<- Yeah, yeah, it's huge, I know; but this is really important to me, so if you have the time to spare, I'd appreciate it if you could read it and comment. Danke! :) ->

    From as early an age as I can remember, I’ve always been particularly fascinated by faith, and how such a global concept has spawned so many different and varying religions. Up until the age of 12, I studied my own faith, concepts, doctrines, and scriptures extensively. Raised in a Mormon household that cherished constant questioning and evaluation of faith, this was encouraged and within the structure of the Mormon church resources for study abounded. I was one of the few who generally enjoyed my two hours of Sunday School classes each weekend, even if my eager nature irritated some of my teachers when I would vehemently disagree with them on certain historical or theoretical aspects of biblical interpretation.

    This came to a head when I was twelve years old and I had the opportunity to travel to Europe for the first time in my life. At that point I was living in Tucson, Arizona and, looking back, everything came together beautifully. My Sunday School class full of 11 and 12 year olds was fortunate enough to be taught by a woman who had several masters degrees in history, religion, and philosophy. I believe she even had a PhD in religious studies on top of all those other qualifications. She was a huge inspiration to me – suddenly each Sunday was set free from the usual textbook lessons, allowing us to delve deeply into the finite aspects of history, translation, doctrine, and cultural interpretation throughout the ages. I’ve never had a teacher like her since. My favorite memory of her was when we were discussing varying beliefs on the after life. Rather than take the “easy” way out and blanketly saying, “We Mormons are right and all others are wrong,” she instead took the high road, and likened world religious beliefs on death to various translations of the original texts of the Bible. It got incredibly complicated, but she made it understandable, summing the day’s studies up with quotes from famous philosophers. Although most of my fellow students despised that class, I was in heaven whenever I was able to talk to Sister Morgan. And she was the inspiration for what led to an intense period of my life across the Atlantic ocean.

    At that young age I decided it was high time that I truly separate myself from all preconceived notions on doctrine and faith, study as much as I possibly could, and make a full conscious decision as to which faith I agreed with in my heart. I knew I had a testimony of Christianity and of the Mormon faith in particular – after all, I’d studied for years in order to reach the decision at the age of 8 to take the name of Christ upon myself and be baptized, something I then and still do take very seriously. But, thanks to Sister Morgan’s influence, I knew I could not be complacent in my faith, and this led perfectly into the opportunity presented by my Father’s career in the Air Force to live in Italy for a short period of time. I left Tucson for a few months in the autumn of 1998, and then again in the spring of 1999, with the intent that I would study whatever I could while in one of the heartlands of Judaism and Christianity. I studied, I traveled, I prayed; I saw Pope John Paul II at the Vatican, I went to synagogues throughout the Venetian giettos, I stared into the skull of Saint Luke in Rome, I smelt death in the gas chambers at Dachau. I approached all of this with an open mind, setting aside my history with the Mormon church, investigating as if with the intention of conversion. And at the end of my time in Italy, I returned to study my own faith anew, this time from the outside. I saw the temples in Kirtland, Mesa, Salt Lake; I read the writings of Joseph Smith, Brigham Young, and the modern prophets.

    Needless to say, when I returned, I found a renewed faith in Christianity, and after some time, a renewed intensity of belief in most of what the Mormon church had to offer. I felt reassured, that I was no longer a blind follower but someone who had dedicated years of their life to confirming their faith. I was questioning everything, not just to find a name for my faith, but to acquaint myself with God on a very personal level. But despite my decision to remain a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, I was emboldened with a new respect for the faith of others. I caught a glimpse of what would later become very important to me.

    I have never considered myself to be much of an outwardly religious person. I rarely find personal inspiration in outlandish ceremony, I don’t have much patience for proselytizing, I have absolutely no respect for “Bible Bashing.” Even upon my last business trip to Utah, most of my associates were shocked to find I was a Mormon, saying I showed no typical outward signs of the traditionally missionary-minded faith. Even this blog entry is a remarkable departure for me into foreign territory – I’m perfectly happy to discuss the finer points of religion with anyone, but only if invited. All the same, even if I may not show it on the outside at all times, I have more respect for faith and religion than perhaps anything else. I believe in the sanctity of the spirit, and in every individual’s inherent right to decide what is right for them, what speaks to their soul, and to react to such inspiration how they see fit. I believe faith to be a personally quiet experience, yet as a whole it speaks with greater force and eloquence than enything else on this Earth. When those voices are stifled, when individuals are told they no longer have the right to question their faith, when mocking becomes the order of the day, it personally insults me, no matter who the victim is or what their belief. When someone makes light of an individual’s right to make spiritual decisions, it’s incredibly serious and seriously wrong.

    All the same, I never realized just how personally I could take it, or just how much it could sting. This was surprising to me when a few days ago my decision to be baptized was criticized and the importance of that decision mocked. This wasn’t the first time my faith had been used as a weapon by others; when my family and I moved to Mississippi when I was a child, everyone in the small town of Vicksburg seemed to know that Mormons were moving to the Army post even before we got there. We were denied housing outside the post, I was constantly surrounded by whispers at school; to make matters worse, every day for two years as I played with my neighborhood friends, two boys aged three and five would take it upon themselves to remind me that I was going to burn in Hell. As one woman told me on the street, I “might as well be a negro,” – quite a telling statement from The Deep South. My childish heart shrugged it off; rather than be hurt, I instead pitied their lack of understanding, feeling sorry for their bitter hatred that blinded so many opportunities for friendship, be it over religion or race. At school I took to playing on the playground for the African American children, associating with them rather than deal with the hatred of others, and I was happy. It didn’t sting, and I thought I would always feel that way. I thought I could rise above personal slight.

    Apparently now with age and perhaps a little more experience, a little more intensity of faith, things hurt more than I ever thought they could. That pain in my heart was a surprise, one I did not know how to handle. I always tried to remember that people aren’t perfect, people sometimes can be apathetic and ignorant. But you would think that with as globalized as our society has become, more people would make an effort to understand our differences so that we will no longer fear them in ignorance. Information flows so freely at such speeds as never before seen. Why can’t we channel that efficiency of knowledge into cultural and religious understanding so that these stinging feelings in the heart of the faithful no longer have to come to pass?

    I’ve been trying to take my own advice; I have been to some degree or another since those days I spent in Europe as a young teenager. I never truly concluded my studies, even when I reached the conclusion that I would remain a Mormon for the time being. I kept a list of religions I intended to study, and I have never stopped trying to work my way through them. At the moment, thanks to the inspiration of my good friend Jay, I’ve been studying Hinduism. It’s a remarkable faith, the oldest continually operating religion in history. He was kind enough to invite me to a religious holiday in August to honor Lord Ganesh, and I’m really excited about it. It’s bringing back memories of those years that I participated in Jewish holidays with my good friends the Madsens in Tucson. Those early years of study taught me something that I will never forget, something that I believe is integral to that age-old desire for world peace. Or, at least, I like to think so.

    You see, I believe I am in a unique position in that, even though I was raised a Mormon, even though I’m a Christian, when it comes right down to it, I believe that all religions are true. Perhaps this is why I have never felt any hard feelings toward those of other faiths, perhaps this is why I so readily and happily participate in any religious holiday so long as I am welcome. I’m thrilled about Ganesh Pooja, just as I was when I took part in Passover, when I sang the hymns of Eucharist at Saint Peters, when I went to Catholic Mass with a former boyfriend and happily partook of their sacrament services. I have absolute faith in the foundations of each and every religion that teaches honesty and unconditional love. Be it Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, Zoroastrianism, whatever, I believe in it. Granted, there are infinite differences in the practices and detailed semantics of each faith, but in the end, what’s the most important part of each religion? Faith in God, love of your fellow man, loyalty to your morals and standards, and a belief that there is something grander and bigger than any of us that we all must strive to understand. In my mind, anything else is merely a matter of linguistic and social translation.

    How do I reconcile this with history, theology, and the age old questions of where we came from and where we’re going? Well, I like think that God is infinitely wise, merciful, and loving. And perhaps most importantly of all, He (or She or Them or what have you) knows each of us better than we know ourselves, having a perfect knowledge of not only us as individuals, but us as nations. He understands the influences of our upbringing, our societal subconscious and how that plays a part in what we are able to comprehend. In that all major religions have the same eternal truths at their core, I believe anything on top of that was divine inspiration that allowed us all – in our individual societies – to best understand and relate to those eternal truths. Centuries ago, when societies were so vastly insulated and immensely different from one another, it would have been impossible to tell a story to one culture and expect it to perfectly translate to the sensibilities of another. In much the same way, that’s still incredibly difficult today, even as globalized as we are. I believe God understood this, in part because I believe initially it was part of His design for whatever reason (i.e. that whole thing about the Tower of Babel.) I cannot believe that God would leave entire nations of His children to wander simply because their societal patterns differed from another. A wise teacher will relay information in whatever way a student learns best, be it throught sight, sound, or participation. Why wouldn’t God teach His message in ways that would be readily accessible to the audience? And since He knows his audience so well, I believe He can make anything accessible to anyone depending on our cultural upbringing.

    Thus was born our myriad religious practices, holidays, and detailed doctrines. When the end destination is the same, the map we’re provided, our path, and the journey we take is inconsequential – getting there is what matters. Must we all travel the same road? Or can we respect the fact that some must approach God from a different highway than our own? Does it really matter if we call the destination Heaven, the Celestial Kingdom, or Nirvana? Does the name of who we worship matter, be it Heavenly Father, Allah, Vishnu, Ganesh, Guan Di, or Kami? In the end, we are all worshipping a higher power worthy of our respect, faith, devotion and undying love. As Shakespeare said, what’s in a name? Although names are important, I don’t think God would want us to hate each other over such semantics – it’s a name, a name for something that all religious individuals believe in: God. Our creator. A higher being who is wise and loving, who wants to see us reach our full potential. How we worship, what we call whoever it is that we worship, to me that is inconsequential. Worship how you please, call God whatever you like, follow the dictates of your heart – I believe you are just as right as I am, you’re merely following another path to the same ultimate eternal destination. If you believe you will be reincarnated so that you can further your progression along that path, then I believe you will get what your soul desires. If you believe in a heaven where your family is together for all eternity, then I believe this will be yours if you prove yourself worthy. In the end, we’re all going to get wherever it is we’re going by being faithful, good, kind, righteous people while on this Earth, by respecting and loving our God and our fellow man. Any religion that teaches these principles has my respect, love, and admiration.

    I’ve decided to add yet another dream to my list of what I want to do once I am well again. I want to increase the scope of my religious studies, I want to learn more about these doctrinal semantics that currently separate us. I want to travel the world and participate in as many of our varying religious ceremonies and holidays as possible. I want to go on a pilgrimage to Mecca, I want to worship in a Shinto shrine in Japan, I want to again visit the halls of Saint Peters; I want to see Mount Sinai, Calvary Hill, the sacred rivers of India, Beijing’s Temple of Heaven. I want to see it, breathe it, live it, experience it, all so that I can continue to learn and reconcile the many differences that in my mind all seem to point to one gloriously colorful and richly diverse destination. I love the many differences between the religions of the world; I sincerely wish the hatred could be put aside, replaced by education, understanding, respect, and mutual admiration. This stinging in my heart just isn’t necessary, it doesn’t need to exist in the heart of anyone. Malice need not be ascribed to our differences. I think if we could just eliminate this “I’m right, therefore everyone else is wrong” attitude, we could all grow by leaps and bounds, individually, spiritually, and globally.

    That’s how I feel anyway. At times I feel a little solitary in this belief of absolute truth, but I’m okay with that. Am I still a Christian? Yes. Do I know what to name this? No. But I can do without names; I much prefer nameless respect and love to named ignorance and pride.