I think the idea of interfaith has been something I’ve hovered around my whole life. My father was raised Christian and converted to Islam after meeting my mom, a Shia Muslim. They raised me and my siblings in the Muslim faith. Growing up, I spent my summers in Florida at my maternal grandparents’ house, often going to the mosque at night. I grew to identify very closely with that side of my family and with that part of my life. 

When I got a little older, my dad’s parents moved to my town. As I became closer with them, I found little bits of Christianity sprinkled into my life, such as beginning to receive Christmas gifts every year. I think the biggest surprise for me was seeing members of my family eat pork, something that still feels a bit odd, as it is forbidden in Islam.

Looking back, it’s clearer to me that I was raised in an interfaith family. I never would have described it that way, because to me it just felt normal. As I’ve come to college and been away from my family, I find myself appreciating that aspect of it more. I always took my interfaith home for granted, and now I find myself seeking more interfaith spaces in my life. I feel mobilized to do the important work to create a multi-faith environment at my new home, Tufts. Similarly, the interfaith experiences I had inside my home prompted me to look more deeply for faith-based spaces outside my home.

Besides my family, I didn’t really know many other Muslims growing up. My friends were almost all Christian. I didn’t notice this until high school, when my friends and classmates all began spending their Monday nights at a nondenominational Christian group. My friends would always ask me to come, arguing that even though I’m not Christian, a lot of people went who don’t believe in God at all. They said it was just a fun, social space to hang out: a place where people, Christians and non-Christians, congregated to be in community. 

Is that what interfaith spaces look like? 

I’m still not sure. There was a part of me that liked the thought of people coming together despite their differences and just being together and having fun. However, a bigger part of me rejected the idea that in order to spend time with my friends, I had to enter into what was a decidedly Christian space, putting aside my Muslim beliefs for a couple hours and just going with the flow. I resented my friends a bit for even asking me to do that. I never attended a meeting, mostly due to my own internal conflict over the whole idea.

As I’ve graduated from high school and had time to look back on this ordeal, I know that’s not what interfaith engagement looks like, at least not for me. I think an interfaith space is one where people can bring their whole selves. No part of you is meant to be stifled or hidden. The value of bringing people of different backgrounds together is in the differences. That’s how we learn and grow.

I think an interfaith space is one where people can bring their whole selves.

In my first year of college, I was lucky enough to find interfaith spaces like this, where I was able to bring my whole self and feel comfortable. I know I am fortunate for that. 

However, this year, as I attended the Interfaith Leadership Institution, as I’ve sat through Boston Interfaith Leadership Initiative (BILI) meetings, and as I’ve worked with my school’s Interfaith Student Council, a question has settled on my mind: How do we include those who aren’t traditionally religious, those who aren’t religious at all, or those who don’t identify with any specific religion in our interfaith spaces? How do we make them feel welcome? Even the term “interfaith” implies that there must be a faith aspect included. Does the concept of faith include the absence of faith? To me, surely it does. Excluding this group of people is leaving out a richness in diversity of thought, tradition, and belief. 

Still, wanting to include those who aren’t traditionally religious isn’t enough. There is the question of how we make them feel welcome in a space. How do we make them see the work of “interfaith engagement” and feel like this applies to them? Maybe that can’t be done. Maybe it’s an issue of semantics, and we need a different word to convey this. Maybe it’s just a matter of personal connection: reaching out to those who may feel they don’t have a place in “interfaith” spaces and letting them know this is just as much their space as it is anyone’s.

I still don’t have the answers to these questions, and I’m not sure if I ever will. In different parts of my life I’ve had to ask myself varying questions around interfaith work. Originally, what is interfaith and how does it look in my own life? Then, as I navigated my way through high school, how do I fit into “interfaith spaces,” and what do they look like in my community? Finally, I am trying to take the experiences I’ve had growing up and use them to explore how I can make the concept of “interfaith” more accessible to those around me. I’m still on my own interfaith journey, exploring everyday, trying to figure out what it means to me, where I fit into it, and how I can include others in that.