This blog is an article for the Together Paper of Wagga Wagga Diocese September Edition.
There is something quite vulnerable about being asked to represent Christianity in a room
filled with people from different faith traditions. What do you say and what do you leave out?
What meaning might get lost in language that’s familiar to me but unfamiliar to others? How
can I articulate what Christians believe, when there is such a broad range even within
Christianity, while genuinely remaining open and curious to hearing a different worldview?
I was recently invited for a second time to represent Christians in Wagga at a multi-faith
panel discussion, this year exploring mental health. Alongside representatives from
Aboriginal Spirituality, the Baháʼí Faith, Tibetan Buddhism, Hinduism, Islam, Quakers and
Sikhism, we were invited to share our respective traditions’ understanding and support of
mental wellbeing.
One of my favourite elements happens before anyone takes a seat at the panel table. The
evening before, the organisers invite the panellists around a different table to break bread
and share a meal. Rather than expecting a group of strangers to arrive the following morning
and somehow model respectful dialogue, they invite us to live it first. We talk, laugh, learn
and begin to ask questions, not necessarily about the theme of the event but merely from
one human to another. It creates a foundation for genuinely listening to one another with
care and curiosity.
The event has been hosted by the Potowa Buddhist Group since 2017, and this year was
held at the Wagga Base Hospital and sponsored by the Multicultural Council of Wagga
Wagga. Our first question was: How does your faith tradition support mental health and
wellbeing?
For me, it was an opportunity to speak to the Christian understanding of the human person,
and the healing power of relationship, most especially with God, the Divine Physician. From
there came more than an hour of discussion, followed later by another hour of wide-ranging
audience questions.
Some of the most meaningful conversations, however, happened away from the panel table.
During the break, several people openly shared parts of their story with me. I’ve become
accustomed to hearing the words ‘I used to be Catholic, now I’m…’ Some have left the
Church, and others have left Christ altogether. It still breaks my heart, particularly when the
reasons are often relational and painful.
Still, I recognise the vulnerability they step into to share that story with someone who has
just represented Christianity. I don’t take that trust for granted. Those conversations remind
me that dialogue isn’t merely an opportunity to explain what I believe. It requires me to stop,
listen and receive another person’s story with reverence, even when it’s difficult to hear.
This event also reminded me that receiving vulnerability in others often requires a
willingness to bring some of my own. I woke that morning unusually heavy and nervous. I
tried to surrender it to God, but the nerves remained. After calling on my prayer tribe to
intercede, all I could do was keep repeating ‘Okay Jesus, It’s You and me. We’ve got this.
You and I can do anything. I mean, we know You do the heavy lifting, but here I am. Let’s
go’. My nervous system apparently took a little longer to believe me.
It wasn’t until every panellist had been introduced and seated, I had pulled out my New
Testament, taken off my cardigan and settled into my chair, that ‘Let’s go. We’ve got this’
finally began to ring true. It was another reminder of God’s goodness. He didn’t need my fear
gone before asking me to show up; He simply asked me to trust that He would be there too.
And He was – ever faithful.
These open conversations matter for the fabric of our community. When we share a town,
workplaces, schools, hospitals, and neighbourhoods with people whose beliefs differ from
our own, we need to genuinely know our neighbour, including the faith tradition that may be
a central pillar in their life. Genuine dialogue doesn’t require pretending our differences don’t
exist, nor does listening require losing confidence in our own convictions. We can be deeply
rooted in Christ whilst remaining genuinely interested in the person sitting at our table.
Perhaps that’s in part why these events continue to stretch me. Following Jesus keeps
placing me at tables I never imagined sitting at, and certainly never felt qualified for, listening
to stories I might otherwise never hear, and asking me to trust Him enough to speak when
it’s my turn – not fixated on what I lack, but in reverence and awe at what our ever-faithful
God will provide. He never sends us to those tables alone.
What a crazy, wild adventure it is to follow Jesus. Only He knows where He’ll ask me to sit
next.
Written by Stina Constantine
Founder of Virtue Ministry and keynote speaker.