We’re Not In Kansas (or California) Anymore

When we arrived in Tehran all the women pulled scarves from their luggage and covered their heads as the doors were opened. I’d expected all heavy, dark scarves, but many were very sheer and it looked like many women preserved a “puff” (as our group came to call it) in front. The woman next to me on the plane also pulled on a pair of gloves to cover her fingernail polish. One young woman kept her scarf on her shoulders until she reached the door of the plane.

There seemed to b a huge variety of approaches to the hijab, or headscarf. The official reason for the head covering is to protect feminine modesty, and prevent arousing men to sexual temptation. I wonder, are our western sensibilities are too dulled to find hair all that titillating? Head covering is serious business in Iran. There is a squad of morals police who go around from time to time “cracking down” on carelessly worn hijabs (especially I understand in springtime). There were published reports of women being warned or fined. I must say, however, my survey of Iranian women reveals many women wearing their hijab way back on their head. They seem to wear it with all the skill of Catherine Deneuve. I was reminded how some of the girls at the all girl high school where I was once chaplain managed to make Campbell dress plaid uniforms look sexy. Compliance is compliance, and enforcement may be powered by other considerations behind the political scenes.

The women in our group were fairly scrupulous about keeping their heads fully covered. They reported it was hot, itchy and annoying—yet some managed to see it as a way to share in the culture. I heard some comments that they really enjoyed not being stared at or whistled at or otherwise harassed as they walked down the streets.

The men in the group had no analogous experiences. I felt completely free to dress and act as I normally would except for an absolute taboo against touching women—no handshaking, shoulder patting or affectionate hugs!

One evening in Isafan we visited some lovely bridges. I noticed two men on the steps overlooking the water. One man was sitting and his friend was standing in front of him, gently running his hands up and down his friend’s inner thighs. Maybe that is normal macho behavior in Iran, but I read it as gay and beautiful: and more than a little daring.

Homosexuality is a capital crime. The Ayatollah Bojnourdi casually mentioned it as proof of the infrequency of capital punishment: “only murderers and homosexuals” are put to death. Iran has one of the highest rates of sex change operations in the world. I thought it was sickening. If you have homosexual feelings a quick cut and stitch will sew your closet shut for life.

But then they can wear the hijab and claim the freedom of their sisters.

Peace, Love and Architecture

Our desire to meet people notwithstanding, a large part of our itinerary involved looking at buildings: palaces, mosques, bridges, avenues. As much as I like these things I wondered: is this what we’re here for? To admire buildings while on a peace mission seemed a diversion.

But I soon was converted. The buildings were all about an ancient Persian/Islamic culture that is alive and well. I was reminded of John Keats: '"Beauty is truth, truth beauty," - that is all/Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.' Islam has flowered in the most exquisite and delicate art; a people who could produce these things command respect.

I was intrigued to learn how they used the buildings, especially the mosques. Our guide obliged me and showed us the niche where the prayer leader stands, demonstrated the amazing acoustics which enabled people to hear without microphones (six hundred years ago). We marveled at the intricate designs of scriptural texts and the built-in time-keeping device that insured they always prayed at noon.

The buildings showed a longing for God, for transcendence. They are an outward sign of a powerful spirituality that emphasized (over and over): peace, hospitality, compassion, gratitude. The buildings, especially the mosques, reminded me of the Christian Churches I visited in Europe, which emphasized the same things.

Experiencing the people and the culture of Iran actually spoke louder to me than the fulminations of President Bush or President Ahmadinejad: the presidents say many things appealing to specific constituencies in their countries. It is a game! And we heard from people critical of the Iranian President, and we were free in our critique of ours. Yet polemics don’t heal. They are not creative vehicles for understanding. Moving us beyond polemics and political frustration, the beautiful buildings dedicated to God inspired poetic thoughts and nurtured audacious hopes for a new way of being human in our world.

The last night we were in Iran we were in Shiraz and we visited the tomb of the poet Hafez. He lived in the 13th Century (I think) and wrote deeply moving poetry. His tomb is an exquisite piece of architecture, yet the place is deeply holy because it is where young people come in the evenings to read poetry—to themselves and to each other. Couples meet and walk in the gardens. Some look flustered and walk silently; others were exhilarated by the chance to be with girls or boys, chattering with animation. Most people we met of every age could cite a favorite passage of poetry. Here was the real soul of Iran: the buildings hint at it, but in the voices of the young adults, I felt I heard it.

In the words of Hafez:

“When fair ones talk in Persian, the streams of life outwell:
this news to pious Pirs, my Saki, haste to tell”

Civilian Diplomacy

We were encouraged to go out and meet Iranians “on the street.” I’ve never been easy accosting people even to ask directions, let alone have a conversation about politics, religion or anything else. I was feeling a bit intimidated by the expectation that I’d have meaningful contacts on the street.

Yet I needn’t have worried. Everywhere we went people reached out to us and in my case, carried the conversational burden (in English!). A young army officer, a shop keeper, a student: they all began asking me where I was from. “America!?” they would respond in astonishment. One man observed: “After 30 years finally you have come.” Each was very anxious that I like their country. I could honestly say I liked it. It is beautiful. And the people are very friendly. Whatever I sad, it seemed to reassure them. Then they would peer up at me: “Please don’t bomb us!”

Invariably this comment left me feeling ashamed and angry. Would our US government betray our goodwill mission and attack Iran? Are my efforts simply naïve altruism?

Some might say so.

Yet except by meeting people, eating their food, walking their streets, how else are we to break down the dividing wall of suspicion that divides us? These people-to-people contacts are the only way to get behind the rhetoric we hear in America and they hear in Iran. Neither population is well served by the “party lines” we hear. Giving and receiving hospitality is at the core of our Abrahamic faiths. It creates a sense of bond and obligation which Christians, Jews and Muslims have scripturally understood to be sacred.

Another dynamic operating in these encounters is a cultural quality called ta’arouf. Hooman Majd in his book “The Ayatollah Begs to Differ” gives some very helpful insights. It means, in part, that nothing is too good for guests; effusive claims of love and friendship and exaggerated statements of humility are common (“I am your humble servant” might be answered with: “I am your devoted slave”). This Persian propensity for politeness and hospitality is given extra clout by the Koranic teachings of universal brotherhood and respect. It is very sincere, yet must be understood in context, which created some interesting learning moments for our delegation. If one has no idea about ta’arouf I expect there could be some baffling encounters. We were forewarned. But the first invitation to dinner by the proprietor of the corner newsstand as one buys a paper is astonishing. However, I found the few interactions I had, wary as I was, gave me a sense of a different culture, different manners, somehow highly evolved and beautiful. That appreciation didn’t exactly fill me with confidence that I knew what I was doing, but I could relax, clasp hands with the men and offer extravagant compliments in return: a tiny cultural bridge.

Overview of my trip to Iran

I returned on Sunday from an incredible trip to Iran. I went with The Fellowship of Reconciliation, a 95 year old organization committed to social justice through pacifism and interfaith dialogue. One of their principle tools has been the use of civilian diplomats, people like myself, who go and visit the country and then return to tell about their experiences. They have led delegations to many of the troubled places of the world. Local chapters are active in promoting peace in many countries.

Our delegation was the eighth to go to Iran with FOR. Our hosts were the Center for Inter-religious Dialogue within the Department of Education and Research. Only 300—500 Americans are permitted visas each year. We ended up being a delegation of 14 men and women, 10 Jewish and 4 Christian, ranging in age from roughly 25 to 80 years of age. It was the largest group of Jews to visit the country from America. This created an interesting and rich context for my own reflections on the group: rarely am I a religious minority!

We were definitely the guests of the government: I think enormous efforts were spent to be sure not only were we comfortable and well taken care of, but that we got a good grounding in Iranian/Persian culture, visiting Tehran, Qom, Isfahan, Persepolis and Shiraz. We met Ayatollah Bojnoordi, and visited the Jewish synagogues in Tehran and Shiraz (Iran is home to the world’s oldest Jewish communities, established over 2500 years ago); we met the Armenian Archbishop Sebouh Sarkissian, visited a Zoroastrian temple and spent most of a day with students and teachers at Mofid University discussing our different religious traditions.

Most of our discussions were fairly formal. There would be a round of welcoming statements and then each of us would introduce ourselves: name, institutional affiliation, home city and state. These were invariably followed by a presentation from the person we were visiting with an opportunity to ask questions. I had the awkward responsibility of representing Christianity: I kept emphasizing I only represent a small piece of it all, and that many disagree with me strongly. A great joy was meeting somebody in the hallway, or over lunch or perhaps in the street or park as we walked about. When they learned we were Americans, their astonishment soon gave way to one impassioned plea: “Don’t bomb us!” One contact that developed into an amazing encounter off the official itinerary was meeting Habib Ahmadzadeh, an independent film maker and to view his anti war film “Night Bus.”

In addition to meeting people and building relationships of trust and enhanced understanding, we were shown some of the most beautiful, extraordinary buildings: mosques, bridges, palaces, gardens, bazaars, the tombs of Xerxes, Cyrus the Great, and the astonishing ruins of Persepolis.

What did I learn? Nothing very abstract: it is a beautiful country; the people are very hospitable; they are great lovers of poetry. The food is delicious. Reflecting on our experience as “civilian diplomats” I think we were able to represent a slice of American society well: open, affectionate, and eager to make friends and communicate our message: No War With Iran.

Getting Ready to Go: Reality Check

Today I leave for Nyack, NY, to the headquarters of The Fellowship of Reconciliation for a short orientation before we leave for Iran Wednesday night. The past few days since my return from London Saturday have been busy; but the frosting on the cake was learning that UPS had not picked up my passport from the store I’d mailed from with overnight postage to get the visa. Learning this Monday, about 11:00 a.m., I rushed to the store and picked up the passport (forfeiting the $25.00 postage!). The challenge then was to find a way of getting the passport to the courier who would take it to Washington D.C. The man lives in Albany, I was in Port Jefferson, about 7 hours away. After several phone calls we decided I’d meet him in Nyack at 2:00. So I drove the 2+ hours to Nyack, getting there a quarter of an hour before the courier arrived!

Slouched in a chair in Nyack, resting, I learned that not every member of the delegation had received visas. The Iranians delayed until yesterday morning to issue visa numbers from Tehran, and they denied 4 members of our delegation; two others have not yet received numbers but indications are that they will in due course. What a shock! There is no apparent reason or pattern to the decision as the four include Jews and Muslims, male and female, experienced travelers to Iran, and first-timers. We may never learn; this is the way it is traveling to Iran.

This reality check will be the background to the work we do. I believe it will be important to let go of the anger and disappointment, and try to meet the people with open hearts and minds. Yet our governments are not in synch. They are suspicious of Americans and America is suspicious of Iran. The only way to dissolve the suspicion and the jostling for power is to talk, to reach across the divide and make relationships. Other delegations have made tremendous contacts, and the reports we read are that “ordinary” Iranians are enthusiastic about meeting Americans, dismayed by the nuclear competition.

Preparing for Peace

I've been in London this week working on a proposal for a formation program which is intended for the brothers and sisters who will be working with our novices. It has been a great experience to work on this proposal: engaging in conversation with my colleague Sister Joyce, the Minister General of the Sisters of the Community of St. Francis, thinking, praying, and dreaming about the best way to empower our communities. I spent a happy day trolling the internet reading websites and seeing how what we hope to do might interface with what people are doing in the New York area. I came across a website with a program title: "Formators as transformative agents" by Don Bisson: this is exactly what we hope to be about! Not only do I hope the formators--the people who teach the novices--should be transformative agents, but all of us.

The other thing going on this week has been the increasingly intense preparations for my trip to Iran next Wednesday. I go as an agent of transformation, working for peace. In a way it is a chance to do the kind of thing Joyce and I have been talking about in terms of preparing the novices to do.

Sturggling to get over my jet lag I have had several weird hours of wakefulness, which I have used to read about Iran. My current late night primer is about the President of Iran: "Ahmadinejad: The Secret History of Iran's Radical Leader" by Kasra Naji. If ever there was a need to hear two sides of a story and to create bridges of friendship and understanding between two peoples, i think Iran is the perfect place to go. The language is so hyperbolic. So I have had to do some preparatory work thinking and praying about the best way to meet and relate with people in a culture and context very different from mine.

I am reminded of St. Francis and how he went among the Muslims. He went, refusing to preach much with words, but to live in such a way as to invite people to approach him with questions. I like this model of approachability, and hope I can present myself in that way.

I am in a hurry to get to Heathrow to catch a flight to New York. But as i go, i feel that it is all about peace, all about friendship, all about deeper understanding.

Trust

Yesterday I heard a great sermon by Phil Brochard, rector of All Souls Episcopal Church in Berkeley about trust. You can get a copy of it by e-mailing allsouls@allsoulsparish.org or maybe check their website: www.allsoulsparish.org I won’t re-hash it here, but it got me to thinking about whether or not I live trustfully. Do I trust myself? Do I trust the people I am traveling to Iran with? Do I trust my brothers?

Most of the time.

Another way of thinking about trust, for me, is to think about letting go. I have to let go of my fears, let go of my desire to control the outcomes of my interactions, and life transactions. I need to do my best and leave the rest up to God: trust God.

Sometimes trust gets a body blow: I got two of these last week.

The first challenge to trust was the destruction of the Order of Holy Cross Monastery in Santa Barbara. You never know when natural disaster will strike. My mind immediately starts to calculate risks. One can never be too safe; it is a thin line to cross over to “trust nobody” you are never totally safe. Of course I know life is a series of calculated risks, most of which we hardly acknowledge: crossing the road, driving on a free way, taking an airplane ride, which I do continuously without a second thought. Well, I have been having a lot of second thoughts since the fires in Santa Barbara.

The second blow was the report of the racist attack on a migrant worker on Long Island by a self-styled KKK group. They killed him, and left handbills threatening other “non-whites.” A friend attributes it to a backlash against Barack Obama’s election. To live trustfully in a democracy one must believe that people will obey laws and respect each other. Many of the migrant workers on Long Island are men and women I know. They catered the meal after my installation as Minister General last November. Racist attacks spoil the atmosphere of trust and harmony and weaken our society.

So I have taken these incidents as the starting place for my prayers each morning: affirming my trust in God, seeking to open my eyes to perceive the hand of God at work in the world around me. I try to notice the beauty of nature even as I recognize the fires are tragedies for my friends. I marvel at the many friends I have of every race and creed. Crucial for me is not to lapse into all-or-nothing thinking, taking a tragedy and replicating it everywhere in my imagination: “catastrophizing” as one friend calls it. Remembering these things clears my mind; I can sign a petition against racism, I can make calls and try to organize help for Santa Barbara. We are in solidarity with each other in good times and bad.

In God we trust.