By Claudia
On my personal blog, I am known as “The Faithful Dissident.” For the past three years, I’ve been hiding behind that alias. Afraid of what, I’m not exactly sure, but some of my experiences during the past yearhave made me realize that I’m not much of a dissident –let alone a “faithful” one where orthodox Mormonism is concerned.
As readers of The Faithful Dissident know, the blog has been an outlet for my musings as I’ve struggled to reconcile the good, bad, and ugly of Mormonism and religion in general. This past year, crossing paths with one special individual in particular –someone who taught me a thing or two about being a real life dissident — became a turning point in my previously angst-ridden spiritual journey.
In my town here in Norway, there is a refugee centre that houses about 125 people from around 20 different nations who are seeking asylum in Norway. Under the current system, the process can easily take years and these refugees are not entitled to much more than a place to sleep, basic health care, and barely enough money to buy food and essentials. For most of them, the days are long and lonely, and the waiting and uncertainty of their future can be as harrowing as the journey many of them had to make to get here. The language barrier, cultural and religious differences, the current political climate where immigration is concerned, general apathy and skepticism tend to make it very difficult to bridge the distance between refugees and the local Norwegian population. The result is that both groups generally keep to themselves.
A little over a year ago, after reading in the local newspaper that what many of these refugees need most from the local community is not donations of clothes or furniture, but someone to actually spend time with them, I decided to get in touch with the centre. To say that this experience has changed my life is an understatement. Intellectually, it has been a fascinating, highly educational intercultural experience and introduction to people and places of the world that I used to know little about. Emotionally, it has been heart-wrenching, as we have had to comfort those who are told they have to leave, forced to say good-bye to some of them; exhilarating when we have celebrated with the lucky few who will be allowed to stay. Spiritually, in an almost inexplicable way, it has been a healing balm to my grieving, disillusioned soul.
On my first day of visiting the centre, I met several wonderful people who overwhelmed me with their warmth and friendliness. But one of these people really stood out and made a strong impression on me and my husband. Habib is an incredibly bright, intelligent, well-read and informed young man from Afghanistan who has seen and experienced more in his 25 years than most of us ever will in an entire lifetime. A member of the oppressed Hazara ethnic minority (those who have read The Kite Runner will recall Hassan, the young Hazara servant boy), Habib knows a thing or two about marginalization and discrimination. Passionate about human rights, gender equality, the need for secular government and freedom of as well as from religion, he is a man of courage and integrity that one rarely has the privilege of meeting. But Habib had to pay a high price for his outspokenness and activism as he became a target for the authorities who wanted to silence him. Before he knew it, he found himself “a prisoner of the road,” (see the video that inspired that term here) forced upon the long and dangerous journey to Europe where he faced an uncertain future. Still, though, the alternative was worse. As I heard his story, I could relate to the overpowering need some of us feel to speak (or write) our minds when we witness injustice. I also realized that true dissidents aren’t hiding behind anonymity like I was — especially when the stakes were relatively minor in comparison.
I discovered that Habib’s journey through Islam paralleled my own through Mormonism in many ways, as we found ourselves on the outside of our respective religions, rejecting common themes of perceived doctrinal superiority, fundamentalism, injustice, sexism, racism, idolization of prophets, polygamy and the backlash against open questioning or criticism. All this ugliness was something that I contrasted with the warmth and beauty that is present in much of Islamic and Mormon practice and culture, which has touched my heart on many occasions. As I started writing articles and discussing immigration with Norwegians, I would sometimes find myself in the awkwardly ironic position of defending Muslims while criticizing Islam — something that I have sometimes found myself having to do with Mormons and Mormonism.
As I interacted with and observed some of the Muslim women at the centre, read the Qu’ran and became more acquainted with Islamic culture and teachings — particularly where women are concerned — I discovered some unexpected parallels with Mormonism that left me feeling increasingly uncomfortable in my own faith and religious culture. It was around that time that I came across a provocative speech by former U.S. President Jimmy Carter in which he stated:
“This view that women are somehow inferior to men is not restricted to one religion or
belief. It is widespread. Women are prevented from playing a full and equal role in many
faiths. Nor, tragically, does its influence stop at the walls of the church, mosque,
synagogue or temple. This discrimination, unjustifiably attributed to a Higher Authority,
has provided a reason or excuse for the deprivation of women’s equal rights across the
world for centuries. The male interpretations of religious texts and the way they interact
with, and reinforce, traditional practices justify some of the most pervasive, persistent,
flagrant and damaging examples of human rights abuses.”
Although most Mormon women I know would balk at language such as “human rights abuses” or suggestions that they are inferior in their faith, attending a few Norwegian Lutheran and Community of Christ services and seeing women officiating as priests, contrasted with my discovery of some striking similarities between Islamic and Mormon teachings on gender roles, caused me to ask- really ask- myself questions like I never had before. Was I prevented from playing a full and equal role in my faith? Do I, as a woman, really have any more influence within Mormonism than the average Muslim woman has in her faith community? After looking beyond extreme examples of violence and blatant gender inequality in the Muslim world, I realized that the limits they face in their religion were reflected in my own.
As a woman in Norway, I have many more opportunities and freedoms in my European society than my sisters in Saudi Arabia have in theirs. But within our respective religions, we are both excluded from authority purely on grounds of our gender. Any God-given talent for organizational development that we may possess becomes, ultimately, irrelevant where religion is concerned. Both Mormonism and Islam hold to the notion that women are equal, yet different — their justification for excluding them from full participation and authority. And both, in my opinion, fail to realize that this exclusion has consequences, even though, sadly, they remain largely unseen and unexplored.
I admire those who attempt to carve out a place for heterodoxy or progressive development within Mormonism, just as I admire those Muslims who are engaged in open discussion about the modernization of Islam. Within both faiths, the price is high for those who criticize or initiate debate. For Mormons, it can mean the breakup of a marriage, strained family relationships, loss of friendships, being ostracized by local society, or at the very least some pretty heavy guilt trips. For Muslims the consequences are much the same, though in some areas of the world much more severe.
Though reconciliation with the faith in which I was raised seems as elusive as ever, this past year I learned to look into the eyes of someone and truly feel at one with them by viewing them through a lens that is untainted by a perceived moral or religious superiority. And maybe for the first time in my life, I feel like a real member of humanity as I have become more conscious of the fact that although we all have our individual cultures, values, faith and beliefs, we are all, ultimately, in the same boat of life.
Our unlikely meeting has enriched our lives for the better and though I know that Habib thinks that he has profited the most from it, I’m not so sure that is true. For him, it meant finding a sister who can help him with the practical needs of every day life, the challenge of becoming integrated in a new society, as well as the emotional support of a caring and listening ear. For me, it was gaining a new brother who, without even realizing it, opened up a new world of spiritual thought and opportunity to serve others during some of their most vulnerable times of life, which has allowed me to experience love and compassion for others at a higher level. For both of us, it was a family connection that neither of us could have ever expected or imagined — one that I hope will last for eternity.
Thank you Claire and Claudia. Even though I already know this story, I’m inspired by it again every time I hear it.
“A little over a year ago, after reading in the local newspaper that what many of these refugees need most from the local community is not donations of clothes or furniture, but someone to actually spend time with them, I decided to get in touch with the centre.”
Claudia, you have taught me that this is the key to any successful effort–whether by government, charity, church or individual–to assist those in need: spending time with them. Throwing $ helps, sure, but the sharing of personal histories and building bridges through relationships saves both the giver and the recipient.
Ed, the same quote from Claudia’s essay struck me as being the same thought that inspired my friend Allison with the Lazurus project… not just donating items for homeless people, but actually GOING OUT and meeting them, serving them with our actual hands and feet as Jesus did. Not just writing a check, but asking someone their name and where they are from and getting to know them. Humanizing them. It’s amazing what transformations can happen when we are willing to go outside our comfort zones, our us vs. them mentality. As Claudia demonstrates, the transformations are in both parties.
That’s a good point, Claire, about the transformations being in both parties. Just as I know Norwegians have stereotypes and prejudices towards refugees, I also know that many of these refugees have the same about Norwegians. Many of them complain about Norwegians being so cold and unfriendly. On the surface, it can certainly seem that way to those who come from cultures known for their warmth and hospitality — the type of culture where it’s normal and expected to invite strangers into your home and treat them as honoured guests, as is the norm in Afghanistan, for instance. Here in Norway, it’s not uncommon to not even know your neighbour. But once a connection is made, perceptions change on both sides. One is even able to examine one’s own cultural traits in a new light, for better or for worse.
Loved reading this, thanks for sharing Claudia!
This is wonderful, thought-provoking stuff. I very strongly feel that the way women are treated unequally and kept from leadership positions is indeed due to the same sexist ways of thinking that once prevented women from voting and holding public office. Your experiences are really remarkable and interesting, and I admire your honesty.
Claudia, thank you for this beautiful and thought-provoking post. This especially resonates with me:
“Though reconciliation with the faith in which I was raised seems as elusive as ever, this past year I learned to look into the eyes of someone and truly feel at one with them by viewing them through a lens that is untainted by a perceived moral or religious superiority. And maybe for the first time in my life, I feel like a real member of humanity as I have become more conscious of the fact that although we all have our individual cultures, values, faith and beliefs, we are all, ultimately, in the same boat of life.”
As you noted in your post, there is a real, and sometimes heartbreaking, cost for questioning or stepping out of the boundaries of our faiths; however, there is also something gained — a greater knowledge of the interconnectedness of all life and, for me and, I think, for you, a greater sense of compassion and love for others.
The Jimmy Carter quote is amazing…
I think Carter is on to something, though, when he points out that sexism (or racism, or homophobia, or poverty, or any form of oppression or tyranny) is not a part of any one religion. I guess I look at them as symptoms of human sinfulness, different manifestations of the same tendency to deny or suppress our interconnectedness. Sexism as not possible, once men see that their own greatest good is not possible where women are shut down; nor when women come into a full realization of their own power, and recognize that the world needs what they have to offer. The same is true of racism or homophobia or another other form of oppression.
If religion touches us, if it moves us, it is because it opens us up to the interconnections that bind us all together, that make us realize that we all share the same, common humanity and the same destiny, and that we will either be saved or damned together.
Sin is deep, though… It thrives on fear and isolation, and there’s a lot of both in our world. And sin can touch the very institutions (like the Church) that are supposed to help us overcome it.
I’m not sure that salvation lies in the path of rejecting religion though, but in practicing true religion.
Great stuff, John. So what is “true religion”–undefiled before God? to visit the sick, the widows, etc.?
That definition of true religion from James chapter 1 is one of the classic definitions…!
Thanks, everyone, for your comments.
“Throwing $ helps, sure, but the sharing of personal histories and building bridges through relationships saves both the giver and the recipient.”
Very true, Ed. Money helps, but it’s not everything. As the experiences I’ve had the past year have sometimes changed my way of thinking and viewing things, I’ve come to appreciate the value of sharing stories. It was the stories of Habib and the others that had such an impact on me, and the more involved I got, the more compelled I felt to do something, as futile as my attempts to have a real impact seem sometimes. I’m happy to report that after almost 2 years of torturous uncertainty, Habib finally got the news at the end of January that he will be allowed to stay in Norway. Unfortunately, he is one of very few. Habib is strong, with a fierce will to survive and be independent. Some of the others we know are younger, more vulnerable, and lack his knowledge, education and language skills. Many of them are victims of politics and injustice — both in their homelands and in this one. Recently I started a blog (in Norwegian, unfortunately, but there’s always Google translator :) ), called Refugee in Norway: the human stories behind Norway’s asylum cases.
“I’m not sure that salvation lies in the path of rejecting religion though, but in practicing true religion.”
I agree, John. I’m just not sure at this point in my life how I agree. Maybe I’m just becoming more cynical the older I get, but I’m not sure that I have much hope of people — particularly Muslims and Mormons — being able to extract true religion from their dogma. And maybe the hardest part is defining exactly what “true religion” is.
I like the Dalai Lama’s definition, he said, “My true religion is kindness.”
John, I do agree with you, however, I see religion less as a repository of truth and more as a tool or a set of methods — Marilynne Robinson calls it a framework that asks a set of questions. Within those methods, one may find the inspiration and discipline needed to find God and love others, but I think everyone’s path is different. My husband finds that inspiration within the Mormon church, as do many people that I love and respect. For me, it was a struggle and I have found other methods open me to practicing true religion.
Heidi, that reminds me of a quote I have by the Dalai Lama on my Facebook profile, which describes what I believe.
“My true religion, my simple faith is in love and compassion. There is no need for complicated philosophy, doctrine, or dogma. Our own heart, our own mind, is the temple. The doctrine is compassion. Love for others and respect for their rights and dignity, no matter who or what they are – these are ultimately all we need.”
But as you pointed out with your husband, it’s different for all of us. I don’t believe religion is “one size fits all,” regardless of what the LDS Church says. But it can be hard for many Mormons or Muslims to hear there is no need for a temple, no need for complicated doctrine, etc, as the Dalai Lama says. One thing that I’ve become more conscious of is just how much our religious experience is affected by our culture and surroundings. When I was an orthodox Mormon, I think I probably thought that the LDS style of worship and way of life would fit like a glove on anyone from anywhere in the world who just tried living it. But now I realize that’s as foreign a concept to many as wearing a hijab and praying 5 times a day is to me. Anything is possible, of course — just last night I met an ethnic Norwegian man who converted from Catholicism to Islam after spending time in the Arab world — but most of us would probably feel like a fish out of water in a faith that is drastically different from what we were raised in.
I like what you say about religion providing us a set of tools for finding answers rather than the answers themselves…
Heidi – this is so much in line with what has been on my mind lately. My world is really, so small, and in those moments that it opens up I realize that one faith or any one way of coming to God doesn’t make any sense. We are such a diverse group, with different histories, experiences, cultures, mental illnesses, strengths and weaknesses. All He wants is for us to be kind, to love, and to find our way in whatever manner works for us. “Adam fell that men might be; and men are, that they might have joy”.
I just wanted to post the link to the “Prisoner of the Road” video that I referred to in the post. That link didn’t work for some reason, but you should be able to access it here. It’s a powerful song and video by Norwegian artist Sivert Høyem, composed for Norway’s “TV-aksjon 2010.” The lyrics, combined with the images and Høyem’s expressive voice tend to soften hearts. Every year, Norwegians donate to a specific charitable organization. There is a TV program dedicated to the cause and people go from door-to-door collecting donations. It takes in millions and millions of kroner and in 2010, the lucky charity was the Norwegian Refugee Council. All the proceeds from Høyem’s song go to the NRC and it can be purchased on iTunes for anyone who is interested.
I’ve really enjoyed reading parts of your blog, and this article. The tension in the moniker “Faithful Dissident” describes me perfectly at this point….I’m going to enjoy going through your blog to see what knocked you out of Stage 3 and into Stage 4 and Stage 5 and back and forth again…
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