These next two weeks mark the end of a semester that seems to have sped by so quickly. Classes are beginning to wind down (or up, depending on the projects, papers, or exams that must be done) before finals. Easter came a few weeks ago, and spring seems to have come with it. It is hard to fathom that the piles of snow that once towered over street sidewalks have given way to grass, rain, warmth, and the flowering on trees.
Last week was also the Interfaith Fair, one of the largest events that the Interfaith Council puts on every year. It was refreshing to see students mingling with all of the different student groups present. The interactions and conversation I saw gave me hope: hope that communication and dialogue is possible, hope that people of different beliefs can coexist and accept each other. Now that the Fair is over and the end of the semester looms near, a thought has started nagging at the back of my mind: What now? How do we move forward to realize this hope?
This question was particularly poignant last Thursday, a day of remembrance for the victims of the Holocaust. I was standing next to Marsh Chapel with Soren for Common Ground Communion, as people stood up on the plaza to read the names of those who had died. The day was stunningly warm and bright, such an odd contrast to the solemnity of the names being read and remembered. Standing there, I wondered how people could have stood by and let people suffer persecution and death, and whether I would have acted any differently. Soren then pointed out to me the potential implications of serving communion right next to people remembering the Holocaust. In a way, we were standing by as others did at the time, witnessing horrific actions being committed.
As much as I want to bring about acceptance and dialogue between different traditions, there are still many obstacles to that process. One of them is figuring out how to move forward with events such as the Holocaust. Another is dealing with the persecution and violence that still continues today. One student during the Interfaith Fair stood up and read a spoken word poem about the victims of the Chapel Hill shooting. Her words reminded me that we are witnessing undue violence against our Muslim sisters and brothers. We see it far too often in the media, and we hear about it more than I can bear. But still, the question of what now and how to move forward lingers, and it grows to include the question: What can I do? What can we all do, for that matter? For it seems that advocating for one idea alone isn’t enough. That advocating for peace alone is insufficient to quell fighting. That advocating for dialogue alone will not make certain voices quieter, nor will it make other voices louder. That advocating for inclusion alone will not foster acceptance.
At times it feels like this question will have no answer, and that the struggle is without hope. But I heard the beginning of one last week at the Interfaith Fair. It came from an unlikely place, but it rang through clearly. At one point the Episcopalian group led a chant, with only the words “What we need is here.” The interesting part of this chant is that they encouraged everyone to chant in the tune and language that felt most comfortable. Even though the chant was full of dissonant melodies, discordant voices, and different languages, it still sounded beautiful. Something good can come out of the chaos in this world. While it might not come together cleanly or immediately, and we may have to look and listen to find it, what we need to move forward is here. Let us have the courage to witness it, stand up, and move toward it.