My introduction to the world of interfaith work was more of an accident than anything. On a whim, I decided to get involved with religious life during my first few weeks of college. I hadn’t ever heard the terms “interreligious” or “interfaith” or “pluralism.” I knew I cared about my own religion and my own spirituality, but given that I was a teen entering college with a mind set on partying and adventures, I hadn’t given my religious life much thought. However, it did not take long to fall in love with the welcoming, spiritual yet intellectual interfaith community on campus. Interfaith work soon took over my college life, needling its way into my academics, personal relationships, and art in ways that I could not have anticipated. I was introduced to new religious practices, communication styles, and leadership skills. Yet, while I had already grown so much, I knew I had much to learn.

When millions of students were suddenly sent off to quarantine at home, interfaith work was no longer at the forefront of my mind. It had been years since I had spent the school year at home (I was a boarding school kid). I watched as the world around me shriveled and died, including my local art center, my favorite Mediterranean restaurant, the Los Angeles public transportation system, and more loved ones than I’d like to think about. America experienced a spike in poverty, desperation, and hysteria. Coronavirus was politicized, and we began to attack each other. The political divide deepened so dramatically that, to many, looking over at the opposing political party felt like looking at life on another planet. The Republican and Democratic parties became increasingly dogmatic and steadfast in their views. This is a story that, at this point, everyone knows well.

Watching millions suffer due to the virus, political conflict, racial tensions, systemic inequalities, and a myriad of other issues was especially striking after months of being part of a safe, collaborative interfaith setting. I felt unbearably small, crushed under questions like “How can I stop people from dying?”, “What do I even know about the world?”, and “Is it even possible for a kid like me to heal the conflict this country is undergoing?” I didn’t yet have the experience nor the confidence to apply what I had learned about empathy and leadership from my interfaith work to what I was witnessing around me. I struggled to understand the disparity between the gentle, genuine interfaith community I had grown accustomed to and the harsher, conflict-ridden “real world” that we all were forced into. For the beginning months of quarantine, I sat straddled on the edge of panic as I watched pandemonium erupt in the world around me. I didn’t understand how such tender pockets of interfaith communities could exist in a greater, crueler world.

To be an interfaith leader is to develop a sense of empathy and curiosity within oneself.

It wasn’t until my involvement with the Boston Interfaith Leadership Initiative (BILI) that I realized these pockets were not an exception to the usual behavior of the real world, but rather a part of the real world. BILI, for me, placed interfaith work into the context of the greater community and the United States as a whole. The program has introduced me to the tools needed to facilitate productive and enlightening conversations—conversations that don’t require any one person to feel silenced or restricted. It has helped me hone the skill set to discuss sensitive issues with people whose perspectives differ from mine. It has introduced me to people who demonstrate how interfaith work is an everyday practice of self-education and collaboration. Most importantly, BILI has taught me that to be an interfaith leader, I do not have to be a Joan of Arc or a Martin Luther King, Jr. Rather, to be an interfaith leader is to develop a sense of empathy and curiosity within oneself. The most valuable work that can be done to help the world is to build upon one’s own skills and passions. By developing my relationship with my own faith, I only become more motivated to listen to and uplift others. We live in an incredibly isolating time, but this time can be used to look within and find where we fit in this dynamic world.

We all have a sense of religiousness or non-religiousness, a relationship to the spiritual, to tradition, or to a set of morals. This is something that makes us human. Our faith-identities underlie everything we do. Interfaith work sits at the foundation of every social justice movement and every connection we make because we are motivated by our faiths, religious or otherwise. By nature, interfaith work is the perfect vehicle to bring people together to address issues that affect those of all faiths—issues like systemic inequality, political tensions, and a global pandemic.

My realization of how important the intersections between faiths are has been a slow and steady journey. But I now understand that the term “interfaith” speaks to the connections we have with others, the way our identities mingle and meld, and, when our identities clash, the work we can put in to learn and grow together. Each step I take to better understand my own faith and the faiths within my community is a step I take towards helping others.