The Tree of Spiritual Unity: Rediscovering Our Shared Foundations

As I look around, I see not just faces, but stories. Each of you carries within you a unique journey, shaped by different traditions, cultures, and experiences. Yet beneath these differences lies something profound that connects us all – something ancient and enduring that transcends the boundaries we've created.

I'm reminded of my own journey that brought me here. Growing up in a small town where religious identity was treated as something absolute and unchangeable, I never imagined I'd one day sit in a circle with spiritual leaders from traditions spanning the globe during my doctoral studies. That experience forever changed me. I remember the afternoon when a Buddhist monk, a Hasidic rabbi, a Sufi teacher, Wiccan priest & priestess, Catholic priest, an Indigenous elder… among others, sat together, not debating whose path was superior, but sharing stories about how their traditions taught them to become more fully human. Despite speaking different spiritual languages, they understood each other perfectly.

Today, I want to talk about the tree of spiritual unity that stands at the center of human experience. This tree, with its deep roots, sturdy trunk, and countless branches reaching toward the sky, offers us a powerful metaphor for understanding our shared spiritual heritage and the path toward a more compassionate humanity.

The Crisis of Division

We live in a time of profound contradiction. Our technology connects us across vast distances, yet many of us feel more isolated than ever. We have unprecedented access to the wisdom of countless traditions, yet we often use these teachings not as bridges, but as barriers. Too frequently, we witness religion and spirituality being wielded as weapons of division rather than tools for healing.

Just last month, I watched with a heavy heart as news broke about violent clashes between religious communities in several parts of the world. In one region, centuries-old neighbors turned against each other over interpretations of texts meant to teach love. Meanwhile, in our own country, the weaponization of faith has become a centerpiece of political strategy, with spiritual language used to justify policies that harm the vulnerable – precisely those whom nearly every tradition calls us to protect.

I think of my friend Sarah, who was expelled from her religious community when she began asking questions about interpretations that seemed at odds with the compassion at the core of their teachings. "They didn't just reject my ideas," she told me, tears in her eyes, "they rejected me as a person." This was the very community that had taught her about God's unconditional love.

The Persian poet Rumi wrote: "Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I'll meet you there." Yet today, many seem determined to remain within the confines of their own gardens, convinced that theirs alone contains the fullness of truth.

When religion becomes primarily about establishing who is right and who is wrong, who belongs and who doesn't, who is saved and who is condemned, we have strayed far from the living heart of spirituality. When sacred texts become ammunition rather than illumination, we have forgotten their deepest purpose.

As my mentor told me during a particularly difficult dialogue between faith traditions, "The moment you use your faith to diminish another person's humanity, you have betrayed that faith."

The Roots: Our Shared Human Condition

Let us return to our metaphor of the tree. What are the roots that anchor our spiritual traditions in the soil of human experience?

I was reminded of these shared roots last year when I sat in a hospital waiting room. Beside me was a woman I'd never met before, from a faith tradition very different from my own. We began talking, and soon found ourselves sharing our deepest fears and hopes – not as members of different religions, but as two humans facing the fragility of life and the love we felt for our families. In that sterile waiting room, differences of dogma seemed utterly insignificant compared to our shared vulnerability.

All spiritual traditions arise from our confrontation with certain fundamental realities: We are born, we suffer, we love, we wonder, and eventually, we die. Every human being, regardless of culture or creed, must grapple with these universal conditions.

The Buddha articulated this in his First Noble Truth: "Life contains suffering." This is not pessimism but clarity – an acknowledgment of our vulnerable, impermanent nature.

In the Judaic tradition, Ecclesiastes reflects: "For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die..." This poetic acknowledgment of life's rhythms and inevitable transitions speaks across cultural boundaries.

We see these universal experiences playing out in real time across our world today. Consider how communities from vastly different spiritual backgrounds responded to the devastating flooding in Bangladesh last year. I saw volunteers from Hindu temples working alongside Christian missionaries, Muslim aid organizations, and secular NGOs. Nobody was asking about faith affiliations before offering shelter, food, or medical care.

Indigenous wisdom traditions worldwide recognize our fundamental dependence on the natural world, our place within the web of life. In the words of Chief Seattle of the Duwamish: "All things are connected. Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons of the earth." This wisdom feels particularly urgent today as we face climate crises that pay no attention to national or religious boundaries.

From these shared roots of human experience spring our questions: Why are we here? What gives life meaning? How should we live with one another? What awaits beyond death?

No culture has been without these questions. They are the underground streams that nourish our diverse spiritual traditions.

The Trunk: Ethical Foundations

If the roots of spirituality lie in our shared human condition, then the trunk of our metaphorical tree represents the ethical foundations that support healthy human society – the moral intuitions that emerge across traditions with remarkable consistency.

Consider how variations of the Golden Rule appear across faiths:

From Judaism: "Love your neighbor as yourself." (Leviticus 19:18)

From Christianity: "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." (Matthew 7:12)

From Islam: "None of you truly believes until he wishes for his brother what he wishes for himself." (Hadith)

From Hinduism: "One should never do that to another which one regards as injurious to one's own self." (Anushasana Parva, Mahabharata)

From Buddhism: "Treat not others in ways that you yourself would find hurtful." (Udana-Varga 5:18)

From Confucianism: "Do not impose on others what you yourself do not desire." (Analects 15:24)

From the Baha'i Faith: "Lay not on any soul a load that you would not wish to be laid upon you, and desire not for anyone the things you would not desire for yourself." (Gleanings)

This convergence is no coincidence. It reflects something fundamental about human flourishing – that our wellbeing is inseparable from the wellbeing of others. These teachings acknowledge that we exist in relationship, that compassion is a virtue but also a recognition of our interconnected reality.

The trunk of our tree also includes other shared values: truth-telling, care for the vulnerable, restraint of destructive impulses, gratitude, generosity, forgiveness, and humility before the mystery of existence.

Indigenous leader Sherri Mitchell of the Penobscot Nation writes: "The original instructions that were given to all human beings include the directive to live in peace with one another and with all of creation."

It is striking that across vastly different cultural and historical contexts, wisdom traditions consistently teach that the path to personal fulfillment paradoxically requires moving beyond self-centeredness. The Dalai Lama puts it simply: "If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion."

The Branches: Diverse Expressions

From this common trunk of ethical wisdom extend the countless branches of our spiritual traditions – different yet connected, each reaching toward the light in its own way.

These branches represent the remarkable diversity of spiritual expression across human cultures: different practices, symbols, stories, and sacred texts. Each tradition offers unique gifts, perspectives, and insights that others may lack.

Christianity emphasizes grace and redemption through selfless love. Judaism highlights covenant and the sanctification of everyday life. Islam underscores submission to divine guidance and the dignity of all creation. Buddhism offers profound psychological insights and practices for liberating the mind from suffering. Hinduism embraces the many paths to divine realization. Indigenous traditions honor the sacred web of relations between humans and the natural world. Taoism teaches alignment with the natural flow of existence.

This diversity is not a problem to be solved but a richness to be celebrated. Just as biodiversity strengthens an ecosystem, the variety of spiritual approaches enriches our collective understanding.

The Jain tradition offers us the beautiful concept of Anekantavada – the principle of multiple viewpoints. This teaching suggests that reality is multifaceted, and different perspectives may each contain partial truths. No single viewpoint can capture the whole. This wisdom offers an antidote to fundamentalism of all kinds.

Or as the Hindu Rig Veda proclaims: "Truth is One, though the sages know it as many."

The Shadows: When Religion Goes Wrong

Yet we must acknowledge that religions have often fallen short of their highest ideals. Around our metaphorical tree lie shadows – the ways spiritual traditions have been distorted to justify violence, oppression, exclusion, and exploitation.

In the Reconciliation Museum in Rwanda, which documents how religious institutions that should have been sanctuaries of compassion became complicit in genocide. Some priests and pastors who had preached love on Sundays became perpetrators of violence by Monday. This is not ancient history – it happened within many of our lifetimes.

Or consider the headlines just this past month, where we've seen faith leaders defending policies that separate children from parents at borders, despite their traditions' explicit teachings about welcoming the stranger and caring for the vulnerable.

I think of Maya, a former student of mine, who was subjected to so-called "conversion therapy" based on selective religious interpretations. "The worst part," she told me, "was how they used the same sacred texts that had once given me hope to convince me that God couldn't love someone like me."

Religion has been used to sanctify conquest, to rationalize slavery, to subjugate women, to persecute minorities, to silence dissent, to exploit followers, and to resist scientific understanding. These shadows cannot be ignored if we seek authentic spiritual renewal.

The misuse of religion typically involves several common patterns:

First is the confusion of cultural identity with spiritual truth – when religion becomes primarily about preserving "our way of life" rather than transforming our hearts. We see this in the rise of nationalist movements that drape themselves in religious symbols while violating religious values.

Second is the idolatry of certainty – the assumption that one's limited human understanding fully captures divine reality. I witnessed this firsthand in a theological debate where a colleague declared, "God has no questions, only answers," to which an elder rabbi wisely responded, "Then perhaps what you worship is not God but certainty."

Third is the weaponization of scripture – lifting texts from their contexts to harm rather than heal. We see this in the selective quotation of sacred texts to justify everything from environmental destruction to economic exploitation.

Fourth is spiritual materialism – using religion for worldly gain, whether wealth, power, or status. The prosperity gospel megachurches with private jets and the political leaders cynically wielding faith for votes come to mind.

And fifth is tribalism – defining spirituality primarily by who is excluded rather than by how we treat one another. I think of the online religious communities whose members spend more time policing boundaries than practicing compassion.

These distortions obscure the living heart of spiritual wisdom. As Jesus said of religious authorities in his time: "They tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on the shoulders of others; but they themselves are unwilling to lift a finger to move them." (Matthew 23:4)

Leaves Reaching for the Light: Spiritual Renewal

How then do we move beyond these shadows toward a more authentic spirituality? The leaves of our tree, reaching toward the light, symbolize the possibility of renewal.

Genuine spirituality has several recognizable qualities that transcend specific traditions:

First is humility – acknowledging the limits of our understanding. The Tao Te Ching begins with this wisdom: "The Tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao. The name that can be named is not the eternal name." True spirituality starts with "I don't know" rather than "I am certain."

Second is compassion – recognizing the inherent dignity of all beings. In the words of the Prophet Muhammad: "None of you truly believes until you love for your brother what you love for yourself." This compassion extends not just to those who share our beliefs but to all.

Third is transformation – the work of aligning our lives with our highest values. As Gandhi famously said: "Be the change you wish to see in the world." Spiritual wisdom must be embodied, not merely intellectualized.

Fourth is wonder – maintaining an openness to mystery and awe. Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote: "Wonder rather than doubt is the root of all knowledge." This sense of wonder connects us with something larger than ourselves.

Fifth is community – recognizing that spirituality flourishes in relationship. African Ubuntu philosophy teaches: "I am because we are." We need one another to live our values fully.

And sixth is justice – working to create conditions where all can flourish. The Hebrew prophet Micah distilled religious obligation to: "Do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with your God." Spiritual growth that doesn't lead to ethical action remains incomplete.

The Fruit: A New Way Forward

What might be the fruit of this renewed spirituality? What could emerge if we honored both our commonality and our diversity?

I believe we would discover a spirituality that:

- Unites rather than divides

- Heals rather than harms

- Questions rather than condemns

- Serves rather than dominates

- Transforms rather than conforms

- Includes rather than excludes

This is not about creating some homogenized "world religion" that erases meaningful differences. Rather, it's about recognizing that our diverse traditions can be authentic to their unique insights while acknowledging our shared humanity and common ethical foundations.

As the Sikh tradition beautifully expresses: "There is one Reality, one Source, called by many names."

In practical terms, this renewed spirituality might manifest in several ways:

It would foster genuine dialogue across traditions, motivated by a desire to learn rather than convert. As the philosopher Hans-Georg Gadamer noted, real dialogue requires us to risk our own positions, to be open to transformation through encounter with the other.

It would emphasize orthopraxy (right action) alongside orthodoxy (right belief) – recognizing that how we treat one another matters more than doctrinal purity.

It would reclaim the prophetic role of speaking truth to power and working for justice, especially for the most vulnerable. As Christianity's liberation theology asserts, God has a "preferential option for the poor."

It would honor the body and the earth, rejecting false dichotomies between spirit and matter. As the pagan tradition reminds us: "The sacred is here, now, in this world."

It would embrace science as a complement to spiritual wisdom rather than a competitor. The Dalai Lama has said: "If scientific analysis were conclusively to demonstrate certain claims in Buddhism to be false, then we must accept the findings of science and abandon those claims."

Perhaps most importantly, it would measure spiritual maturity not by the intensity of one's convictions but by the depth of one's compassion.

Personal Transformation

The renewal of our spiritual traditions cannot happen through institutional reform alone. It requires personal transformation – a willingness to examine our own hearts and practices.

I must confess that my own journey has not been without its shadows. I remember a period in my twenties when I was so certain of my spiritual understanding that I dismissed others' paths as inferior. I used my theological education not to build bridges but to win arguments. It took a profound personal crisis – and the unexpected kindness of someone from a tradition I had criticized – to crack open my certainty and allow genuine wisdom to begin flowing in.

I, once, participated in an interfaith retreat where thirty of us from different traditions spent a week in silence, each practicing our own form of contemplation while sharing meals and living space. No attempt was made to homogenize our practices. A Catholic nun prayed the rosary while a Zen practitioner sat zazen nearby. We didn't abandon our differences, yet something profound happened in that shared silence – a recognition of what lies beneath all our different forms of practice.

The Sufi poet Rumi challenges us: "Yesterday I was clever, so I wanted to change the world. Today I am wise, so I am changing myself."

This inner work might involve:

Confronting our own fundamentalism – the places where we've confused certainty with faith. For me, this happened when I realized I was more attached to being right than to being compassionate.

Examining where we've used religion to reinforce our biases rather than challenge them. I think of an acquaintance, Josh, who admitted that he had been using selective Bible verses to justify his political views rather than allowing scripture to transform them.

Practicing the spiritual art of listening – truly hearing those with different experiences and beliefs. In today's fractured media landscape, where algorithms feed us only what reinforces our existing views, this may be the most radical spiritual practice available to us.

Cultivating contemplative practices that open us to deeper wisdom beyond conceptual thinking. In our hyperactive, distracted world, the simple act of sitting in silence for twenty minutes daily might be revolutionary.

Building relationships across lines of difference, recognizing that diversity is not just a modern value but a reflection of the creative abundance of life itself. I think of the "Dinner with Your Muslim Neighbor" program in cities that have transformed fear into friendship, one meal at a time.

As Vietnamese Buddhist teacher Thich Nhat Hanh reminded us before his passing in 2022: "People suffer because they are caught in their views. As soon as we release those views, we are free and we don't suffer anymore."

A Vision of Hope

I believe we stand at a critical juncture in human history. The challenges we face – climate change, polarization, violence, systemic injustice – cannot be solved by fragmented approaches or tribal thinking. They require us to draw upon the deepest wisdom of all our traditions while transcending their limitations.

In Detroit there is an abandoned church building that has been transformed into an interfaith community center. In what was once the sanctuary, Muslims now pray on Fridays, Jews gather for Shabbat on Saturdays, and Christians worship on Sundays. During the week, the space hosts meditation classes, interfaith dialogues, and community services for the neighborhood. The former parish house now contains a free clinic staffed by volunteer healthcare providers from diverse faith backgrounds. What struck me most was not just the sharing of space, but the genuine relationships that had formed. "We started by sharing a building," the coordinator said, "but now we're sharing our lives."

This gives me hope amid our divided times. Despite the headlines that highlight religious extremism and violence, countless individuals and communities are quietly living a different story.

Imagine communities where people of different faiths gather regularly for polite exchange and for deep collaboration on addressing human suffering. This is happening at the Interfaith Food Bank in Portland, where Mormons, Methodists, Muslims, and those claiming no particular faith connect. Their different motivations for service became irrelevant as they packed groceries together.

Imagine spiritual leaders who point beyond themselves and their institutions to the greater truths they serve. I think of Rabbi Sharon Brous, Imam Abdullah Antepli, and Bishop Michael Curry, whose prophetic voices consistently transcend narrow sectarianism to address our common humanity.

Imagine educational approaches that teach the wisdom of diverse traditions alongside critical thinking skills. The emerging field of contemplative studies in our universities offers this integration, as do the innovative interfaith curricula now being used in some forward-thinking public schools.

Imagine political discourse informed by genuine spiritual values rather than religious tribalism. We catch glimpses of this possibility when leaders speak to our highest aspirations rather than our deepest fears.

Imagine economic systems designed to reflect our interdependence rather than exploit our self-interest. The growing movement for ethical investment and sustainable business practices suggests a shift in this direction.

The seeds of this vision already exist. In disaster zones around the world, we've witnessed people of all faiths working side by side to alleviate suffering. After the earthquake in Nepal and the hurricanes in Puerto Rico, theological differences suddenly seemed trivial compared to the urgent need for water, food, and shelter. In interfaith families, new generations are learning to honor multiple traditions. In countless local initiatives like community gardens, peace circles, and restorative justice programs, people are discovering that spiritual wisdom and practical action can reinforceㅤrather than oppose each other.

Tending the Tree

Let me conclude with a story shared across many traditions in different forms.

A traveler came upon an elder planting a tree and asked, "Why do you plant this tree? Surely you will not live to enjoy its shade or fruit."

The elder replied, "Those who came before me planted trees from which I received shade and fruit. I plant this tree so those who come after will have the same blessing."

The spiritual tree of humanity has been tended by countless generations before us. Its roots run deep through human history. Its trunk stands firm in shared ethical wisdom. Its branches reach out in magnificent diversity. Its leaves turn toward the light of truth that no tradition fully captures.

This tree does not belong to any of us alone. It belongs to all of us together. And it belongs to those who will come after us.

In a world often divided by fundamentalism, materialism, and despair, our task is clear: to nourish this tree with our commitment to both compassion and truth, to honor both our commonality and our differences, to find unity without requiring uniformity.

The future of humanity may well depend on our ability to recognize what the Lakota people express in the phrase "Mitákuye Oyás'iŋ" – we are all related.

As you go about your day, I invite you to consider: How might you tend this tree in your own life? What unique gifts might your tradition offer to our common flourishing? Where might you need to let go of certainty to make room for growth? How might you extend your circle of compassion ever wider?

The answers to these questions will be as diverse as we are. But in our diversity lies our strength – like the countless leaves of a tree turning toward the same light.

May we have the courage to claim this shared heritage.

May we have the wisdom to learn from our differences.

May we have the compassion to include all beings in our circle of care.

And may the fruit of our efforts benefit generations to come.

If this article resonates with you, I hope you will join us at The Sanctuary of Living Wisdom for our Inaugural Celebration of Life on Sunday, June 1st, 2025 at 10 AM.