by Rev. Rune Marie Nielsen
Sitting between the theologically-heavy seasons, the liturgical months called Ordinary Time (known as the “Time after Pentecost” for Lutherans such as myself) can seem like empty space on the church calendar. However, Ordinary Time can be the perfect opportunity to try new events and establish relationships beyond your congregation. It’s a wonderful opening to consider offering interfaith experiences for your church, especially to build up relationships with our non-Protestant and non-Christian neighbors. If local customs permit, you can even ask other religious leaders if church members can visit their worship site, as well as invite members of their religion to yours. I pray that this article will spark your curiosity about different religions and inspire you to broaden your knowledge about our non-Christian neighbors who are part of the beautifully diverse tapestry called humanity.
I took a class on Buddhism while earning my undergraduate degree at an American university. When I told acquaintances I was taking the course, they would assume that I was converting to Buddhism. Their default assumption was that as a white person, I was either atheist or Christian, and that wanting to learn about a different religion was a declaration that I was done with Christianity. I was surprised by the misconception that studying another religion was the same as believing in it.
I love world religions. It doesn’t mean I am a member of those religions or follow the doctrines and practices they do. I would like to note that most religions have a wide variety of expressions. Just as Christianity has multiple branches, denominations, and congregations, each religious group can be different from others in the same religion and should not be assumed to represent every single worship unit within that religion.
My seminary in Hong Kong offered courses on Judaism and Islam. They were some of the most popular classes because students were eager to learn how those religions functioned, what their relationship to Christianity has been, and most importantly, what their relationship to Christianity could become.
Hong Kong’s Lutheran Theological Seminary (not affiliated with seminaries of similar names around the world) is located on To Fung Shan (known as Tao Fong Shan in Mandarin). The Chinese name means Mountain of Holy Wind or Mountain of Holy Spirit. The Tao Fong Shan Christian Centre next door was founded by Buddhist nuns who became Lutheran after getting to know missionaries from Scandinavia.
Some ties to Buddhism also remain, primarily in the architecture of the Christian Centre’s sanctuary. It was purposely built to mimic a Buddhist-Taoist temple, albeit adorned with Christian symbols. Images of a racially Chinese Jesus and the twelve disciples in traditional Chinese dress proclaim that Jesus is relevant for every context and culture. From the remote location of the seminary, you can see another religious institution before you even head into the city. A a Buddhist monastery on a nearby mountain is visible from the seminary grounds. Similarly, the monks of the monastery can see the seminary’s twenty-foot-tall cross from their location.
In my life before Hong Kong, my previous experience with other religions involved visiting Shinto shrines in Japan. I remember the grace of shrine maidens dressed in red and white hibakama that embodied a calm yet inspiring presence I wanted to emulate as a pastor. The majority of Japanese identify as both Shinto and Buddhist, with shrines in every town. Only with a tiny percentage of the population are Christians (1.5%), mostly located around Nagasaki.
However, in Hong Kong, the world’s fourth most densely populated city, religious institutions are much closer together than many other countries. Packed with over seven million people, only 24% of Hong Kong’s 430 square miles (1,114 square km.) area is inhabited because the rest of the terrain is steep mountains. On the morning train, I often saw girls whose uniforms were modeled after traditional, loose-fitting qipaos, which designated that they attended a Buddhist girls’ school. I also saw many plaid Catholic uniforms with crosses embroidered on their front pockets.
On the streets outside any train station, I would sometimes see Buddhist monks or nuns seated on sidewalks. They sat serenely with their begging bowls, unyielding to the stuffy summer heat as they fulfilled their sacred duty. The colours of their robes indicated which branch of Buddhism they belonged to. Grey and blue were most common, representing the local zen-influenced traditions of East Asia. Traveling monks from southern Asia wore robes of orange and yellow, their bright colours standing out on crowded trains and walkways.
At the busy intersection near the headquarters of the Hong Kong Christian Council where I worked in the radio ministry, I walked by the largest of Hong Kong’s seven mosques. It was adorned with elegant Arabic letters and gold spires that glistened even in the rain. I’d been privileged to see the inside of the mosque as well. My seminary professors introduced me to an interfaith network that connected people of several faiths with monthly visits to different places of worship. Through one of their events hosted by the mosque, I observed how the daily prayers echoed beautifully throughout the white marble corridors.
At the interfaith network events, The followers of each religion spoke about their faith and engaged with all of us in meaningful conversation and joyful fellowship. I witnessed the generosity of Sikhism, in which meal time after every worship was open to the public, a sign of blessings shared for any and all. I felt a communal sense emphasizing that everyone was equal, as we all sat on the floor eating from trays heaped high with hot sabzi vegetable mix and flat bread. All adults, regardless of gender, were required to wear head coverings in their house of worship. The traditional head coverings include turbans in various styles for men and women or head scarves for women. The Sikhs always welcomed the homeless to their meals, who came covering their heads with baseball caps and jacket hoods.
Some assumptions I held about other religions were disproven. I’d thought of Hinduism as a patriarchal religion, yet the leader of a Hindu ashram we visited was a woman. Her assistants kneeled on the floor each time they approached her, showing their devotion. We also learned about Buddhist groups who revered women figureheads. We spoke with a group of Buddhists who worshipped female Bodhisattvas (heralds of the Buddha) and had leadership structures open to all genders. Decorative scrolls and painted paper screens depicted the heavenly women in soft, flowing strokes, appearing as if the sacred women were floating in the air.
Another one of my assumptions was disproven when I walked into our gathering at a Baha’i fellowship. I expected to meet a presenter with a religious title, only to find out that Baha’i is a religion that believes there should be no clergy. What I had considered a universal premise—that religion naturally requires anointed leaders—was totally wrong. I remember flipping through the Baha’i youth songbook and finding some songs I was familiar with from church events growing up! Some Baha’i beliefs overlap with Christian ones, meaning our praises to God also resonate with members of the Baha’i religion.
On other occasions, I visited non-Protestant Christian churches as part of a seminary class about Christian worship. One of the services we attended was for a Russian Orthodox congregation. Their gathering of fewer than thirty people met in a small space they rented in a twenty-story office building. Like any other Russian Orthodox sanctuary, worshippers kissed the floor, affirming that they were on holy ground. The wall behind the altar was decorated like a traditional Chinese gate with a block lattice pattern, a tribute to their Hong Kong roots. Women covered their heads while in the sanctuary. A five-person choir sang for most of the three-hour service. Partway through the service, a choir member slid off her head covering as she left and slipped it back on as she returned shortly with water bottles in a seven-eleven bag.
When we toured a Catholic convent and retreat centre, we were greeted by the local sisters who were Hong-Kongers of Chinese descent. Chinese calligraphy adorned the hallways. A single wooden fence separated their labyrinth garden from a major highway. If you closed your eyes, you could pretend the roar of the cars going by was flowing water. The nuns there had grown used to the noise, proving that tranquility is a state of mind, not something dependent on outer conditions.
It is possible (and preferable) to do more than tolerate or coexist with other religions. I despise the use of tolerate, as it denotes putting up with something you don’t like. Coexistence is slightly better, as it suggests acknowledging that other religions exist, albeit with a neutral stance. I would like us to work towards harmony instead. Harmony is love, being good neighbors, and putting both our similarities and differences together in a community. We don’t have to give up our identities as Christians to love and appreciate other religions. We don’t have to redo our belief system. We just have to open our hearts.
Rev. Rune Marie Nielsen is a pastor, writer, and illustrator who seeks to show ‘a glimpse of divine eternity’ in her work. Educated in Hong Kong, Rune finds creativity in both the complex and simple aspects of life, from meditation and theology to the bowl of noodles she ate for lunch. To view Pastor Rune’s artwork, visit runepainter.com.
