A padded envelope nestles between the mat and the door of my apartment. Excitedly, I pick up the unexpected parcel and look at the return address. Why would Karim send me a package I wonder?
A few days earlier, Karim and I went on a blind date. Since the Jewish Singles group is not working out romantically for me, I reluctantly agree to the blind date arranged in tandem by my boss at my part-time job and Karim’s mother. I feel a lot of pressure about the date not only because it is arranged by my employer, but also because I have just decided to take a break from dating.
I enter my apartment, toss my keys and tote bag down, and tear open the envelope. A letter rests atop a box of chocolates. A shared love of chocolate was one of the things we’d discovered on our date. I smile when I recognize the brand of chocolate as one he mentioned as his favorite. “I’ve never tried that kind,” I’d said to him. Now, I open the box and take a bite of candy. Chocolate, nuts, and carmel fill my mouth. He’s right. The chocolates are delicious. My heart melts over this thoughtful, sweet gesture.
We have our second date a week later. A moonlit kiss on the beach is, by far, the best kiss I’ve ever had. More and more dates follow, until we have moved from something casual into a serious relationship.
Karim was raised Methodist. But he is not practicing any organized religion when our romance begins. Like many Americans, he considers himself spiritual, though not a member of any church. After trying various churches and experiencing messages of “only through our version of faith will you be saved,” Karim yearns for a Christianity of radical inclusion, which stresses Jesus’ message of grace above rules, openness, and transcendent love.
This is one of many reasons I am certain God specifically led us to the Episcopal Church, U.S.A. Take this quote: "When Jesus entered the synagogue in his first public act of ministry (Luke 4), he read from the prophet Isaiah. The vision proclaimed is known as the desire of God, the peaceable kingdom, a society of justice and shalom, or the city set on a hill. It is an icon of what God intends for all creation - that human beings live in justice and peace with one another . . . The fundamental truth undergirding this vision is that all are made in the image of God. It is in our diversity that we discover the fullness of that image. If we judge one class or race or gender better than another, we violate that desire and intent of God." This, from a Pastoral Letter from the House of Bishops of the Episcopal Church,* is a perfect example of some of the beliefs that shape the Episcopal faith. But it will be a number of years before we make our way up the steps of St. Luke's.
I am 24 when we meet, and have not had very many boyfriends. At a certain point in college, when I am fully practicing Judaism, I decide I want to date only Jewish men. If being Jewish is such a huge part of my life, it makes sense to me to date and eventually marry someone who shares my beliefs. I continue to date only Jewish men when I move to Tampa even though I have not joined a temple. But so much of my time is devoted to research that I am fully engaged in Messianic Jewish worship instead.
Perhaps my dissertation topic opens me to the possibility of an interfaith relationship. Messianic Judaism weaves elements of Judaism and Christianity and my research forces me to scrutinize Judaism. I begin to question certain Jewish beliefs, like how one defines who is or is not Jewish. I also recognize the passion present in Messianic worship that is missing for me in traditional Jewish worship. A personal relationship with God is highly valued in Messianic Judaism, the same relationship I keep searching for, the one many Christians express having.
At the same time, my relationship with Karim introduces me to additional facets of the Christian faith. We discuss how to treat religion with any potential children we have. When we discuss it, we decide we will not impose one faith over another. “Maybe it is important that our child see people of different faiths can get along,” I say. Karim agrees. I imagine our future offspring, sitting quietly and coloring in a pew. The stunning reality of the squirming, impatient toddler we will have does not occur to me. In my fantasies, I never envision a son who, though happy to kneel, will not sit for more than five minutes at a time for any religious service.
Karim and I enter our relationship with vastly different cultural backgrounds. He does not share my history of Jewish rituals, food, and customs. I do not share his holiday celebrations or understand the nuances of Christian faith and culture. With Karim’s family, I celebrate Christmas for the first time.
The scent of baking and cooking fills the air, while Handel’s Messiah plays on the audio system. An undecorated tree stands framed by a window. The temperature outside is in the sixties, which is cool by Sarasota, Florida standards.
Gretchen, Karim’s mother, unwraps boxed ornaments for our tree trimming. “Here are the camels, Leigh. We got these when I was pregnant with Karim.” She hands me the brown, leather camels. Gretchen shares the story of each ornament as it is placed on the tree. Unlike Karim’s father, an active Methodist church member, Gretchen is not religious. Her love of Christmas resides in its history and rituals.
Before my conversion, I could not fathom how any form of Christmas or Easter celebration could be secular. From the other side, I now see that some people observe Christian holidays more in a folkloric sense, without a sacred dimension. I see how easily Jesus is excluded from Christmas and Easter decorations, books, and the like. When I find a total of two books that feature Jesus as part of the Easter story among twenty or thirty Easter books about bunnies, eggs, and candy at a chain bookstore, I am amazed. A similar thing happens in the Jewish community, with those who gain comfort from practices and heritage but do not need belief in God, or a place of worship. This is a belief system all its own, based in ancestry and history.
My love of the Christmas tree surprises me. I never envied Christmas with its decorations and lights. I found it pretty to admire from a distance, but certainly never desired to practice it myself. When I join Karim’s family for their holiday traditions, joy, memory, and warmth are ceremoniously enacted. I find it utterly compelling.
When Karim and I move in together a few years later, we institute our own yearly tree. Initially, we also light a Hanukkah menorah. But it seems dwarfed by the powerful Christmas tree. Hanukkah is not a holiday of supreme religious importance in Judaism. Its relevance grew during the past hundred or so years as a Jewish answer to Christmas. For me it is strange to have both a tree and a Menorah. For some reason, even in the midst of researching a community that blurs the lines between Jewish and Christian, I find it difficult to combine two religions. So, the choice being made, Karim and I celebrate Christmas, though neither one of us actively practices Christianity.
Nine years after our first date, and three years into our marriage, I tell Karim, “I’d really like to find a church. I feel like my life is lacking a spiritual dimension.” In the years since ending my studies, I’ve mentioned before how much I miss attending regular worship services.
“Uh, okay,” he replies. “But wouldn’t you like to visit some synagogues too?”
“No. I feel like I’ve been trying out synagogues my whole life. I want to find a church.”
There is a moment of silence. “Are you saying you want to convert?”
“Yes.” I confess. And so I share the story, even though it is still unfolding, still partial, and still not something I fully comprehend. “Are you shocked?”
He thinks about the question. “Not really. Actually, that helps a lot of things make more sense. I think you’ve been on a really long journey. One that maybe began with your research.”
“I think it began even before that.” I am relieved to finally share this decision with someone. And our joint journey with St. Luke’s Episcopal Church begins.
December 2005 marks my first Christmas as a Christian. A friend asks, “Doesn’t it feel completely different to you now?” I respond, “Yes.” As a Christian, I recognize how much spiritual depth my celebration of holidays like Christmas and Easter have for me now. Before, the elements of Christmas were reflected in shining ornaments, cups of hot cocoa, and the multitude of routines we perform. These meaningful details are still present, but now there is an additional level - that of a transforming spirit. Jesus’ presence is so strong for me now, it seems impossible that I was ever unaware of it. The Incarnation serves as a reminder of amazing grace, a reminder of the incredible invitation extended to me. This colors my holiday with a perfect, captivating joy.
*March 2006.
