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Talk about religion

	<p>Lauren&#8217;s column runs biweekly Fridays. She can be reached at l.jackson@cavalierdaily.com. </p>

Lauren’s column runs biweekly Fridays. She can be reached at l.jackson@cavalierdaily.com.

Sitting in a folding chair next to neat piles of saffron, cumin and sumac, a portly man with an unbuttoned linen shirt looked me over as I lingered to take a photo of his vibrant shop. It was early September and, despite the stagnant heat which trapped an often unpleasant mixture of spices and body odor in alleyways, I was eager to explore Jerusalem’s Old City for the first time.

Privy to my excitement and observant of my distinguishing (read: exceptionally dweebish) tourist garb, he saw the insignia on my program-issued backpack and immediately made the association between me and the religion of the school I am studying abroad with.

“You’re a Mormon,” he stated. I looked at him and, without waiting for a sign of affirmation, he continued to vocalize everything he thought he knew about my religion. He told me what I believed. He pointed to things in his shop I would or wouldn’t buy based on a religious code of conduct. He wrapped my faith up nicely in a five-sentence summary. He never asked my name, but when he was finished, he leaned back in his creaky aluminum chair and exuded an air of smugness that said, “I know you.”

The saddest part was, he really thought he did.

Most people who know me also think they know what I believe. They define my faith according to hazy memories of what they learned in an American history class in high school, or the semi-informative 60 Minutes clip they caught when Mitt Romney ran for president. Even among my very closest friends, I can count on one hand the amount of people who have actually taken time to ask me what, exactly, I believe in.

If they did ask, I know they would find something starkly different from what they expected to hear. With open, sincere interest — not critical or aggressive attacks — they would discover a carefully thought out belief system, one that cannot be summarized in five sentences or attributed to the voices of religious leaders. My belief system is something I continually reassess, anxiously analyze and critically evaluate — often for hours at a time.

It is, therefore, deeply offensive to me when both new acquaintances and long-time friends attribute my actions or reduce my opinions to a religion or belief system they have ascribed to me — rather than one I have had the opportunity to articulate myself. In doing so, they undermine the seriousness with which I engage in religious studies and the importance I place on considering questions of ethics and morality.

The crux of the problem arises when they are hesitant to participate in a discussion where I attempt to kindly clarify such misconceptions. Their commitment to the politically correct adage “never talk about religion” and their socially ingrained aversion to the subject causes them to retreat, when instead they should seize an opportune moment of information and connection.

Too often at the University, we assume tolerance is synonymous with respect — that our absolute tolerance for a diversity of religious traditions means we inherently respect belief systems which differ from our own. But how much can you respect something you do not understand? How can you admire what exists only in silence?

This week, my Facebook newsfeed was flooded with posts from University students sharing Frank Bruni’s op-ed for the New York Times titled “Demanding More from College.” In his column, Bruni essentially argues the value of college lies in surrounding oneself with differing perspectives. He believes students must break the tendency to burrow into homogenous groups for personal validation.

I ask, how can we understand how our perspectives differ if we fail to articulate — and inquire — what those perspectives are?

By making “to each his own” the collective mantra of our secular campus, we have closed hard the door which leads to discovering religious common ground in informal conversation. Our reluctance to discuss religion as openly as we discuss race, politics and sexuality on Grounds limits empathetic understanding, inhibits the development of compassion and only fuels our tendency to overgeneralize, stereotype and reduce people to titles and one-word descriptors.

I demand not another seminar or symposium which asks existential questions in an academic context. Rather, I seek a more open public discourse that is not wary of religious or metaphysical curiosity.

I am sick of a tense aura of anxiety emerging when someone uses religious rhetoric — “blessed” instead of “lucky” — in casual conversation. Maybe you don’t believe he or she was blessed by a higher power, but you could try channeling your disagreement into a sincere interest in his or her reason for using the statement. Similarly, instead of being offended by the perceived political incorrectness of someone saying, “I will pray for you,” openly and respectfully ask how he or she believes doing so will help you. These conversations will open up doors to understanding and deeper, more meaningful connections that could not have been fostered otherwise.

In short, I am here, studying abroad in Jerusalem, because I want to exist in a world where it is not taboo to respectfully share the very beliefs and moral codes that drive all of our actions — a world where it is safe to ask questions, express doubts and engage publically with ideas about existence too large to parse on our own. Nothing has more personal implications, more political clout or more international significance than religious beliefs or lack thereof. So why don’t we talk about it?

Lauren’s column runs biweekly Fridays. She can be reached at l.jackson@cavalierdaily.com.

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