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The Rice Thresher
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Raj Wahi Special to the Thresher This might sound strange coming from someone who's never belonged to any organized religion, but I honestly think Christians are among the most unfairly maligned people at Rice. Don't get me wrong; some of them do cross lines I believe shouldn't be crossed. When someone uses religion as an excuse to harass or discriminate against others on the basis of race or sexuality, for instance, I consider that arrogant, not to mention cowardly. When someone carrying a Bible and a sign-up sheet tries to push his way into my apartment, I consider that rude and more than a little creepy. However, it's easy to forget that such pushy, insensitive people comprise only a minority of Christians, as is true of most other groups. Even when we do remember this, we don't often say so. We should. A more subtle misconception, which is primarily what I want to address, is that Christians invariably approach life with an attitude of moral exclusivity. I once believed this, but the Christians I've met at Rice have proven me wrong. I know not everyone has had such positive experiences, and I'm not saying anyone should automatically love Christians just because I have Christian friends. What I am saying is that we can't treat them with indiscriminate disdain either. I first realized this during my freshman year, when I developed a strong friendship with a Christian woman at Wiess College who was easily one of the most sincere people I knew. The friendship was solid not because we chose to ignore our differences but because we valued what we learned from them. Particularly memorable was the night I confided to her that I wanted to believe in a loving God but felt I couldn't. Instead of simply telling me I'd get over it, her first response was to admit that she had once experienced similar confusion herself, and that she had stuck with her beliefs only after seriously questioning them. That shouldn't have surprised me, but at the time I still bought into the idea that Christians just accept their faith without really thinking about it. Later, after we had finished a long and heartfelt conversation, she asked if I would feel comfortable praying with her. Though I almost never pray, I immediately said yes. I didn't accept her offer out of politeness; I accepted because her concern was clearly genuine, and, I suppose, because part of me hoped there was a God who would hear us. Her offer to pray with me, not just for me, indicated she not only wanted me to feel better but was also willing to help shoulder some of the burden. It also showed that, for her, my healing was a more immediate priority than my acceptance of Christian beliefs, though it's not for me to say that she didn't care about the latter. These conclusions aren't only based on the semantics of her offer to pray with me; she was demonstrating compassion that couldn't be faked. This story isn't about "tolerance." It's about how, in the formation of our friendship, our different religious viewpoints were anything but incidental. In fact, they were pivotal. Instead of sweeping religion under the rug to remain friends, we benefited from sharing our beliefs, fears and questions with one another. We didn't believe in the same God, but each of us believed in what the other stood for. We both wanted happiness for each other and for ourselves. We both wanted to correct our personal flaws. By discussing our ideas and praying together for what we both valued, we made religion a bridge between us rather than a barrier. That won't always happen, but it is possible. Many Christians at Rice take a similar approach to spiritual fellowship: Instead of barging without permission into your spiritual life, they will invite you to enter theirs and to share yours with them. It's an invitation to exchange friendship and ideas, not to exchange conversion for friendship. Whether you accept or decline is unimportant; what matters is that the invitation is friendly. Today, I'm still not sure I believe in God. Most of my Christian friends have encouraged me to sort this out at my own pace and form my own conclusions. They've also helped restore my faith in human goodness at those times when I've come closest to losing it. I have nothing but respect for a person who can do that. Raj Wahi is a graduate student in chemistry
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