Articles on This Journey

Along my journey, I am freelancing news articles about the intriguing religious communities I meet. Below are some of the pieces I've done so far, along with nice things other people have said about me.

October 29, 2008

This was a nice post by N.A.B. on Yer Sweet Chimneys:

Matt Streib, is biking around the country visiting sites of religious significance as part of his American Pilgrimage project. He’s been through a lot of small towns over the course of the past few months, and his observations about “the real America” are saddening, moving and necessary reading for anybody who hasn’t had the opportunity to bike through some of the most isolated parts of the country.

October 26, 2008

For The SOMA Review

For five four months, I’ve been bicycling across the country, part of a yearlong tour of religious sites that are inspiring and uniquely American. Like in a garden, I expected to find some thorns in the spiritual roses. Instead, I’ve found weeds choking out some of the most deeply rooted faiths. And it’s not what people think.

For years, the religious community has bemoaned the decline of America’s most steadfast faiths. Mainstream Protestants and Jews have generally been waning in numbers, and even Roman Catholics wouldn’t be doing so well without immigration. Often, it’s attributed to the rise of individualism and buffet-style spirituality, where Americans want to pick and choose the tenets of their own faith. But I see something else—a disturbing tendency to badmouth any and all differing belief systems.

This ill-mannered unspiritual behavior, the religious equivalent of “country first” politics, seems to be coming from these same faiths that are having attendance problems. Wherever I go, I’m looking for expressions of the spirit, personal accounts of the divine in people’s lives. But over and over I find that too many of the faithful are less interested in talking about their own experiences than in haranguing others for encroaching on their turf.

Whether it’s a Hasidic rabbi in Woodstock, New York who rails against Tibetan Buddhists who are “trying to destroy the Jewish people,” a fundamentalist Christian tour guide in Zion, Illinois who refuses to even talk to anyone who doesn’t accept Jesus as a personal savior, or United Church of Christ members in Northampton, Massachusetts who complain incessantly about close-minded conservatives who can’t see the light, the need to co-opt God is apparently an inevitable, and insufferable, fly in the ointment of old-time religion.

I don’t see this tendency among the growing faiths. Mormons spend too much time testifying to be too critical. Buddhists like to say to that their practice can be combined with other faiths. And Muslims, so worried about being misinterpreted in today’s unfriendly political atmosphere, have internal scripts about the similarities between Islam and the other monotheistic faiths.

One some level, it makes sense. When faced with dwindling attendance, many congregations want to shore up the walls to minimize losses. But focusing on the faults of others hardly seems like a winning solution.

I’m probably the epitome of the religious wanderer. I grew up with no real faith of my own, never attending religious services and not knowing the Bible from the dictionary. Neither, however, could I relate to my family’s avid secular humanism. So, since I can remember, I’ve been exploring various interpretations of the divine.

On this trip, however, rather than finding faith, I repeatedly find myself sweating in a seat and checking my watch while my conversation partners foam at the mouth. Is this the community that spiritual seekers are hoping to find?

It’s easy to scapegoat in terms of faith, to think that congregations are dying because of preying missionaries and assaulting doctrines. But where does that leave you spiritually? In treating religion like a battlefield, petrified congregations become their own illusory enemies. And in combat, no army is without casualties.

History doesn’t remember belligerent faiths fondly, and tables can turn much more quickly in the modern age. Who wants to go to the church of the Crusades, when the devastation it wreaks can be seen in a short period of time? If we’re in a religious war, all the combatants may be losing.

The congregations that are compelling and attractive are the ones who let the core of their faiths shine, and wouldn’t dream of building walls to keep their light in.

Negative focuses are the dandelions in the spiritual garden, whose thorny leaves overgrow and strangle the true blossoms of religious faith. Entering into intellectual religious wars because of defensive fears is a battle destined to be lost. Other religions are never going to disappear, so while the religious warrior may be temporarily energized, it’s a false high, based on the false hope that a faith focused on negativity will inspire armies of new converts.

Faith-bashing distracts from the real purpose of religious institutions—to build and help the greater population. People want to go to places of worship that are caring, coherent, and dynamic in their relationship to God. We will never get to paradise as long as the crabgrass of religious intolerance has a stranglehold in the Garden of Eden.

August 19, 2008

For The Religion News Service.

WOODSTOCK, N.Y. – Sitting on his porch, the Rabbi Yisroel Gootblatt is strumming a guitar, playing an old Bob Dylan ditty. In a town known for artists, musicians, and other eccentric personalities, he blends in with the scenery. But he’s actually trying something quite different.

Gootblatt is a rabbi in the Chabad-Lubavitch movement in Orthodox Judaism who believes in the existence of the as yet unrevealed messiah on Earth. In order to speed the revelation process, Lubavitchers believe Jews must be united in their tradition, which Gootblatt often portrays as a battle.

“[All rabbis are on] their way on the front lines, leaving the security of religious community and going to a place where to varying degrees people are unacquainted with Torah and Jewish perspectives,” he says. “Woodstock is extreme in that regard. It’s a place where there’s an incredible percentage of the population of Jews who happen to be a lot less knowledgeable of their tradition, and even hostile to it,” Gootblatt says.

So he gets creative, creating a relaxed atmosphere where beer, music and conversation flow freely and loudly. “There’s actually a saying from the Talmud: ‘When the wine goes in, the secrets come out,’ ” he says. “When people are relaxed and having a good time, it’s the best way to share things that are meaningful.”

Those who jam with him call him the Rock ‘n Roll Rabbi, and his porch is a constant stream of punks, hippies, and other alternative types, covered in tattoos and piercings. While Gootblatt doesn’t necessarily approve of their choices, he’s willing to let a certain amount slide.

After the partying is done, the Torah comes out, and the rabbi is set for instruction. Unfortunately for Gootblatt, this is when a lot of the neighborhood avoids the house.

He has managed to catch one big fish, however. Eddie “Mad Dog” Caridi was the bassist for punk band Murphy’s Law and is a mainstay of the New York punk scene. When he decided to reconnect with his Jewish heritage, he heard about the Rock ‘n Roll rabbi all the way down in Brooklyn, and moved to Woodstock. He’s been living with Gootblatt for three months, and says that the rabbi hopes he will influence the youth who look up to him to learn of their heritage.

“We jam for like and hour, and then he’s like Torah, Torah, Torah, Torah, Torah. He gets overbearing with it.”

He’s making a little headway, but not a lot,” Caridi says. “Woodstock’s not a big religious town: it’s more like free love, do what you want. It’s not like a lot of people are seeking him out, but he is getting some response, which is good, because it’s better than none.”

August 11, 2008

For The Religion News Service

Published in the Albany Times-Union and the Charlotte Observer, among other places.

SABBATHDAY LAKE, Maine — Arnold Hadd is the last Shaker man on Earth.

A polite man, he is simple in his speech, still utilizing the traditional “yay” and “nay” in place of the common “yes” and “no.” Yet when the discussion turns to the Shakers’ perceived legacy as craftspeople, his mannerisms change.

“In the vernacular, it pisses me off,” he says. “Everybody comes here thinking we’re a guild of furniture makers, which is about as far away from the truth as it can be.”

But while such misinterpretation may be the bane of the Shaker tradition, it may also be its salvation.

Hadd, 51, is a member the last Shaker community here, situated on a small farm by a placid lake. In the 19th century, the farm housed hundreds, and there were as many as 6,000 Shakers across the country. But now there are only four, and new members are few and far between.

The United Society of Believers, as Shakers are formally known, was founded in 1747 in Manchester, England, yet followers were forced to move to America soon after to escape persecution.

Their name arose out of mockery of their worship — like the Quakers or even the Methodists — which often involved singing, dancing, and even convulsion and speaking in tongues said to be inspired by the Holy Spirit. A semi-isolationist group, Shakers built about two dozen communities, mainly between Maine and Kentucky.

The foundations of the faith include living like Christ, which for Shakers means living celibately and sharing communal property. They also believe in the equality of the sexes, living peacefully, and continuous revelation.

But their belief in the sanctity of hard work — embodied by their adage, “Hands to Work, Hearts to God” — has created a predicament in the faith’s twilight.

“The general population associates Shakers with their furniture and (a) few of their items,” says Leonard Brooks, a Shaker historian who has lived with the Sabbathday Lake community for 30 years. He is currently director of their library and museum, which displays the artwork of the Shakers, from divinely-inspired drawings and songs to intricately crafted baskets and furniture.

“It’s unfortunate that craftsmanship is all people see, as the Shakers are so much more,” Brooks says. “They’re like living Psalms. In them, you read how brutal God is, throwing everything at you. Shakers recognize their shortcomings and challenges, and don’t overstate their virtues. They are laborers who experience the full range of experience of life, just as in the Psalms.”

Thousands of tourists visit the community every summer to see the artistry of generations of Shakers. But some Shakers are upset that furniture might be all they see. In fact, a well-known quote circulates among the Shakers reflects their frustration: “I don’t want to be remembered as a chair,” said Mildred Barker, a Shaker who died in 1990 after living in Sabbathday Lake for almost a century.

So it might seem ironic that a community would advertise aspects that it does not want to be known for, yet it’s part of an intentional plan. Visitors are not just offered a window on Shaker production, but are able to tour the entire farm, from the fruit orchard to the meeting house. And if they come on Sunday, they are welcome to join in worship.

“Our mission is just to make people aware,” says Hadd. “Some people just take away that they’ve seen more furniture, but a lot of people take away that is a living community, which they weren’t aware of.”

And Shakers hope, some visitors may decide to join the community to keep the tradition going. Since Hadd became a member in 1978, dozens of people have stayed with the Shakers. But only two have stayed permanently.

Spreading the Shakers’ message through tourism is hard, and Hadd says the amount of people who can’t see past the object gets to him.

“It’s really difficult because as Americans, we look at output,” Hadd says. “But what we produce isn’t actually important; it’s work, it’s laboring. I have yet to figure out how to get that through to people.”

Nevertheless, he has faith that Shakers will persevere as long as need be.

“We believe it is the truth, and whether others see it as the truth or not, we have to live and die by it,” he says. “But I have a firm belief that as long as this is God’s work, God’s going to send the hands to keep it going.”

After all, people don’t dedicate their lives to making furniture. Even Jesus gave up being a carpenter.

“He saw something else a little higher,” Hadd says.

July 28, 2008

This was a nice post by T.A.B. on Yer Sweet Chimneys:

Matt Streib is on a seven-month bike tour of religious locations around the country. So far he’s ridden with Quakers in rural Pennsylvania, participated in a 700+ person Mormon pageant/spectacle in upstate New York (hence the getup in the first photo), tried to fix a cell phone for a Hassidic couple on the road, hung out with Shambhala Buddhists in Vermont, visited the last Shaker congregation in the world in Maine, talked with Christian Scientists in Boston…and more. Did I mention he’s camping through all of this? And he’s already biked over 1000 miles, all in less than two months.

Matt’s posts and photos are completely fascinating, and as a Cornell- and Medill-trained journalist with a pre-existing unique take on religion, I couldn’t think of anyone better (or anyone with enough perseverance and smarts, frankly) to take on this project.

Especially as a nonreligious person navigating the contemporary Protestant-centered political realm (it’s hard to escape, particularly in an election year), I found that it’s easy to forget the incredible diversity of religions that exists here in the States. Matt’s posts and podcasts on the people and places he’s encountered are thoughtful, balanced and totally engaging.