I am often the only Buddhist in the room, and usually the only religious professional in the room. As such, I easily brush off the casual misunderstanding of laypeople. But when a fellow chaplain asks me about my “faith,” a synonym for religion with unconsciously sharp Christian overtones, I suppress a sigh of frustration.

Due to experiences like these, I am very cognizant of language as it relates to religion and the limitations of inclusive stances to “interfaith” collaboration. One might naturally think that we need to find neutral language that does not offend, but I’m actually here to argue the opposite.

I have offered interfaith prayers, carefully sanitized of language that might offend. No mentions of Jesus or Mohammed or Manjushri. Nevertheless, my prayers are patterned from Buddhist prayers—minus the words, lines, or stanzas explicitly mentioning Buddhism. A fellow Buddhist in the room will recognize them, but most simply find them novel and pretty. I have watched Christian pastors and Jewish rabbis do likewise, though they tend to assume a more theistic bent in their audiences than I do.

Yet, these prayers lack the vitality of the honest prayers of one’s heart tradition.

Kindly, colleagues have encouraged this trend of inclusive diversity because “we’re all following different paths up the same mountain, after all.” I reject that idea. I don’t think Buddhist enlightenment is the “same mountain” as Christian heaven or Hindu union with Brahman.

I have learned that when we erase distinctiveness in an effort to be “inclusive” and “interfaith,” we default to normative Christian ideas about the meaning of the words we use.

When I tell people I’m a chaplain, they ask what “church” I attend.

Over time, I’ve adopted more of a “you be you” attitude, a pluralistic approach rather than an inclusive one.

I’ll open a meal with: “This prayer comes from the [Buddhist or Lutheran or Sunni Muslim] tradition. Feel free to participate where you feel comfortable or just listen if you prefer. There will be a small space at the end to say your own prayers silently or meditate before the meal.” When I say up front that I’m going to read a Jewish prayer, no one assumes I’m referring to God the Father in a Trinity. Being explicit and specific interrupts the assumptions. When I say I’m going to lead a short compassion meditation from the Buddhist tradition, but that no particular beliefs or faith commitments are necessary should they wish to follow along, no one accuses me of evangelizing.

It is important to me that this “you be you” approach to religious pluralism includes my Christian fellows. I find it equally unacceptable to ask a Jew to pray “in Jesus’ name” and a Christian not to do so.

A few months ago, my university held a prayer service in response to the shooting at the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburg. We attended to Jewish tradition by opening and closing the entire service using traditional Jewish songs and prayers. Rather than ask the ten other religious leaders who participated to deform their prayers for fear of offense, their offerings were prefaced with a simple statement:

“This service is an opportunity for members of the RIT [Rochester Institute of Technology] community, both Jewish and non-Jewish, to come together and share messages of support, healing, and peace from within our diverse traditions. We have asked each tradition to share what is authentic and healing for them. Please participate where you feel comfortable and observe where you prefer.”

Each community member found words of comfort, familiar and unfamiliar, in the many traditions that participated. Afterward, I sat with a young atheist who was moved to tears by the tragedy and the communal response.

I ask my fellow religious professionals who lead in a spiritual capacity in diverse spaces to do three simple things:

1. Name what you’re doing and what tradition you’re representing (and don’t be afraid to represent a specific tradition).
2. Acknowledge it may not reflect the diversity in the room.
3. Invite people to participate (or not) in whatever way feels comfortable to them.

As a final request, mix it up. Invite others to do the same from their traditions, or, if unavailable or not comfortable, read prayers or scriptures or poems from traditions other than your own (in consultation). Some may worry about (mis)appropriation, and that’s where naming what you’re doing is important.

In a context dominated by Christian hegemony, the only way I can be fully me as a Buddhist chaplain is if you can be fully you as whatever you are. Celebrate the differences and diversity, don’t erase them. Don’t erase me.

Image: Author attending the Los Angeles Women’s March in January 2017 as a Buddhist Chaplain.