorists of September 11 were given instructions in what might be called the language of sacrifice as to the rationale for the deaths of those on board the hijacked aircraft.

"There is a violent recessive gene in every religion" —Dr. Kelton Cobb

The problem, of course, lies in deciding what it is appropriate to sacrifice, and to what end. We know from the Psalms that the sacrifice of one’s children to the pagan deity Moloch was an abomination to Israel, and that such human blood offerings were prohibited in the graphically portrayed story of Abraham, Isaac and the ram. Centuries later, the Christian tradition moved away from animal sacrifice—as has Judaism, but for different reasons—so that now, ironically, the "acceptable" blood offerings of Abel are no longer made in either of those two religions, while the "rejected" agricultural sacrifices of Cain are very much alive and well in the Christian tradition.

Be that as it may, Cobb notes that

"[t]here is a violent recessive gene in every religious tradition. Each religion has its militants and its own idiosyncratic logic to justify violence . . . All major world religions preach nonviolence, while in the back room, some religious people sanction violence."

But this is not necessarily bad. For example, while there is still an honest difference of opinion among believers on the morality behind the use of nuclear weapons in 1945, the notion that the use of force was justified in the battle against world fascism is nearly universally accepted. Cobb continues:

"An honest look at history can’t escape the fact that the best, most extensively humane periods of social order and civilization that have been achieved have required some passage either through war, or the threat of war . . . [R]eligions have also played an indispensable role in envisioning the social orders that wars are fought to secure, social orders that secure a durable peace in which people can live their lives. Every religion that has had any durability with significant numbers of people contains both elements within itself—reasons for war and visions for peace."

Then comes Cobb’s sobering conclusion:

"If we are honest, we must admit that Islam, Christianity, Judaism, Buddhism, Hinduism, Sikhism—all religions—promote violence just as surely as they promote peace and justice. Pacifism is not the central impulse of any religion. But neither is the viciousness which was on display in [the] assault on New York and Washington. Pacifism and terrorism are not central to the religions we know. But neither are they alien intruders. They are elements that genuinely belong to the religious traditions out of which they grow."

Recognizing—and naming—a sinful problem is the first step, albeit a major one, in subduing it. There is clearly an important line, even if it sometimes proves to be a fine one, between true sacrifice and justifiable violence on the one hand and perniciously unwarranted acts of terror on the other. No matter what "godly" language is used, no matter how anyone might try to explain gratuitously violent deeds by "baptizing" them in the language of piety, such deeds can neither be sanctioned nor excused. The end does not justify the means. Indeed, as the Islamic tradition states, one cannot be considered a true believer until one wants the same thing for one’s neighbor as one wishes for oneself. So said the Prophet Muhammad.

Neighborliness comes from deeds of decency, compassion and mercy that flow from the heart.

This, once again, confronts us with the question: Who Is My Neighbor? It pays to recall the context in which the question was asked. In the time of Jesus, the Jews and the Samaritans despised and hated each other, branding each other "heretics" and accusing the other of all manner of injustice and impiety. No Jew could safely travel through Samaritan territory, and no Samaritan would vouchsafe his personal well-being to a Jew.

Yet the Man of Galilee proclaimed that neighborliness does not depend upon doctrinal purity, religious uniformity, or political patriotism. It comes from deeds of decency, compassion and mercy that flow from the heart.

Jews, Christians, and Muslims all have as central to their traditions a yearning for justice, a thirst for peace, a hunger for the holy. And these three religions recognize that such do not come easily; they do not come without struggle, without sacrifice. Members of all three religions wrestle with what this means in their daily lives. And to the extent that such efforts are made in good faith and result in graciousness and lovingkindness, those that practice them, whatever their native tongue, are worthy to be called "neighbor." Indeed, no foreign language dictionary is needed in such cases, for as Jesus remarked in another context, "by their fruit ye shall know them."

As followers of Christ in the Congregational Way, let us not be too quick to rule out who our neighbors are, might be, or should be; and, let us be among the first to recognize that it is not only the non-Christian who is "standing in the need of prayer." Instead, let us be quick to pray that all who call upon the God of Abraham might grow in truth, godliness, and peace "until that time when time shall be no more."

Editor’s Note:Also see Dr. Blackburn’s Letter to the Editor.