From a recent rally against the "Ground Zero Mosque."

I remember the first time I was invited to attend an Islamic prayer meeting with a friend. As I sat and observed, I closed my eyes and listened to “as-salamu ‘alaykum“ sound against the walls of the mosque. Though it was my first time at an Islamic prayer meeting, the words rang familiar. I was transported back to my years of Christian worship attendance before I stopped believing in God, to services that concluded with an equivalent wish: “Peace be with you.”

As most folks now know thanks to Sarah Palin’s liberal use of the english language (never thought I’d put “Sarah Palin” and “liberal” together), there is a controversy brewing in lower Manhattan. Park51, a proposed Muslim community center, is coming under significant fire for its proximity to Ground Zero. The very conservative right, once again conflating the individual actions of an extremist fringe with the larger religion of Islam, has taken to calling this Muslim community center a mosque and is demanding that the city forbid its construction.

Yesterday my friend Joshua Stanton, in collaboration with a diverse group of young leaders, launched Religious Freedom USA, a counter-movement in support of Park51. In a write-up for the Huffington Post, Josh and Frank Fredericks offered a poetic explanation of why they are establishing this initiative:

Some may wonder why a Born Again Christian and a future rabbi, both under the age of 25, are working to build support for a Muslim community center. To us it seems natural: this is not simply a Muslim issue, a Jewish issue, or a Christian issue. This is an American issue, and members of all religious communities are affected by a threat to religious freedom.

We Atheists, Agnostics, Secular Humanists, Freethinkers, Skeptics and the like should be leading the charge in support of Park51 alongside Josh and Frank. We value freedom of choice when it comes to religion — because of it, we are able to choose “none.” Which means we should rally behind the right others have to practice their religion of choice, and stand in solidarity when their right to do so is threatened.

As we well know, surveys show that the non-religious are among the most marginalized groups in this country. We understand what it is like to have our non-religious beliefs and identities diminished or dismissed. So too is Islamophobia is rampant in our culture; yesterday the Lieutenant Governor of Tennessee was quoted as saying that he is “not sure” if the Constitution guarantees freedom of religion to Muslims, calling Islam a “cult.” Such inflammatory rhetoric should sound very familiar to our community, which is often accused of being a cultish and immoral outlier in a religious nation.

Park51 is under attack because of how demonized Muslims are in America, plain and simple. Many Americans see nothing but godless, immoral, savage heathens when they think of Muslims. As a community comparably cast, we should empathize and come to their defense. Defending their freedom is defending our own. Josh and Frank get it just right when they write that “more extreme voices want this right to apply only to their own religious communities, and not to others. But when one group’s freedoms are threatened, the religious freedom of all Americans is at stake… This is about protecting the civil rights assured to all Americans in the Constitution.”

If we want to ensure that our non-religious freedoms are protected, we must stand up for our Muslim neighbors. This is not merely a civil imperative: it is a moral one. Our Humanistic values call us to act on behalf of the oppressed. The first Humanist Manifesto states that Humanists should “endeavor to establish the conditions of a satisfactory life for all, not merely for the few. By this positive morale and intention humanism will be guided, and from this perspective and alignment the techniques and efforts of humanism will flow.”

Another central values of Secular Humanism is reason; the propaganda being put forth by those who oppose Park51 is entirely irrational and unethical. We can and should call them out. Let’s join the Religious Freedom USA campaign and stand up for Park51. I can see the headline now: “Atheists and Muslims Band Together!” The political right would have a field day. It may sound farfetched but it’s happened before. It can and should happen again now.

You don’t need to be a Muslim or a Christian to wish peace, or salam, for us all. Now, let us have freedom too.

Take it away, Mom!

Like mother, like son.

It was 1985: a time when women were free to pursue a career and take advantage of safe and secure childcare relatively guilt free. In fact, if you were intelligent and educated it was almost expected. As a National Honor Society member, Senior Class Officer, Student Council President and academic scholarship recipient in high school, it was surely expected of me.

But I had a different plan. I knew I wanted several children and I knew I wanted to stay home with them. Actually, I believed it was best to stay home with them.

I remember my Mother-in-Law sighing with disappointment: “Oh dear, I just hate to see you limit yourself! You are so smart and talented and I hate to see that go to waste.” I also remember getting the message from my “feminist” friends and acquaintances that my choice was unacceptable.

However, my decision to be a stay-at-home parent was deeply founded in my moral convictions. I will confess I probably had a feeling of moral superiority over “working moms.” I recall thinking to myself, Oh those poor children in day care…

Moral superiority aside, I thoroughly enjoyed my years at home with my children. Although my choice meant that my wardrobe was made up of two pairs of jeans and a couple sweatshirts and our diet consisted mostly of bottom shelf boxed macaroni and cheese and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, it was the right choice for me. I feel confident that my children ultimately did benefit from my intelligence and talents as a stay-at-home mom, and that it was worth the sacrifices it required.

When my youngest child was in elementary school, things changed. Suddenly I was a divorced working mother of four with dwindling resources and a need to work more hours. I was confronted with the prospect of utilizing the childcare program offered by the local YMCA and, though it wasn’t my first choice, decided to use their services.

I recall observing the interactions between parents and their children as we dropped off and picked up our kids daily and having to reassess my previously held beliefs and judgments about the “right and wrong,” “good and bad” of raising children. I realized that my decision to stay home had been right for me but that it didn’t mean, given the option, that choice would be right for everyone.

My decision was right for me based on my life experiences. As I became more open to and aware of the experiences of others, I realized that people presented with the same set of facts can come to a different conclusion and that doesn’t necessarily make one “right” and one “wrong.”

My experiences as a parent were enriched by observing and appreciating another perspective. We can still have the same goal – raising healthy, happy children – and see different ways of accomplishing this.

As I have been reading this blog and responsive posts this year, I have been struck by the feelings of intolerance and lack of empathy. As his mother, I am proud of Chris’ message of tolerance and inclusiveness, as these are values I cherish as well and am so glad to share with him.

I don’t think it is “wishy-washy” to want to find areas of agreement with people we disagree with. And whether it is the decision to cover one’s head with a hijab, to believe in God or pray, or to utilize childcare while pursuing a career, I am grateful to live in a diverse and pluralistic society that allows for our differences. As a matter of fact: I celebrate them.

Even if that means my son is covered in tattoos.

Toni Stedman is a proud mother of four very different young adults (including this blogger) and is an excited new grandmother. When not working as a widely respected insurance agent that prioritizes personal relationships with her clients and strives to provide ethical service, Toni enjoys walking her dogs, catching some wind on the back of a Harley Davidson, serving on her neighborhood council, and target practicing with her rosewood handled revolver (she’s a pretty good shot!). Her youngest child is just about to move out of the house and she plans to celebrate her new “empty nest” status with a road trip west to the Grand Canyon.

Sure enough, we were both at the Secular Student Alliance National Conference this last weekend, and — surprise, surprise — she decided to make a video about it. Please make sure to watch this one the whole way through:

We decided to hit up our favorite spot, a little hole in the wall called The Anvil on Granville. As residents of Rogers Park, Ben and I frequented The Anvil a lot this year. It’s truly a neighborhood bar; a place that seems to have changed very little in the last 40 years, dimly lit and without a sign outside, a nook primarily populated by people who live within a mile of it. The Anvil is also a gay bar. For this reason it is especially fun to go to The Anvil with Ben, a straight man, and witness the cross-cultural confusion that ensues.

Though I can’t speak to how he operates when I’m not around, Ben seems to be terribly comfortable around gay men. Or, at least, he is terribly gracious. Every time Ben and I go to the Anvil, he gets hit on. A lot more than I do, I should add. Often aggressively: it wasn’t until a week after the first time we went there that Ben informed me that the man who’d been hanging around him that entire night had stuck his tongue in Ben’s ear. Ben had played it cool, not wanting to make a scene. His patience for situations that would make the average person uncomfortable and his willingness to engage contexts outside his own continue to inspire the work I do in facilitating religious and secular dialogue.

But back to last night. We were off to a good start: ten minutes in and Ben’s inner ear was still unmolested. We picked a spot on the back patio and got comfortable. As we lifted our mugs of miraculously cheap beer and clinked to my move and our friendship, we were approached by a man who began to compliment my tattoos, my feet (“can I touch them?”), my stretched earlobes and my smile. Well, guess I’m taking the bullet tonight, I thought, at which point he immediately directed his attention at Ben. We were both patient, but I had immediately dismissed this man in my mind. I’m not here to get hit on, I thought impatiently, I’m here to say goodbye to a close friend.

I closed myself off, but Ben had other plans. In his unending kindness, Ben continued conversation with this stranger. He asked if we lived in the area, and Ben said we did but that I was moving. The man inquired why and I explained that I’m relocating to continue my work facilitating secular and religious engagement. He asked me to clarify. I replied: “Basically? I encourage people of all faiths and no faith at all to not just tolerate one another’s existence — which itself would be an improvement — but to engage one another’s deepest motivations and move into collaborative action around identifiable shared values despite religious differences.” He asked if I believed in God, and I replied with a strong and swift: “no.” He quickly took me in his arms and squeezed me tight. “God will reveal himself to you,” he said. “I’ll pray it so.”

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that in my life. But instead of getting insulted — instead of closing myself off even more — I smiled and said “thank you.” You see, what this man didn’t know is that God reveals him(or her)self to me every day.

For the last year that I’ve worked at the Interfaith Youth Core (IFYC), the Gods of my co-workers have had a sizable impact on me. Whether it’s the Christian God of my supervisor, Cassie, giving her the compassion to forgive my latest screw-up, or the Muslim God of my boss, IFYC founder and White House advisor Eboo Patel, inspiring him to invite a Secular Humanist such as myself to contribute to the public discourse on religion, I would not have had the opportunities I have if it weren’t for their passionate religious beliefs. And I wouldn’t have the wonderful relationships that I formed with them — or with Ben, or even with the man who stroked my feet at The Anvil — if I had refused to engage their beliefs. I may not share in them, but they still matter to me.

After a bout of friendly dialogue, the man asked me: “Okay, but tell me this Mr. Atheist: where did we come from? How did all of this get here?” I answered honestly: “I’m not a scientist, you know, but I can perhaps best describe it as some incredible series of random events. But to be honest that question doesn’t really matter to me. I could care less how we got here; what concerns me, given that we are here, is what will we do?” He clutched his chest, hugged me again and grinned, nodding his solid agreement. I’m so glad that Ben’s kindness inspired me to give this man a chance.

What will we do? I hope that we’ll engage one another’s deepest values with at least as much patience as Ben in a gay bar.

[That's a wrap, folks: I'll be at the Secular Student Alliance national conference this weekend speaking on a panel about interfaith cooperation. Check back next week, when I'll try to have a report on that -- though I'm moving across the country a week from today, so it may be difficult. I haven't the words to express how much I'll miss this city, so this post will have to do as my general goodbye. And if I don't get around to posting something next week, be sure you check out Tim Brauhn's amazing guest post from this morning in the meantime, which was featured on the front page of WordPress today!]

Today’s guest post comes from Tim Brauhn, a Catholic interfaith activist. Tim, who recently finished a year as a Fellow for the Tony Blair Faith Foundation‘s FaithsAct anti-Malaria interfaith initiative, is a lovable weirdo. Tim was once an anti-Atheist schmuck but has since changed his tune. He shares why below:

c/o /livelyivy.com

My friend Ahab is an atheist. Note: his nickname, which I was kind enough to bestow upon him, has no relation to his faith orientation, so don’t go all crazy with white whale language just yet. Ahem.

I was having a chat with Ahab one night a long time ago back at Aurora University. It was snowing outside, as if that was important to the story. I asked him, “So you admit that for a god to exist it would have to be an infinite being?” His reply was a strong affirmative. “But you still don’t believe that god does, in fact, exist?” Again, he answered yes.

AHA! I knew I had him this time! I was finally going to score a point against his godless ass! ”Well then, my dear friend, you have failed! In acknowledging the necessarily infinite existence of a creator god that you don’t believe in, you have turned your disbelief into the flipside, anti-infinite version of the non-affirmation of said creator god. Therefore, even by saying that god doesn’t exist, you admit by extension that god does exist as a universal MUST! It’s all about ones and zeros! I’ve got you, you fisher king rat bastard!”

Ahab blinked, took a drag from his cigarette (typical atheist maneuver), and said, “Whatever, dude.”

I didn’t meet avowed nontheists until I arrived at college, and when I did, I tried hard to figure out what they were about. How could they not believe in some kind of… thing? Granted, at the time I was still building my own conception of the divine — a process that grows more beautiful and happy by the day. The friendly (honest!) conversation recounted above was the closest I ever came to admitting how I really felt: My brain couldn’t handle what I perceived as the irrationality of non-belief.

In time, of course, I mellowed. I realized that agnostics are capable of feeling just as much universe-rending glory as me without having to attribute it to some greater intelligence. Working and dialoguing with nontheists on issues of social concern, especially, helped me get my head on straight. But it wasn’t until I read Greta Christina’s Alternet piece “6 (Unlikely) Developments That Could Convince This Atheist To Believe In God” that I found a truly admirable and altogether frightening reality: religious people can’t be proven wrong.

I suppose that I always knew this. I’d been questioned by atheists myself and forced to defend or explain many positions. It wasn’t until reading Greta’s very plain language that I figured it out. Example: If god descended from the clouds and thundered, “I DO NOT EXIST — STOP BELIEVING IN ME!” I think my brain would literally melt in my skull and slide out through my nose. That’s a logic bomb right there.

Maybe that’s what drove me nuts back in the day. I couldn’t square my own faith-based shortcomings with atheists who seemed perfectly content to not believe in god. It was impossible to prove me wrong, which made it possible to be always right. And that’s no way to be.

I’ve stopped trying to score points against atheists, largely because I realized that even if they don’t have religion, they still have faith — often boatloads of it. Faith in humanity, faith in one another, in natural processes, or something else entirely. I learned that calling someone a non-believer made collaborative action difficult, and that regarding secularism (especially the American style) as a positive piece of our national character is a must. We’re all in this together, gods or no gods, and we’re all the stronger for it.

Tim Brauhn grew up in an agrarian Irish Catholic home in northern Illinois. He has been in the interfaith sphere for the last five years, connecting people across faith lines for mutual inspiration and common action. He drinks hellacious amounts of tea and mate and doesn’t cook his food. In addition to a bit of interfaith consulting, Tim is a Community Mobilizer with Ashoka Changemakers, where he uses the power of the WORLD WIDE WEB to connect social entrepreneurs and innovators worldwide. Tim is also RIGHT BEHIND YOU.

If I wear this to the next Atheist conference, maybe then I'll fit in!

Cambridge Broxterman, she of “Burkagate” infamy, has made another YouTube video about me. I’m not surprised this time — I guess I was kind of asking for it when I recalled that we had agreed to post our email exchange and, you know, finally got around to posting it. Her tone was a lot friendlier this time, which is encouraging because it gives me hope we’ll be able to have a non-awkward conversation when our paths finally cross again (which is great because I want to talk to her about her awesome body modifications… okay, sorry, tangent).

Anyway, she raised a legitimate point in her video — one I’ve been meaning to address again for some time now. (Thanks for the reminder!) In her video, Cambridge introduced who I am by saying:

He’s a nice guy — he seems to be nice and willing and open for discussion. But his view of himself within the whole Atheist community is just really strange to me… I don’t know what he’s trying to accomplish and it’s frustrating… He’s very vocal about his… wanting to be on the side of the religious, and he’s very vocal about his political correctness, but then he saves all of that energy that he could be putting towards an area where I think would help the Atheist cause… [and he's] turing on the Atheist community… He has no problem criticizing the Atheist community, but the religious community is just taboo to him it seems like, they’re just off limits. It’s really weird and I don’t think I understand what he’s trying to accomplish and I don’t really think he does either.

This is the second time this week I’ve been called nice with a caveat by someone online; earlier this week, Jesse Galef of the Secular Student Alliance wrote over on the Friendly Atheist: “we disagree on a lot of interfaith issues, but he’s a nice guy.” (Thanks, folks! You’re nice too.) But Cambridge’s critique — that, no matter how nice I might be, religion is “off limits” to me — is one I’ve heard time and time again from other commenters on this blog, so I’d like to take this opportunity to address it.

I’ve tried to be clear on this blog that I am not some self-loathing secular pandering to religious others in an attempt to curry favor. I’m as proud to be godless as I am anything else about me. I suppose it requires a certain amount of bravery to live a publicly godless life — the idea that one can be good without God is still fairly radical in certain circles. But personally it just isn’t something I struggle with. I’m perfectly content with being a Secular Humanist, and I don’t spend a lot of time fretting about whether others think I’m a moral person or not for not believing in God.

Yet — and here’s where I may sound a bit, um, heretical — I also believe that the religious should be as celebratory about who they are as I am, and I suspect that if they are as comfortable with their identity as I am mine then they will embrace pluralism, as I have. I am then, for both of those reasons, more concerned with the way other secular folks approach the religious as across-the-board bad. I cannot help but suspect that our negative obsession with mocking religion is rooted in a lack of confidence in what we as a community have to offer, and wish to devote my energy toward working against such self-defeating antagonism. As I said in a post back in March:

NonProphet Status does not exist to give religion a “free pass” or needlessly criticize vocal atheists in an attempt to win over the religious; it does, however, advocate for something that is a step beyond tolerance – or, as Fish proudly trumpets in his post, merely saying “I have [religious] friends” as if, by allowing religious people into his life, he is somehow going above and beyond the call of atheist duty – by moving into a mode of collaboration across lines of religious difference. And, unfortunately, what that sometimes entails is taking to task those who are either intentionally or inadvertently working against this cause, including atheists who discriminate against religious people. Just as pluralistic Christians do of the fundamentalist members of their community, pluralistic Muslims of the fundamentalists of theirs, and so on, I feel compelled to identify the problematic voices of my community that are working against pluralism. I don’t aim to be soft on religion, but I would much rather allow religious pluralists to criticize the fundamentalists of their communities and do the same in mine. Atheists indiscriminately bad-mouthing religion is a very real problem because it obscures our larger aims – making the world a better, more rational place – with a distracting and alienating narrative. It isn’t that I particularly enjoy critiquing the claims of fundamentalist atheists – ultimately, I actually find it disheartening to have to do so – but I believe without reservation that these voices cannot go unchecked.

Religion isn’t off limits to me, but tackling the difficult issues in religion isn’t really within the scope of NonProphet Status. I may think that religion has created a lot of problems in the world — as a former “Born Again” Christian and a queer person, I’ve experienced many of them firsthand. But point blank: this blog isn’t about critiquing religious beliefs or speaking out against harmful religious practices. It has a very specific purpose and I try my best to stick to that. NonProphet Status exists to name what I see as problematic components of the secular community and offer alternative perspectives of positive (instead of oppositional) secularism; to identify the behaviors of my fellow secularists that oppose pluralism (see a quick and helpful definition here) and to point to alternate modes of secularism that support it. I’ll let the Christians call out members of their community working against pluralism, the Muslims theirs, and so on. Ultimately, if I as a secularist condemn fundamentalist Christianity, it has a lot less power than if another Christian does it. So I want to put my energy where I believe it is best spent. And it is simply that: where I believe it is best spent. This is all just my opinion. So take it with a few grains of salt, if you will.

"Hey God, what's up? Oh, nothing?" - Get it?! See, I have a sense of humor... I swear to God. Oh, there I go again!

Where we have the most agency as a community is in how we behave, both internally and in how we approach those outside our walls — and, for those in our community who are concerned with how others perceive us, the most effective way to change hearts and minds is through relationships. And we won’t be able to have relationships with religious folks if our top priority is mocking the things they hold dear. I believe that such behavior will fundamentally limit who our movement will appeal to and will distract us from focusing on cultivating our own uniquely secular ethics. For those and other reasons — and not simply because I have an open appreciation for select religious insights — I see such antics as lose-lose for us. That is why I critique “blasphemy” so frequently and with such, erm, fervor.

I try to walk a fine line, and perhaps I err too heavily on the side of critiquing my own community. If I’ve hurt feelings, I apologize. My aim in doing this is to push my fellow secularists to reconsider how we engage the religious other, not to alienate. I appreciate the feedback I get and try to factor it into my approach, so keep it coming. And, as always, thank you for reading.

For some past examples of explanations of why I do what I do, please check out some of these posts:

Respecting Religion, Staying Secular

Picture This: When We Draw Muhammad, We Draw a Line

What’s Wrong With Happy Smiling Rainbows and Unicorns?

Speaking Up, or How Mo’Nique Showed Me the Light

Talk the Talk, Don’t Chalk the Chalk: Drawing a Divide With the “Draw Muhammad” Campaign

What Are We Fighting For?

I actually think the segment is entirely fair. If we don’t want to be portrayed this way, perhaps we shouldn’t behave this way. You see, I was actually there. Back in April, I attended the American Atheist Convention in Newark, New Jersey. After it was over I published a series of reflections on the experience (The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly).

Reflecting back on that experience now, I am so glad I was present. Even though (or perhaps precisely because) Edwin Kagin’s blasphemy session was among the most offensive things I’ve ever seen in person (see: The Ugly), it was a great learning moment for me. I almost didn’t go because, though I don’t believe in God, I intentionally do not identify as an Atheist because I believe it is inherently problematic. It is, to me, an oppositional identity marker. For the same reason I do not identify as “not female” or “not heterosexual,” I don’t call myself an Atheist (not a perfect parallel, but I think it works). But I decided to attend the convention because, as a Secular Humanist doing interfaith work, I wanted to see how the Atheist community was talking about religion. But even with my trepidation, I never expected it would be as bad as it was.

Nightline spent most of its segment focusing on Kagin’s blasphemy session, a moment that to me firmly underscores the oppositional nature of organized Atheism, and I understand why: I too dedicated my most impassioned writing to it. I ended my reaction as follows:

I went to learn. I went because I wanted to know what the current state of affairs on Atheism was. And though there were moments that weren’t as offensive, and models of dynamic and foreword-thinking strategies for promoting Atheistic agendas in a respectful manner, Kagin’s speech was so egregious that I left with little hope for the Atheist movement. The speakers at the convention spent a good deal of time lamenting how disconnected from the rest of the world Atheism is, and then Kagin built up another barbed fence. To me, this community couldn’t feel any more isolated or any less interested in collaboration with others. It is no wonder the rest of the world despises Atheists – we mock them and then stomp our feet when they don’t accept us with arms wide open.

You think religious people are keeping you from approaching the stars, Kagin? Maybe it’s because you’re trying to build a spaceship alone.

After my write-up, NonProphet Status exploded. I was totally unprepared. Suddenly a sizable portion of the Atheist community knew who I — a relatively new blogger with little understanding of how social media works — was. My friends started referring to the strong reaction my piece elicited from the Atheist community as “Burkagate” after I jokingly coined the term. I started getting emails from angry detractors and the comments section of my blog became host to a heated debate between folks of diverging opinions. Then on April 9, the day of my twenty-third birthday, a YouTube video was left in the comment section by one Cambridge Broxterman — the very same woman now featured in the above Nightline segment. Here’s the video she recorded about my reaction to the blasphemy session:

To be embarrassingly honest, her video actually wounded me (I know I shouldn’t let such things get to me, but in this instance I did). I suspect that was her goal so, you know, mission accomplished. In spite of this, I reached out to her. I really didn’t want to but decided it was important. Here is an opportunity for dialogue and to learn from one another, I thought. Reaching out across lines of radical difference isn’t easy but, as I’ve learned in my work, it is often rewarding. The more I mature the more often I do it; with age and experience I am less afraid of confrontation, less afraid of being wrong, less afraid of dialogue with difference.

Cambridge and I decided to enter into an email exchange with the idea that it would be published here on my blog at a later date. The exchange died off and I sort of forgot about it, but after seeing Nightline‘s story and how it featured Cambridge I was reminded of it. Below the jump, the back-and-forth and some concluding reflections:

My outreach email:

Cambridge,

Greetings! I hope this finds you well. My name is Chris Stedman and I’m reaching out to you in response to the video you posted on YouTube about my blog, NonProphet Status. Would you be interested in discussing my blog and your response to it? I’d like to if you would.

I’d also like to apologize for not saying something in the moment at the Convention — you may or may not be able to sympathize with this, but I was overwhelmed by emotion and felt it was not in anyone’s best interest to broach the subject at the moment because anything I would have said at that time probably would have been unproductive. I understand this as discretion and appropriateness; you may feel it is cowardice. Here, we may have to agree to disagree.

In any event, please let me know if you are interested in discussing this further – I am happy to in whatever capacity you feel most comfortable with.

Thank you, and best wishes.

Chris Stedman, NonProphet Status

Cambridge responded, expressing friendly surprise that I reached out to her and excitement about having a conversation. After volleying a few emails back and forth in an attempt to decide how to go about an interchange, we agreed to have an email tit-for-tat that would be published on NonProphet Status. Cambridge stated that the “ball was in [my] court,” so I kicked things off:

Cambridge,

I should probably start by responding to the issues you raised in your video. As far as I can tell you raised three points in which you find yourself in strong disagreement with me. For ease’s sake, I’ll respond to each.

1. My comparison of “Back in Their Burkas Again” / Debaptism to a Ku Klux Klan Rally

First off, I’d like to reiterate my hesitance to draw this parallel (not aiming to be overly sensational, as I said in my initial posting), and then articulate why I think it is fair, or at least why my expressing it was.

From the start, I hesitated to frame it as such because the comparison is a far from perfect one. After viewing your video I was trying to think through an alternate way of expressing the sensation I experienced in that moment and, as I was, saw a comment made on my blog that I think encapsulates my sentiment precisely:

The comparison to black-face in the last post is instructive, but not quite right. Here is a closer parallel:

Imagine a group of professed abolitionists, who claim to be motivated by concern about slavery. They put on a show in which a group of white people dress up in blackface and do this song and dance number, “Back on the Plantation Again” in front of an audience of people hooting and laughing.

Or, imagine a group professing to care about spousal abuse, bringing up a trio of women made up to look like they have black eyes, singing “Back in the Bruises Again” (a satire!) as the audience hoots and laughs.

You might well cry. And wonder about what sentiment is truly being expressed in that display.

I think this commenter has gotten a bit closer to what I had hoped to express. In summoning the image of a KKK rally, I tried to access the closest parallel I could in that moment in respect to a violent, visceral experience. Was it less than perfect? Yes, I’d say it was. But I stand by it because it was how I reacted in this moment. My blog was a commentary on my experience and how I reacted to what I saw, not a news report.

At the convention, someone compared being religious to being a white supremacist, saying that they felt as compelled to rid the world of racist attitudes as they did religious beliefs. I think that parallel – equating religiosity with racism – is far more sensational than the one I made.

I’d also like to address your sub-point coming out of this – that I have no sense of humor. I’d like to turn here again to another comment left on the blog, who I think offers a worthwhile counterpoint:

What is deemed as offensive is in “the eye of the beholder.” If what you experienced was offensive to you… then it was. For others to try to “justify” their behavior doesn’t make it any less offensive. If Cambridge wants to feel better about her choice to participate in something that offended you by saying “you have no sense of humor”… that reflects lack of personal responsibility to me. ([It] reminds me of when we thought it was ok to mimic some kid in elementary school because we thought “it was funny.”)

This commenter is right in that humor does not necessarily absolve one of responsibility for offensive content. Ultimately there is no way that I can prove to you that I have a sense of humor, just as there is no way that you can claim that I do not without actually knowing me. You’ll just have to take me at my word here. Or, you know, you can go on thinking I don’t. This point is probably the least important, but I wanted to respond to it since it is being used as a way of dismissing my reaction to the piece as merely a lack of understanding of humor or satire.

2. My defense of friends (and I should add strangers) who wear burka / hijab

You’re right – you should’ve saved that point for another video. You find it “amazing” that someone does not feel oppressed by wearing hijab or burka? This suggests to me that you might be operating with a fundamental disinterest in considering another’s experience beyond your own, that you have already made up your mind and decided that you know what the experience of wearing burka or hijab is like for every single person on this planet (which is, you know, impossible). I’d encourage you to open yourself up to the experiences of others and speak with more people who wear burka or hijab. Ask them why they do – you may be surprised by the diversity of responses you get. None of us can know what another’s experience is like, but we can try our best to listen to the experiences of others with empathy and an open mind. For one example of someone who feels empowered by wearing hijab, check out my friend Sayira’s guest post on my blog.

3. My inability to speak up in the moment

This is perhaps the critique I reacted most strongly to, because of all it felt the most like a personal character appraisal. Just as I think that satire like “Back in Their Burkas Again” is overly simplistic and far too charged, I think this point does not account for the diverse ways in which individuals react to particular experiences. Like your assumption that every woman who wears hijab or burka is oppressed, to label my action as “cowardice” implies that you have an insight into my reasoning and motivations when you do not and cannot.

One commenter said in response to your video: “I think it is admirable, not cowardly, that Chris chose not to do anything at the time of the conference. He clearly understands self control and respect.” And while I may not practice restraint and respect as often as I’d like to, I did try to exercise them in that moment. Ultimately, I do not believe that fruitful dialogue occurs until one has taken the time to process her or his experience. I apologize for not approaching you directly at the convention but I was not in a place where I could respond with an open mind and heart at that moment, nor did I feel I could articulate myself in the way that I wanted to. I understand this as discretion and a sensitivity to appropriateness. You may call this cowardice – I cannot change your mind, nor do I wish to. All I want to ask is that you allow for the possibility that the way that you might have responded were you in my shoes is not necessarily the right way for everyone else to respond. It is unfair to say that I had no interest in dialogue with you and the others who performed in the session that I found so offensive; if it were, I would not have emailed you after viewing your video. However, I did not approach you in that moment because I learned at a young age the import of taking time to weigh your immediate reaction when emotions run strong, to see if your reaction still holds true after your emotions have settled, and to offer a measured, thoughtful response whenever possible. This is what I tried to do with my blog, and I am sorry that it offended you.

I agree with you that we are a part of the same community and working for similar things, and I too desire greater unity and less infighting. I simply intended to offer my dissent because, as a member of a freethinking community, I’d like to think there is room for me to freely offer my response to something that offended me and express my desire to hold my community accountable to our claims of trying to make the world a more peaceful and cooperative place. Where we diverge is that I think a negative stance will color how we approach engagement with others, and it is my personal belief that the kind of mean-spirited demonstration I saw that day will only lead to more infighting because it promotes a divisive, opposition-based Atheistic identity. If we want unity in our community we need to seek out modes of unity in every aspect of our lives, and that includes unity with the larger religious world.

Thank you for your time and the opportunity to respond. I hope you enjoyed your weekend and I look forward to hearing back from you!

Chris

A week and a half later, I received a response:

Chris,

I’m so sorry for taking this long to reply! Seems like I have a million things to do at all times

The first thing that stood out to me is the false analogy you made between abolitionists and atheists. Abolitionists are explicitly and obviously on the side of slaves. Yes, some atheists -are- on the side of religion in some manner and you seem to be one of them. However, I am not. Religion is utterly and downright stupid to me and I feel no qualms about actively showing or talking about this. We’re not criticizing the individual because, as you should know, a lot of those women do NOT have a choice in what they wear in public. We are criticizing an actual act of oppression that happens in an actual religion because of archaic beliefs. Was it silly? Yes. Did it make people think about why we were doing what we were doing? Yes. That’s satire. I refer you to Alexander Pope or Johnathan Swift on the matter.

I’ve read your e-mail over and over again trying to think about how I was going to reply. The more I read it, though, it just becomes more apparent that you and I are simply on different sides of the same issue. You want to cohabitat with the religious and I do not. It would be a lie for me to say I respect your stance but I can at least say I understand it. Considering you are the type of person who is less likely to stand up and speak out in a roomful of people (this is not an attack) I can understand your want to live peaceful alongside religious people who have the majority voice at this point in time. I, on the other hand, as you know, have no problem declaring the evils of religion in front of many people.

I agree that me bringing up your sense of humour (or lack thereof) was a moot point. Shouldn’t have been brought up. Any good critical thinker can see that was a relative point.

I will bring up the burka/hijab issue in a different video. It’s much too long to discuss here and I feel like we would be digressing from a very good back-and-forth about the infighting issue.

I am beginning to understand through our dialogues that it simply is not in your nature to speak out in public. I can’t really criticize that because it’s just part of your personality and it would be unfair. But you did post the blog which tells me that you are not as timid as you seem. You talked about needing time to think about your words and called it “sensitivity and descretion.” I still call it cowardice. But that’s also because, were I in your shoes, I still would have confronted someone about the ‘injustice.’ That’s my nature. And so, what it comes down to, is that we are arguing about our natural propensities and that’s just inarguable.

- Cambridge

After taking a couple days to consider my response, I offered the following:

Cambridge,

Thank you for your response! No worries on being busy — I understand completely. We overcommitted types can surely sympathize with one another. Anyway, here are some reactions I had to your response:

Satire

I think we’re just going to have to disagree on what constitutes good satire. Based on the comments on my blog and your YouTube video, some thought “Back in Their Burkas” was good satire, others just found it plain offensive. There was no clear consensus one way or the other, so it’s obviously not just you and I who disagree. But to underline why I do not think it was good satire, I turn to Andrew Fogle’s guest post on my blog, which breaks down very effectively why I don’t think “Back in Their Burkas Again” is good satire. To quote him:

Good [satire] doesn’t mock particular identities… [it] makes tragicomic light of the very structure of identification itself, poking fun at the ceaseless and exhausting cycle of adopting names and roles from the world around us with which we can never, try as we may, fully coincide. “Back in Their Burkas Again” failed to attempt anything like this, treating the category “theocratically oppressed Arab women” like a geographer might treat the category “mountains”: as one more inert fact to be catalogued and manipulated (in this case for the sake of entertainment.) So long as such women are viewed to have stable, self-contained identities opposed to the stable, self-contained identities of enlightened Western atheists, attempts at dialogue will always collapse into self-perpetuating shouting matches. The AAC organizers could have put together something more sophisticated, something that acknowledged the inevitably ambiguous and performative aspects of fundamentalism, something that recognized the institution of the hijab as a massively complicated and irreducibly self-contradictory human phenomenon which always contains at its core of radical freedom the germ of its own self-transcendence, or something that, at the very least, involved strobe lights and Whitney Houston songs. They didn’t, opting instead for a cowardly and un-self-critical caricature of a lived tradition they didn’t bother to try to understand.

Fogle’s said it far better than I ever could. And while I appreciate your referring me to Pope and Swift, both of whom I am quite familiar with, you needn’t to be well read or educated to recognize good satire — satire works because we “feel” it. I, and many others, didn’t “feel” the satire of that performance. So here we are again in disagreement. Ultimately, I think “Back in Their Burkas Again” was a poor vehicle to address the problems of mandatory burka wearing. You say: “Abolitionists are explicitly and obviously on the side of slaves. Yes, some atheists -are- on the side of religion in some manner and you seem to be one of them. However, I am not. Religion is utterly and downright stupid to me and I feel no qualms about actively showing or talking about this.” The analogy was made because if you are claiming to be satirizing theocratically mandated burka-wearing then you are claiming to be on the side of the women who are forced to don burkas. You say you are not on the side of religion — fine. But if you are satirizing this issue, then you are implicitly claiming to be on the side of those oppressed by this specific politicized religious practice. Yet, as Fogle highlighted, good satire does not mock those it is supposed to be in favor of. Therefore, in my opinion, “Back in Their Burkas Again” was not good satire — heck, I don’t even think it was satire — it was a misguided attempt to say something important that wound up being egregiously disrespectful. Offensive or not it just wasn’t well executed, and your refusal to back off of it suggests, to me, defensiveness in place of a willingness to look at the issue critically.

Interfaith

I have to say that you’ve flat-out mischaracterized my desire to do interfaith work with your assumption that I’m just trying to make nice. You say: ”Considering you are the type of person who is less likely to stand up and speak out in a roomful of people (this is not an attack) I can understand your want to live peaceful alongside religious people who have the majority voice at this point in time. I, on the other hand, as you know, have no problem declaring the evils of religion in front of many people.” I don’t do interfaith for a reason as simple as the fact that there are more religious people than there are non-theists. I enjoy engaging with the religious because there are things I admire about them and the beliefs they hold. You are interested in seeking out the negative elements of religion, while I look for the good — two distinctly different approaches. That’s fine; they’re probably both important. But don’t write mine off as simply a desire to make peace with those in power when it is much more than that. Religion isn’t some inert, monolithic, black-and-white entity; for all the bad it has done and continues to do, it has also done some pretty incredible things, and as someone who tries to look for the best in others instead of the worst, that is where my eye fixes. Besides, when you say “you want to cohabitat with the religious and I do not,” you forget that, whether we want to or not is irrelevant — we do live among the religious. It is our choice to engage or not and I don’t want to be an isolationist, both because that is a lonely place to situate onself and because the great problems of our world demand collaboration with the widest set of people.

“Cowardice”

You say: “I am beginning to understand through our dialogues that it simply is not in your nature to speak out in public. I can’t really criticize that because it’s just part of your personality and it would be unfair.” This claim is problematic for a couple of reasons. The first reason it is problematic is you are making a broad assumption that how I reacted at AAC is how I always respond, which is not true. I have been a vocal activist for many years and speak my mind often (perhaps too often, ha). But as I’ve matured I’ve come to learn that there are occasions when speaking up in a particular forum is not only unproductive but can be damaging for all parties involved. The idea that my silence was rooted in an appeal to discretion, sensitivity, self-control and restraint seems to be a point you’re not interested in entertaining, so perhaps we’re best to just leave it in the “agree to disagree” pile.

But the other, more problematic thing you say is that you cannot criticize my action because it is a part of my personality, but then go on to criticize it anyway. The impression I get is that the crux of your reasoning for making your video resides in this claim of cowardice. If you truly think that the burka / hijab piece is best left to another conversation and truly believe that there is space for both of our opinions regarding engagement with the religious in this community, then all you have left is your claim of cowardice. If your offense was really at my “cowardice” and nothing more, then why even make the video in the first place? You say you recognize we have different opinions on the matter, and yet you call me a coward for feeling a particular way that is different than you and responding differently than you would have. Can you not see the contradiction there?

I don’t mean to sound as if I am not interested in dialoguing with you, but I also recognize that sometimes a conversation reduces to a point where it isn’t dialogue anymore. What do you hope to get out of future exchanges with me? Are you trying to better understand my desire to work with the religious? Because you’ve made it clear that you believe we are both in radically different positions on this and that, while you’re okay with that, we’re both firm in our convictions. Are you trying to understand why I was offended? It doesn’t seem so, since you seem bent on educating me on what satire actually is and so we seem to be in solid disagreement on this re: “Back in Their Burkas Again.” Are you trying to understand why I didn’t speak up? Well, no, because you seem to have made up your mind that “timidity” is fundamentally a core component of my personality. So what are we talking about then? I’m not trying to bring this to a premature end, and as an interfaith dialogue facilitator I am of course in favor of discussing things with people who disagree with me. But if you’re going to write off my reactions as “a part of [my] personality” or a desire to play nice with those in power, then it seems to me that you’re not actually listening to me but have already made up your mind. I hope that isn’t so but, if it is, as an equally busy person you may understand my hesitance to continue engaging in a dialogue that isn’t going anywhere. Either way, I’ve appreciated the civil tone of this conversation and, though we may disagree, I will continue to work with you when the opportunity arises to create a more cohesive, less divided secular community.

Thanks, and best wishes!

Chris

And… that was it. I never heard from Cambridge again. It’s really too bad, because I think we have a lot that we can learn from one another. But so it goes. As far as I know her mind is unchanged, and I remain resolved that her kind of antagonistic behavior is inherently problematic both in respect to our community’s relationship with the religious and our own intra-Atheist dynamics.

Still, I learned a lot from this whole experience; more than anything, I became less afraid to “speak my truth to power.” This, along with my desire for dialogue, is why I reached out to Cambridge; and though it didn’t necessarily “accomplish” anything, it was a chance worth taking. Perhaps our paths will cross again — I just hope she isn’t wearing a burka the next time I see her.

It didn’t bother me (and not just because I once heard an unsubstantiated claim that the origins of the expression are Norwegian) because I understand that the impetus for their achoo-ed call and response was good-natured concern. Everyone in that room knew that I didn’t believe in God, yet still told me week after week that they were praying for my health. To which I would respond with a smile: “thank you!”

Jesse Galef of the Secular Student Alliance just posted a blog over at the Friendly Atheist after seeing a tweet I published last night in which I commented that I don’t mind when religious people say a prayer for me — after all, what’s the harm? I appreciate the good intentions and kind thoughts. My tweet was a response to an article on CNN reporting on Christians who are praying for notorious Atheist author Christopher Hitchens, who was recently diagnosed with cancer.

It seems Jesse and I are more or less on the same page when it comes to how we internally react to prayer — he too appreciates the good intentions of those who pray — but we differ in that he also thinks it is important in such moments to assert to the individual offering prayer that it won’t work.

My first thought as a perpetual Agnostic is that we cannot say definitively that prayer never works; and there is some legitimate merit to the idea that positive thought makes a real impact (just one example, a piece from the New York Times), so until there is sufficient evidence that prayer doesn’t work 100% of the time, I don’t even want to try to make that argument.

But more importantly: why does it matter? So my classmates at Loyola think that prayer works and I remain unconvinced. Why should I try to dissuade them from that belief? Seems self-important and unnecessary to me. And, more importantly, their kind intention actually means a lot to me. We have a relationship of mutual concern and care — why would I want to go and ruin that by trying to assert my so-called “intellectual authority”? I’m a lot more interested in the fact that they care enough about me and my well-being to take a moment of their day to wish me well.

What do you folks think? Leave a comment — even if it’s just to let me know that you’re praying for me.

NB: Hijab refers to both a head covering and modest dress in general. Check out hijabifashionista to get a sense of how fabulous hijabis can be. The French legislation in question would ban the covering of one’s face; in the case of Muslim women, by the niqab, or veil. Definitions of modesty are unique to each community, as are the many types of hijab; it can mean just a headscarf or an entire burqa (made infamous by the Taliban). For the sake of consistency, I’ll refer to the garment in question as a burqa (please do post critiques of my lexicon!).

As a friend and I were catching up on the phone last week, talking about doctor/patient relationships, long-distance boyfriends, and other human interactions requiring extra care and consideration, she exclaimed: “My little sister has decided to wear the headscarf!”

This was not a call to arms but an exclamation of joy. My friend is no stifler of little girls: she is an arch-feminist who spends her summer days getting Iraqi refugees comfortable with the idea of mammograms and pap smears. She is also a woman who is Muslim, a woman who chooses to put a headscarf on every morning. Her parents don’t make her wear it, her imam doesn’t make her wear it, her fiancé doesn’t make her wear it. It would be a lot easier for her to walk down the street in America without it on, without people thinking headscarf-Muslim-terrorist-danger! But she chooses every morning to put it on, to pick one to match her outfit, to pin it carefully in place, to make it look good. She dons a headscarf because it is her right and her free choice.

Little sister chose to wear the headscarf despite her parents’ warnings; it will be very difficult to be the only hijabi in the hallway when she starts high school in the fall, during Ramadan no less. Little sister has also made the more challenging choice – to represent not only her faith, but to act as a trailblazer for other young girls who might not be so brave when classes start. Does she want to wear the headscarf because her big sister does? Probably. Little sister does not live in a cultural or social vacuum, but she also has the opportunities and freedom to make her own choice.

There are women who wear burqas in terror. If they did not shroud themselves every time they walk out of the house, they would suffer savage beatings, gang rape, disfigurement, exile, and murder. These women live war zones, mountain villages, and in the suburbs of Paris. These women have no human rights.

There are women who wear hijab because they choose to. Why would a woman choose to cover herself if she were not so compelled? Ask a woman who wears one (or a little sister). They’ll all give you different answers. The French government will soon take their choice away. They will be denied a human right.

I fully support half of the legislation passed by the French National Assembly yesterday morning. (It must also pass in the Senate and be approved by the constitutional council). Forcing a woman to wear a face covering would now come with a $38,000 fine or a year in prison. Or, at least, I support the spirit of the law, which protects a person’s right to self-determination. If only this law had been passed 1300 years ago, we wouldn’t have to feel the birthing pains now.

The likely consequences of its enforcement are horrifying. The women whose families compel them to wear the burqa will be imprisoned in their homes for the rest of their lives. If they do go out in their burqa and are questioned, what would they say? What would happen to a woman who pointed a finger at her husband, at her mother? These women have neither the choice to disrobe nor the voice to seek justice.

The other half of the law is a slap on the wrist. Choose to cover your face in public? (Masquerade balls get a pass.) That’ll be $185, or you can pick up litter for a day. Women can march down the street in protest without fear of having a year’s wages gleaned. If I were a Muslim woman in France I’d be sewing myself a new burqa to join them.

The ban’s not so bad, right? Wrong. Any law that restricts a person’s human rights (such as freedom to practice whatever religion they choose, even if that religion dictates you can only show your eyes to strangers) cannot be tolerated by a truly free society. When we grant each other the right to self-determination in a plural society, we should expect that some of the choices others make will be antithetical to our own.

Little sister is going to put a headscarf on next month, and maybe every day for the rest of her life. Every day she gets to choose. I know it’s not a burqa, not even close. But what if she did want to put one on, just for a day? Should she be punished for that? I hope to have a daughter someday, and I hope that she is free to put a burqa on — and not just for a masquerade ball.

Nathaniel DeLuca grew up at a Lutheran summer camp and is now a Secular Humanist and the Program Coordinator at the Yale University Chaplain’s Office. He likes to flip pancakes for hungry students,  create sustainable community service partnerships, and make “queer” and “religious” fit into logical sentences. Depending on conditions, he’s usually strapped to a snowboard or a bike. Right now he’d rather be camping, driving somewhere off the map with Chris Stedman [Ed. Note: Ditto, Nat].

In seeking to build bridges between secular and religious communities, it is sometimes easy to get distracted by the numerous vocal detractors I encounter; particularly because the majority of critiques I get come from members of my own secular community. Because the work I do is so often met with criticism — negative comments on my blog, youtube videos calling me a coward, and even threatening robocalls — I am sustained when my efforts result in the realization of coalitions between communities that, prior to dialogue, seemingly stood in opposition. These unexpected connections, like a robust dialogue event I put together between Secular Humanists and Muslims, have become a trademark of what I do. And yet I continue to find myself surprised by the unlikely people this work draws in.

Last week my opinion piece for the Secular Student Alliance on “Everybody Draw Muhammad Day” caught the attention of a conservative Christian who maintains the Twitter handle “SillyLiberals.” This account lists its name as “Anti Liberal” and has the following written out under the Bio field: “Liberalism: a false religion based on false hope, concocted by a Godless people. Btw, how is that whole hopey changey thing workin’ out for ya? Nobama 2012.” It seems unlikely that we could be any more different in our political positioning. It is safe to say that I’m pretty left of center in my thinking; meanwhile, this individual recently tweeted, “My favorite oxyMORONs: ‘Prochoice Christian’, ‘Gay Pride’, ‘Prochoice Post-op Tranny’ & let’s not forget ‘Liberal Pride.’ Silly liberals.”

And yet, to my surprise, I received a tweet from SillyLiberals shortly after my piece went up saying: “Good article! You may be the most sensible secularist I know of. Aside from that whole ‘Godless’ thing, you’re alright.” After clarifying that the latter part of the tweet was semi-sarcastic, SillyLiberals added: “I really did appreciate your sensibility. That’s what’s missing in the leadership of the ‘seculars’.” I tweeted back a note of gratitude for the compliment, stating that I think the secular community has a long way to go in how it engages with difference. SillyLiberals responded: “I agree with that 100% & I appreciate your diplomatic approach. It may only prove to be futile, but don’t give up!”

I believe that SillyLiberals is wrong about the futility of what I do, and I think our exchange proves it. This work is anything but futile; it is often dizzyingly fruitful. I cannot imagine another context in which such starkly diametrical individuals would’ve established a common ground. I do think, however, that SillyLiberals’ concerns are legitimate: in its frequently antagonistic posturing toward the religious, the secular community hasn’t exactly reassured the larger American populace of its best intentions. The alienating aim of many members of the secular community creates a self-fulfilling prophecy (ironic here, I know). I constantly hear secular folks bemoaning the reality that we are a disliked minority; yet moments later, we turn around and mock those who differ from us theologically. Talk about shooting ourselves in the foot.

We are still a young movement that has a lot of growing up to do. With age comes humility and, hopefully, a desire to be open to the experiences of others so that we may learn from those who are radically different from us. Diplomacy is the only way to solve the systemic problems of our time, including anti-Atheist sentiments, and we cannot “fight the good fight” alone. As I said in the aforementioned SSA piece, “we have only ourselves to blame when [those we mock] decline to advocate for us in the future.” And we have only ourselves to blame for missing out on the opportunity to forge the unlikely alliances that will facilitate the social progress we claim to seek.

I am thrilled and honored that my work is building bridges across cavernous ideological differences. I believe it is an amazing testament to the power of dialogue and the goodness of being respectfully open to the experiences of others that a queer Secular Humanist can win over a staunch conservative by defending Muslims. Now this individual, despite our profound disagreement on pretty much everything, has opened his or her mind to the legitimacy of secular morality and the possibility of respectful interfaith and secular engagement. Such incredible moments are why I do this work.

We’re living in a globalized future in which we must diplomatically engage with people who maintain distinctly different identity markers. If a hardline, anti-gay conservative gets it, why do so many of my progressive, secular peers miss the mark? It’s time to refocus; to turn our arrows away from barbed religious critiques and aim for dialogue. This is how the secular community will change hearts and minds — even when limited to 140 character tweets.