A Loss for Words

We had an interesting time recently at Harvard Hillel. We were invited to do a reading and discussion. Originally the event was going to be co-sponsored by the Harvard Catholic students group. We were told they pulled out when, after reading the book, they were disappointed to read that Scott refers to himself as an atheist. Even though he is a practicing Catholic, they could not lend their name to something that, at least on the surface, was wholly opposed to core Catholic theology, namely a belief in the Resurrection and a belief in the miracles. But we were pleasantly surprised to see a number of Catholic students, as well as a one a priest, were there at the event.

During the discussion, Scott and I spoke of the value of religious language, but explained that while language is one of the most important aspects of religion, it can also function as the most dangerous. Often the vessel replaces the thing it was trying to contain. A young man in the front row asked if we believed that one could be transformed by belief, specifically belief in ideas that are understood by the language. He said that religious language only has meaning for him because he believes in what the words say. This is what makes him a Catholic. Scott tried to explain that all he has is what his experience has taught him, and that experience has taught him to understand these words as metaphor, and nothing else.

Now this is where Scott and I start to separate. While like Scott I believe these words are metaphorical, I also believe there is some referent to which these words refer. Scott does not believe in any referent, except that which we construct with ethics. We tried our best to explain this, but the fellow had such a pained look on his face. He was disappointed that we wanted to talk about God and religion, but mistrusted any words we might use. This is where religious discussion can begin to break down. No amount of interfaith nicety can bridge what ultimately becomes division of words. And I understand. Belief is rooted in the language we use. But isn't it possible to agree that no matter how closely words might apprehend an ultimate reality, there is no word that can ever name it perfectly?

Faith in Chicago

I returned home last night from a trip to Chicago's Ebenezer Lutheran Church, where I presented a chapter from Faith about how, as a seventeen-year-old, I wanted to be a Catholic priest. My parents talked me out of it: "It's such a lonely life," they said. That was all it took.

I was warmly received at Ebenezer, to say the least. The church itself is labyrinthine, and a different parishioner led me from place to place to place. (That I mentioned this hospitality made the pastor, Rev. Carla Thompson Powell, very pleased.) Worship was led by a jazz band. The first lesson was read in Swahili. The church, like mine, welcomes believers of all stripes: young, old, black, white, gay, straight. Etc. Etc. Many thanks to them for the invitation and for trying to claim me as one of their own. For my part, I responded to a question about my ambivalence regarding Catholicism by once again quoting Karen Armstrong, calling myself a "Freelance Monotheist." Both Peter and I look forward to returning to Ebenezer at the end of January.

Before leaving Monday I had breakfast with Eboo Patel, whose book Acts of Faith chronicles his growth as a moderate Muslim and his work as founder of the Interfaith Youth Core, which is what it seems to be by the name -- an organization that brings young people of different faiths together to organize and engage in service projects. For IFYC, as for me an Peter, belief itself seems irrelevant; what matters is practice. Eboo recently wrote about us at the Washington Post/Newsweek "On Faith" blog. He gets to the heart of our book, and the heart of the conversation he and I had yesterday, with this: "Most of us understand faith as a conversation with God, but it is also very much a conversation with others – and in a world where people from different backgrounds are in more frequent and intense interaction than ever before, it is often a conversation between people of different faiths."

Thank you, Chicago.

Faith in Public

We had our first events for the book this weekend, the first at my church, St. Francis Xavier, where several parishioners and a few students of mine listened to me read the introduction to Faith. We end that piece -- the only dual-authored section of the book -- with this thought about the conversation that the book creates as we alternate stories back and forth:

"Our hope is that in sharing this conversation, in appearing in public as faithful friends, we might also begin to hear other stories and participate in other conversations of belief, disbelief, hope, doubt, and the eternal desire to learn and do the will of God. We still long to find and please God. And we know were better off trying to do this together."

In that spirit, one guy from Xavier asked a few questions after I finished reading, wondering whether the age-old conflicts between Jews and Christians come up in the book (no, they don't), and how we deal with atheists. Peter and I have come down pretty hard on who in the book we call "vehemently secular atheists," but the fact of the matter is that, as I've said before, I am one, which is just what I told the guy. My priest nodded approvingly from the back.

We launched the book at Good World, a Swedish restaurant and bar on Orchard Street, New York City. Rosie Schaap, whom I've recently called incomparable (which she proved last night), hosted the event and prepared the soundtrack for the evening: Neutral Milk Hotel, Billy Bragg, Okkervil River, and the Beach Boys, mainly. I read a chapter from the book called "The Virgin." Peter read one called "The Prayer Book." Both of us mentioned vibrators at least once.

Thank you to everyone who came to the event, especially our editor Kathy Belden and our agent Jennifer Joel. (And of course our families and friends.) It was more than we'd hoped it would be.