Why Interfaith? by Andrew Wingate with Pernilla Myrelid

This book is a large collection of more than 30 articles, assembled from around Northern Europe, subtitled, Stories, reflections and challenges from recent engagements in Northern Europe. As I go through it again, involving as it does different churches, different faiths, and different contexts and themes, it strikes me that it would be most interesting to put together another volume today, about responses to COVID-19, and the way we are facing up to this, in different ways. The already- published book is dated 2016, and is a very inspiring catalogue of hope, involving many writers, and I remain inspired to read them again. How do they stand in face of the present seeming tsunami of disasters?

I turn only to the closing chapter, which we wrote jointly, ‘Pointers to the Future.’ There is much to encourage us, and tell us not to be afraid, as we reach out to cross barriers, and we quote 1 John 1:18, that ‘perfect love casts out all fear’. At the heart of so many of the stories here, we conclude, is the meeting of a person or persons across faiths or cultures. ‘Every person is a gift to our common life in this world’ the Archbishop of the Church of Sweden, Antje Jackelen, in a strong commendation of the book, quotes the words of Martin Luther, ‘The world is full of God. In every alley, at your own door, you find Christ. Do not stare into heaven.’

How does the power of these chapters hold up, covering as they do, all faiths everywhere from Ireland to Iceland, under the present onslaught on us all from the coronavirus? Everywhere seems in chaos, our news is filled every day with stories of darkness, our churches, mosques, temples, are all closed until further notice; where are we going?

Some experiences today

I have been struck by how much goodwill there seems to be around in these last weeks. I write from East Sussex, from Lewes, near Brighton, where we are now living. Normally, in the road where we live, people do not talk much with each other. They appear to have moved here to be alone, and not to wish to engage. But since COVID-19 struck, though we are mostly in social isolation, being seniors, we now smile much more to each other, and greet each over the two-metre distance, often across the road, or from a garden to the pavement outside. I go each morning to collect my newspaper, and we stand outside, in an orderly queue, and catch up on news before we are allowed into the shop, just two at a time. So also when we go for the permitted once a day walk up the hills, or through the fields, or by the sea, we pass each other at a respectful distance, but say hello, and share something.

There is more community today than there ever was.

And, as an extended family, we meet with my three children, and five grandchildren on Skype and on a WhatsApp group that includes my son and daughter in law, and granddaughter and son, who come in from Tanzania where they are living, with Matthew being country director for the International Rescue Committee, with 330,000 refugees from Africa. Mercifully so far there has been no coronavirus in the camps. Yesterday, we all met over a Sunday evening meal, closer than we have ever been. This included my first daughter working for the NHS in Brighton, who also goes swimming in the sea; she cannot now go in a group, but can swim with just one person, a place of mutual support.

So also with church groups. No, we cannot worship together in the same building. But I have received several most moving worship services, streamed and sent to me online. And also meditations, such as those sent to me each week, by a close friend, Peter Millar, of the Iona Community, suffering from very serious cancer, so in double lockdown, but who can revive many of us with his special meditations. I think too of mails I have received from Copenhagen, from Anglican worship services, led by a close Indian priest-friend, Smitha Prasadam. And a call this morning from the USPG Asia Secretary, out of the blue – the staff are working from home, but calling their various networks.

And across faiths, I receive immense encouragement from Muslim friends in Leicester. A group of us – 10 Muslims, 10 Christians, 1 Buddhist – made a very special pilgrimage to Istanbul and Eastern Turkey, some 10 years ago. This has all come back to me, these last weeks, when the BBC has shown a special pilgrimage journey, from Serbia to Istanbul, made by people of four different faiths and of no religious faith. We have phoned each other with delight when we have all seen this same programme, distanced apart, but associated spiritually with each other.

So we can go on, hope in a time of great darkness.

A further reflection

We have heard much during these weeks about it being an unprecedented time, such as we have never experienced before. That may be so, in terms of the darkness and confusion that seems to surround us, and to be widespread. It inevitably raises the question, will we ever come out of it? Is there still hope? Can there be light at the end of darkness, at the end of the tunnel?

It is a time, when locked in, when we have the energy, to read large books, that so often we do not have time for. And here, there can be unexpected connections. I will particularly mention two books that were on my bookshelf, and now I have taken them down. The first is Black Earth, not yet read, but highly recommended to me, as a chronicle of the implantation of the Nazi dream across Eastern Europe, of the extermination of the Jews. The second, of which I have read all, is by Jeremy Dronfield, entitled, The Boy who followed his father into Auschwitz: a true story (Penguin books, 2019). It is the story of the arrest in pre-war Vienna, after Kristelnacht, of a Jewish father and son, and the story of their journey over the next seven years, through numerous concentration camps, and imprisonments, and extermination centres, until eventually, they found each other again in a liberated Vienna. It is a saga of darkness, and incredible escapes, and much kindness of those who helped, across much of Europe. And it all takes place against the backdrop of a continent in turmoil, both during the war and in the anguish of the aftermath, as it took years to return to normality.

After reading this, it is strange to turn to the present, and all the confusion, and darkness that surrounds us today.

Can we come out of this today? The response, after reading such a book, is ‘Yes, yes, yes!’ This is the Christian hope, as we move forward now following Passiontide, Holy Week, Good Friday, and Easter. It is not, however, just a Christian hope, but one shared with our fellow believers from different faiths, that God will uphold us, if we hold on and remain faithful.

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Each day, we will post a short article by one of Darton, Longman and Todd’s amazing authors, offering a personal reflection on our current situation in life. Sometimes this will be written with reference to one of their books, and sometimes about how they are living in response to the coronavirus and our current world situation. We hope it will give you a taste of the depth and diversity of DLT’s list – books for heart, mind and soul that aim to meet the needs and interests of all.

Today’s post is by Andrew Wingate, with Church of Sweden priest Pernilla Myrelid, editors of Why Interfaith?: Stories, Reflections and Challenges from recent engagements in Northern Europe, which you can buy here.