Ever since high school, the interfaith movement has meant a lot to me. I was raised in a rural community (well, several) that was (were) primarily white, middle class, and Christian. The summer before I began high school, after moving to a suburb of St. Louis, I took a P.E. class so that I would be able to take choir - an elective for which I didn't have room in my rigorous schedule - in the fall. The first day, I met Nipun. We happened to be sitting at the same table at our class meeting spot, and we started talking. Eventually, we talked about Harry Potter - an obsession of ours, if you will - and the rest, I guess, is history. Nipun is Indian. She was born and raised in a white suburban community, one of only a few South Asian students and the only Hindu at our predominantly-white, almost exclusively-Christian, conservative, "average American" suburban high school.
I would like to say that I just enjoyed making a friend so quickly, but that's not the whole story. I didn't just enjoy being around Nipun, I was fascinated by her. I wanted to know about the religious reasons that she didn't eat meat, and how her family immigrated, and where she worshiped, and whether she spoke Hindi at home, and a million other things. So I asked, and we talked. And I told my family. Even though most of the conversations we had over the course of that summer revolved around our similarities and common interests, I was in love with everything that was different about us.
By our sophomore year, Nipun was one of my closest friends. Among others in our cohort were two Jewish twins, a Mexican-American, and a Filipino-American. We were school-loving, parent-pleasing, Harry Potter-obsessed girls who loved to laugh, and - most importantly - we cared deeply about one another. I have been infinitely blessed by the people God has given me to walk with. High school would have been absolutely miserable without my friends; they made it worth the emotional heartache, overwork, and constant anxiety. I love them, and, no matter where our paths take us, I will love them forever.
I suppose I digress (although digressions often convey more about what we're really trying to say than we think). Our junior year of high school, my friends began a club about interfaith understanding and learning. It was a hard sell to the principal - it smacked of collaboration between church and state (ours was a public school) even though another school club was allowed to hold teacher-led Bible studies on campus. Anyway, it happened. It was short-lived, but it meant a lot to them. It meant a lot to me, too, although I didn't really understand its importance at the time. But more on my interfaith journey later. For now, I was to narrow the focus to something I've been thinking a lot about over the last month. This issue, like all others regarding interfaith questions, begs where, short of universalism, one must let go of multi-faith ideas and cling to the Word of God.
I ask this not only in terms of what is acceptable to consider as truth across boundaries of faith but when considering how we relate to one another. Specifically, at the moment, my thoughts linger on the question of interfaith marriage. I know that re-considering my beliefs on the topic is, by itself, treading dangerous ground. I was raised to believe that marriage is a bond made holy by God. Romantic love is only an extension of Christ's love for us (and ours for Christ). One must not marry selfishly; the aim must be to further the Kingdom of God. Because of this belief, I was always taught that marrying a non-Christian is wrong. The commonly-cited verse in defense of this is 2 Corinthians 6:14:
"Do not be unequally yoked with unbelievers. For what partnership has righteousness with lawlessness? Or what fellowship has light with darkness?"
Those who believe that interfaith marriage is possible turn to 2 Corinthians 7:14:
"For the unbelieving husband is made holy because of his wife, and the unbelieving wife is made holy because of her husband..."
Both verses have context issues. The verse from 2 Corinthians is not explicitly about marriage. The latter comes in the middle of Paul's directions concerning existing married couples in which one person is not a believer.
Considering these things is, of course, a very preliminary step in thinking about interfaith marriage as a whole. The usual questions still exist: in which faith would children be raised, how would you tithe, etc. More importantly, can marriage exist in the God's perfect, intended form between one person who believes that Jesus Christ is the salvation of the world and one who does not?
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