"That Chapel."
I don't have to tell you which chapel that refers to. You don't even have to go to Spring Arbor University. If you've been to a Christian institution that has a chapel, you know what "That Chapel" means.
My freshman year, "That Chapel" was about homosexuality, and why allowing "the gays" into our churches would cause Jesus to take away our place in Heaven and fight us with the sword of his mouth. As I studied Revelation the next year, I found a distinct lack of textual support for much of that chapel, and so every word of it slipped me by, and it was relegated into that dusty folder into the back of my mind which every Millennial keeps for random bigotry: useless, worthless, false, and to be ignored.
My sophomore year, I must have missed whatever "That Chapel" was - I remember the buzz, but I don't even remember what for. Must have slipped out of that old dusty folder. It came, it went, and whatever profound injustice caused my blood to boil went unopposed.
This year, especially now, we all know what "That Chapel" was. Cynthia Khan, who's career working with the Muslim population of Detroit has spanned 20 years and who lived, for a significant portion of her life, in Saudi Arabia before immigrating to the United States, delivered a message on the dangers of intermarriage between Islam and Christendom, a vision of Allah as the anti-Jesus, and a slideshow as long as (it seemed) it was filled with rhetoric that, from my liberal position, looked much more like the propaganda used at a Donald Trump rally than it did the well-researched reflections of a woman who's spent most of her mostly successful, very legitimate ministry experience interacting with the faith communities.
And, like you all, I was outraged. I still am. For many in the audience, the narrative of Christianity as the faith of bigots has been lent an undeniable point of reference. For those educated on the precepts of Islam in a classroom, the reactions seem to be disgust and loathing - and rightly they should, I think, if what I and many other members of Spring Arbor's community believe to be true, is true. If Mrs. Khan's presentation represents the school's official view on Islam, and Mrs. Khan's position is what we all heard in that chapel - that Muslim men seem to be implicitly looking at women only as a path to citizenship and a potential convert, and that this is the norm among all sectors of Islam, or that Islam worships a God that in all ways is opposite of our own - we should be upset.
I'm no longer convinced that's what she was saying. I've met with Ron, I've met with people from the other side of the aisle, and I think this story will run another week. Look, around (hopefully) Monday next week, for a story about that chapel. Today, however, I heard something that wounded me more deeply to the core than anything I've heard from a chapel stage. It's caused me to re-evaluate my dusty old folder, to shake the dust off of it and look at it with a level of reflection I have never been provoked to before.
We're more than 24 hours out from "That Chapel" this year, and the social media buzz has been enormous. More people shared my status, professing my outrage over the view of God presented, than have shared anything I've posted in months. Dr. Chia's post likewise made the rounds. Yet, in all this time, with all this buzz, as I sat across from the Chaplain today, he looked me dead in the eye and told me that I was only the second person to talk to him - and I happen to know who the first was, and it was over an impromptu lunch meeting. He has not received a single message or email. The campus shouted to each other, but when it came time to put rubber to the road, to talk it out with the people who could address it, we've been silent.
As I look back at my three years here, it's not hard to believe. I didn't send Ron an email when a chapel speaker called all homosexuals children of the devil. I got mad and I did nothing. I didn't sit down and talk face-to-face with anyone at any of the other times I've had a bug in my ear, because to write about it on Facebook seems to be easier. We are all about easy, as a student body, but it's time for us to do something hard.
A few walked out. I applaud you. Most sat silently, and judged. I was one of those many until the last two or three minutes of the presentation.
I've seen this quote floating around for the better part of two weeks. It's from Desmond Tutu, a fascinating character all by himself.
If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.
If we stand by silently, we are neutral. If we never dialogue, we will never understand. I hope to get the slides that Cynthia presented on in chapel, and I intend (if I do get those slides) to write an article about the ideas presented that takes into account both the moral imperative to stamp out injustice and the cultural lens that forces me to see issues of xenophobia in everything. I think a woman who has done ministry serving food and providing for basic needs in Muslim communities for 20 years deserves that. I doubt I will agree with her on everything, but she, as a minister of God, deserves to be heard out with grace.
I will continue to stand up and proclaim that what the student body heard last Monday was, as I have said before, not the character of my God. What we heard wasn't. I'm curious as to whether what she said might have been. In the meantime, my admonition is to us: when you see injustice, don't stick it in that dusty "That Chapel" folder and forget about it. You do yourself, the communities of the oppressed, and the real human being on the stage a grave disservice in doing so. We have to listen, we have to remain unified, or we are guilty of the very thing we accuse better men and women than ourselves of doing.
Don't be silent. Send an email.