I was warned.

In college, my favorite professor once recalled an anecdote to a classroom of would-be-religion-scholars, "Cocktail parties are not always very fun if you're a religion professor. I spend most of my conversations trying not to talk about religion because as soon as someone finds out you are a religion professor, you get an earful. I try to tend to keep the conversation away from my work, or tell them that I teach ethics. Trust me, people have a lot to say about religion." We all laughed at his story, imagining this kind man avoiding the topic he loves more than anything.

I witnessed this very scenario later that year at Graduation. A classmate's uncle had cornered my professor and I could overhear him saying, "You know, it's the Muslims that are ruining America." I could discern a look of mild amusement mixed with concern and a desire to seem respectful on my professor's face. Arms crossed, he tilted his head to the side in a listening posture. As I sauntered off, I giggled to myself, thinking, "So, that's what he was talking about."

Flash forward two years. Here I am, starting Divinity School. Let me describe to you a typical conversation upon meeting someone new:
New Person (NP): Why did you move to Boston?
Me: I'm starting grad school this fall.
NP: Oh where?
Me: Harvard Divinity School.
NP: So are you going into ministry?
Me: No. That's not really the goal.
NP: So, what are your religious beliefs?

Four questions into knowing someone and they have asked me one of the most personal questions I can imagine. I'm an open person, so it doesn't really bother me. However, struggling to explain my faith to a stranger is always a delicate balance between honesty and over-exposure.

Then there are days like today. I worked my first full shift at work and within an hour of meeting two new co-workers, one said to me, "I'm probably one of the only anti-religious people you will meet who isn't bothered by pentecostals." I tried to hold back a cringe. "Do you define yourself as anti-religious or a-religious?" I asked, trying to understand what he could have meant.

"Well, I think that all religions are institutionally based and cause people to do bad things. I think religion is just a block to the way people experience spirituality. I mean, I'm a Zen Buddhist, which is like a mystical version of Buddhism. So, I know I don't practice what I espouse, but I still believe it."

I took a breath and slowly began, "Well, I don't know that it's that simple to talk about all religions as the same. I guess I think of religion and spirituality in the same way that I think of language and communication. We cannot communicate with one another without language, although we accept that the words we use fall short of what we really mean. In the same way, I think that religious institutions and practices help us facilitate whatever connection we have with the divine. I don't think that's a bad thing." I stopped myself short of divulging my own personal belief and looked up at him.

"I like that," he said. "Religion and language. That's good." And then we were off to serving iced coffee and tea to the many haggard customers seeking refuge from the heat.

So, despite my professor's warning and my desire to stay under the radar when possible, my religious thoughts are still standing front and center in most of my conversations. It seems like it will be an interesting year, comprised of awkward conversations and me learning how to negotiate a path between truth and saying too much.

This same professor has a book that will be released on July 19. I recommend it for anyone who is interested in religion, how faith works, or how divine intervention (ie: miracles) operates across traditions. He is an incredibly clear and interesting writer. Enjoy!