"the multi-colored wisdom of God":
A pentecost paradigm
by Christopher Duraisingh

Today more than ever before, the world cries out for credible signposts that human community is still possible across all that divides us. The anguish across this great nation since the tragic events of September 11, the fears expressed in so many ways as the country became vulnerable to terrorism as no one could ever imagine before, the crowded churches, the peace marches on university campuses, the daily bombings of Afghanistan -- all these are expressions of this longing for some form of a "domination-and-fragmentation-free" human community in the midst of our racial, ethnic, cultural and religious differences.

In this context, "waging reconciliation" is an urgent call and a central aspect of the mission of the church, as the title of the statement from the September meeting of the Episcopal Church's bishops in Burlington, Vt., rightly reminds us. Does not the Book of Common Prayer state, in no uncertain terms, that "the mission of the Church is to restore all people to unity with God and each other in Christ?" Yet it is the stark and painful reality of our times that both in the church and in the world at large diversity itself has become a central problem threatening the very life and unity of the church and the fabric of human community. This is especially true in the West, where unity, harmony and totality tend to be prized at the expense of multiplicity, contingency and particularity.

Still, whether we like it or not, cultural, religious and ethnic pluralism is one of the hallmarks of societies everywhere. Temples, mosques and Gurudwaras of the Sikhs mark the landscapes of several cities in this country. At the same time, we also witness how ambivalent religious traditions can be, for the instrumental use of religion for ethnic, linguistic or nationalist interests is also on the increase. Intolerant forms of fundamentalism in almost all religions, including Christianity, have risen with a destructive force, often fueling inter-ethnic and intra-state violence. What Dean John Arnold of Durham Cathedral -- when he was the President of the European Council of Churches -- said to describe the context for the mission of the Church in Europe is relevant for almost all parts of the world. "Instead of Europeanization of Ulsters," he said with some anguish, "I see all around me Ulsterization of Europe." How true!

As Benjamin Barber writes in Jihad vs. McWorld (Random House, 1995), the centripetal force of globalization and the centrifugal tendency of ethnic, religious and cultural forces operate in tandem and feed upon each other. "Ironically, a world that is coming together pop culturally and commercially is a world whose discrete subnational ethnic and religious and racial parts are also far more in evidence, in no small part as a reaction to McWorld. ... The more 'Europe' hoves into view, the more reluctant and self-aware its national constituents become. What Günter Grass said of Germany -- 'unified, the Germans were more disunited than ever' -- applies in spades to Europe and the world beyond: integrated, it is more disintegral than ever."

Uncertainty drives many to turn to religion in search of identity and stability. As a result, Marc Gopin suggests in Between Eden and Armageddon, (Oxford University Press, 2000), we see two "very different possible futures." On the one hand, "religion's visionary capacity and its inclusion of altruistic values has already given birth to extraordinary leaders, such as Gandhi, King, the Dalai Lama and Bishop Tutu ... inspired to work for a truly inclusive vision that is multicultural and multireligious." On the other hand, this turn to religion has also led to a disintegration of society, painfully apparent in the mass-murders, tortures and "religious financial support" of brutal regimes and the events of September 11. The events of that day cannot be dismissed simply as the act of some mad men nor can we understand it as though it has nothing to do with any religious commitment, even if perverted. Rather, it is an extreme way of putting religious fervor to instrumental use in seeking to destroy a way of life and a value system that one has come to demonize in the light of what one understands as his/her religion or truth. It is a dastardly way of dealing with difference that threatens one's beliefs and values. In many ways, both the demonic act of destruction and a number of immediate responses to the tragedy are indications of an inability to handle difference and negotiate plurality. It is an inability to hold in creative tension the centrifugal and centripetal drives of human communities; it is a failure to hold together the human need for both integration and uniqueness. In both instances healthy pluralism is the casualty.

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Biblical images of God's 'universal design'

The words of Lamin Sanneh, the Yale missiologist, are strikingly relevant in this juncture. He says, "For all of us pluralism can be a rock of stumbling, but for God it is the cornerstone of the universal design." How may we be faithful to God's design through cultivating a pasture of permanent openness to the other, and to the plurality of cultures and traditions, however strange and unsettling they might be? The gospel imperative is always an imperative for a permanent openness to the other, the stranger and the alien. Hospitality to strangers and mutuality of recognition of "the other" is intrinsic to the Christian story of God's love in Christ. Asian theologian Kosuke Koyama argues convincingly that the Gospel is essentially stranger-centered. An inclusive love for the "other" is at the heart of the biblical faith, he argues, and is the defining characteristic of the early church's understanding of the person and work of Christ.

Any theology, to be authentic, must be constantly challenged, disturbed and stirred up by the presence of strangers. In the Hebrew Scriptures, the idea of ger, the stranger, the resident alien, is central to the life of the people of Israel. The way the people of Israel dealt with the diverse strangers among them became the litmus test for their obedience to their God, for they were constantly reminded that they themselves were strangers. And was it not Plato who suggested that the measure of a civilization is the manner in which it treats the strangers and those who are different?

There are some powerful images in the Biblical tradition that give us some clues as to how we may deal with diversity and negotiate in a plural world. First, there is the image of Babel, the classic paradigm for the centripetal force of a form of globalization and integration that tends to destroy difference. It is the symbol of human quest for the monological. The search is for a single language, for the singular and unitary truth in terms of which the rest could be interpreted and assimilated. The very language of those who want to build the tower is oppositional in intent, against God, against other humans and creation. It values the unitary and homogenous. It orders reality hierarchically. It cannot tolerate being at the margins. It celebrates the self-sameness. It is the symbol of domination, and possessive power over everything else.

Then there is the tendency manifested during the post-exilic time of Ezra, for example, in which the passion for the unique identity and exclusive particularity of Israel as a covenant community leads to what we may call today an ethnic cleansing. Clear boundaries are erected; lines are drawn; outsiders are clearly identified. In preserving itself as a sacred community and a holy people, it lost its compassion for those who were different, racially, culturally and religiously. Thus the biblical records remind us of the dangers of both the centripetal and centrifugal forces -- the quest for assimilation and the quest for exclusive identity -- when they operate in isolation.

The Pentecost paradigm

The Bible, however, has yet another powerful paradigm of negotiating diversity. It is that of the Pentecost. It is the day when, through the operation of the Holy Spirit, the quest for integration and uniqueness are drawn together and diversity is affirmed, but in communion and harmony. The narrative in Acts 2 takes care to hold the terms "each" and "all" in creative tension. Each hears in his or her native tongue and thus monologic traditions are overturned; vernacularization takes place. All cultures and languages are affirmed and yet none becomes the norm. Pentecost both destigmatizes and relativizes cultures -- and thereby brings about a communion of diversity. All are included and yet each is decentralized. The Spirit brings about not a homogenized, safe and secure uniformity but a differentiated and costly unity of all people, Jews, Arabs and people from many nations.

Perhaps the most powerful image of the Pentecost story is the richness of diversity. As the passage opens, the first thing that strikes us is the fact of a milling crowd, of masses of people, a sea of humanity in the narrow streets of Jerusalem on the day of Pentecost. They come in different colors, speaking different languages -- Arabs and Libyans, Romans and Iranians, a microcosm of the then known world. The Gospel is heard in the interwoveness of the plurality of peoples, in cultures in collision.

This story suggests that it is in the midst of the promise and pain that immigration entails in our postcolonial times that we discern the Spirit. The interwoveness, the intermingling of the plurality of peoples is not something of which to be afraid. For the Spirit breaks forth in the midst of this diversity and is made known as the transforming power of God. However, it is not simply a celebration of diversity, for those who respond to the Spirit then are drawn into a communion in and through their differences. They have koinonia, a common sharing of their diversity for their mutual enrichment. It is as they mutually share their differences that they come to know and witness to what the author of Ephesians later on calls "the multi-colored wisdom of God."

I believe that here there are three significant lessons for our times as we seek to deal with diversity in a plural world. Pentecost points to a de-centering of centers and identities that exclude, a courageous crossing of borders and a promotion of a multi-voiced, polyphonic community.

De-centering identities

First, an authentic way of dealing with pluralism calls for a de-centering of individual and collective identities constructed as totally autonomous and self-sufficient. Look for a moment at the story of the Pentecost. The story is set against the disciples' question about whether the kingdom of Israel will be restored and their identity affirmed. But Jesus responds that when the Spirit does come upon them, they will disperse, their collective existence will be de-centered and they will go to the ends of the earth. Their identities from now on are to be defined in terms of their plural locations and the diverse peoples among whom they would go to witness. A centripetal longing is met with the promise of centrifugal dispersal. There is no central place, no single language, and no single authoritative seat of power, not even Jerusalem. Later on, the disciples come to learn that baptism itself is a sign of an alternative identity of a new and inclusive humanity which replaces exclusivist ways of defining oneself.

I am increasingly convinced that one of the major obstacles for a healthy way of dealing with difference is the pervasive habit of thought, a mindset, which is shaped by the Enlightenment. It is that of the notion of the human self or one's particular group as a bounded and autonomous entity. Is it not a major element of the Western cultural logic that the self is autonomous, self-contained, integral, self-sufficient, often monologically defined? When consciously or unconsciously we share this habit of thought, anything outside of one's self appears to be potentially threatening and therefore must be overcome or made serviceable to one's well-being. This autonomy obsession often leads us to dominating relationships, particularly with those who are different. Indeed, much of Western thinking about polity and relationships is shaped by the treacherous Lockean notion that the pursuit of individual comfort, security and growth is paramount and it will indirectly enrich the life of everyone else. I submit, however, that as long as individuals and groups are seen primarily as internally independent, separate, unified and fixed -- having only "external" relations -- "oneness" will be victorious over multiplicity, identity over difference, and sameness over diversity. Therefore, it is this mind-set that needs to be de-centered if we are serious about healthy ways of dealing with plurality.

American pragmatists like G.H. Mead have attempted to overthrow such a habit of thought by insisting that the human self is co-owned, shared and jointly shaped. Humans are dialogically brought into being. They are relational, social selves. Indeed, many non-Western cultures are collective cultures in which nurturing relationships and loyalty to others are supreme social values. Selves in these cultures are not ego-centric, self-contained or non-porous. They are socio-centric. As an African proverb puts it, we participate, therefore I am. Contrast this to the Cartesian dictum: Cogito ergo sum, or a possible modern equivalent, I possess, therefore I am!

It appears that those who have been able to negotiate diversity in a healthy way seem to have a sense of their selves as "an act of grace'"and "a gift of the other." They celebrate the "other" as that which contributes to their becoming. Therefore, a prerequisite for learning to live with diversity in a wholesome manner would be a conversion from the Enlightenment notion of private, monological self and a rediscovery of oneself as co-constituted, relationally and dialogically, with others.

The leading Japanese Buddhist thinker Masao Abe argues in Buddhism and Interfaith Dialogue (University of Hawaii Press, 1995) that individual self-centeredness often leads to national self-centeredness and religious self-centeredness. He demonstrates that the logic behind all these forms of centrisms is the same, for at the core lies the search for something unitary and fundamental that could provide a stable center on which to hang all our understanding and in the light of which boundaries and exclusion can be erected. It is a search for a single meta-narrative. It reduces reality, selves in particular, into autonomous simply located substances, as in Newtonian essentialist metaphysics. But a decentered understanding of self and reality sees each entity or self through its social location and its multilayered relationships to others. Everything has meaning only as it is located both in its particularity -- whether social, cultural, gender, racial, or economic power relationship -- and within "a densely woven web of relationality." Therefore, no single self, nation, religion, nor race can be privileged over others, whatever may be their economic or political power.

Monologic definitions of centered selves arise out of a binary thinking that leads to a hierarchical ordering of reality. It privileges the first or the dominant term in any of the binary oppositions, including the self over the other, white people over the people of color, male over female, North over South. As Edward Sampson puts it, "In monologism lies the heartland of domination." Or as feminist theorist Jane Flax states, the ego-centric logic demands that "only to the extent that one ... group can dominate the whole can reality appear to be governed by one set of rules, be constituted by one privileged set of social relations or be told by one story." Therefore it is urgent that boundaries that set apart one community from another must be transgressed.

Courageous border crossings

The Acts of the Apostles portrays Peter bounded by borders of race and religion. Indeed, his attitude to a Gentile Cornelius was shaped by his sense of pollution by those who were different from him and his community. Yet as the power of Pentecost operates, he is given the strength to cross borders and discover that God has no favorites among God's people.

How can we learn to cross borders that we have hitherto kept as impermeable? First by realizing that no cultural or religious borders are impermeable. As Richard Bernstein argues convincingly, "There is no horizon which is ontologically closed. ... There are always the linguistic and imaginative resources within any horizon that can enable us to extend our horizon." Despite the argument of post-modern radical relativism and its notion of incommensurability of plural identities and cultures, behind our cultural, linguistic and even national borders there is a significant connectedness of our diverse identities and histories in these postmodern times. Many identities are hybrid and in constant flux. The factor behind many a nationalist conflict and ethnic cleansing in our times is the inability of a people to move beyond their own background or cultural boundaries. Hence, rupturing the spatial and temporal boundaries of our histories and crossing borders are an urgent imperative for our communities of faith in a conflictual and plural world.

Such a border crossing is similar to what John Donne refers to as "the passing over and coming back." In describing inter-religious relationships, Donne says, "Passing over is a shifting of standpoint, a going over to the standpoint of another ... way of life, another religion. It is followed by an equal and opposite process. We might call it a 'coming back,' coming back with new insight to one's own culture, way of life, one's own religion." Here there is no fusion of borders so that our individual or group identities are lost. Nor is it a border diffusion or dissolution. But it is a crossing over and a returning so that the coordinates of one's identities may now be redrawn in a much richer way due to the gift from the other.

Such a border crossing is costly, for first it demands of us a rejection of the oppositional thinking and binary habits of thought we are so used to. It is risky, for it calls us to be willing to be liminal, to being at the threshold. All threshold-existence is threatening; but it is only when we step across it, we may discover the creatively new. In The Ritual Process, Ithaca (Cornell University Press, 1989), Victor Turner throws some significant light upon the power of such a crossing over. He states, "Communitas breaks through the interstices of structure, in liminality; at the edges of structure ... it transgresses or dissolves the norms that govern structured and institutionalized relationships and is accompanied by experiences of unprecedented potency."

The Prophet Isaiah envisions such a border crossing in Chapter 19:23-24. The vision speaks of an impossible possibility. Three former enemies now cross borders and walk back and forth to each other over a highway built by God. But for Israel it was costly. It had to give up its privileged position and learn to be on a par with Egypt and Assyria. It had to give up its special name as "my (God's) people." But the Prophet speaks of it as though it is God's dream and purpose for humanity. The mission of the church today, I submit, is building such a highway over which people of diverse cultures, religions and races can cross borders for both integration as well as enrichment of their particular identities.

Multi-voiced communities

If we look back at the story of the early church after the Pentecost, it appears that the Spirit did not leave the believers only with border-crossings. Certainly such crossings brought out newer dimensions of integration or wholeness and redrawn definitions of identities. But the Spirit demanded more. The Spirit led the disciples to the formation of a community where differences could be articulated and contestation was possible. The stories of those who were silenced up until now can now be heard and theologies recast. New understandings of what it was to be a believer could emerge.

This story of Pentecost suggests that for any authentic way of dealing with difference and negotiating plurality, it is important to ensure the intentional creation of a community, a space, in which the "other" who has been silenced for so long can now be heard on his/her own terms. It is a space where monologue gives way to dialogues and "trilogues." It is a space that safeguards differences and yet builds up common sharing. Such a dialogical and multi-vocal relationship is possible not for the selves that are self-sufficient, discrete and bounded individuals, but for selves that are permeable, open to the other and in the process of being co-constituted with the contributions from others. This implies that we have many different voices in and through which we speak, think and hear others -- and in and through which we relate to the world. Here, Mikhail Bakhtin's notion of the polyphonic nature of discourse is significant. Each voice, as Bakhtin insists, exists only in dialogue with other voices. As he puts it, "Utterances are not indifferent to one another, and are not self-sufficient; they are aware of and mutually reflect one another." Our many voices of heteroglossia offer us a richness of thinking, knowing and experiencing ourselves and all that is around us. It is through the multivoicedness we are constituted as social selves. The absence of multivoicedness leads a community to dominant modes of discourse and definitions of truth in static and universal terms.

I use the term "multi-voiced" and not the more familiar term "multi-cultural." This is primarily to indicate that the space and the community we are envisioning here do not simply include the presence of more or fewer representatives of diverse groups. But rather it actively fosters a setting where a plurality of voices are heard, their diversities and contestations are expressed and their participation matters in making decisions. Voicing implies exercising power. Therefore in a multi-voiced community, power-sharing is critical. But such a community is possible only when we are willing to give up our dominant roles and inherited structures of power and privilege. Much will be demanded of those who commit themselves for such dialogical and multivoiced spaces in the midst of a predominantly monological world. The liberating dialogue among diverse communities would demand a willingness to abandon the false security of their own identities and a readiness to cross over the boundaries of their own cultural experiences and traditions. It would call for a willingness to move beyond our limited and finite horizons, theological and ideological comfort zones. When the fifth world conference on Faith and Order in 1993 in Santiago de Compostela called for this kind of multivoiced dialogue it said, "As we strip ourselves of false securities, finding in God our true and only identity, daring to be open and vulnerable to each other, we will begin to live as pilgrims on a journey, discovering the God of surprises who leads us into roads which we have not travelled, and we will find in each other true companions on the way."

Today the call comes afresh to Christians everywhere, to cross boundaries across cultures and traditions that divide us in the pattern and power of the One who crossed every human boundary and broke every middle wall of division in order that the one new humanity where there is no longer Jew or Greek, slave or free, male or female may be brought about. Such a border-crossing in the power of the Spirit of the Risen Christ for the glory of the Triune God is our vocation, and our reward.

Christopher Duraisingh is Professor of Applied Theology at the Episcopal Divinity School in Cambridge, Mass. The address upon which this piece is based will be included in Waging Reconciliation: God's Mission in a Time of Globalization and Crisis, edited by Ian Douglas, Church Publishing, early 2002.