What If Curiosity Is the Opposite of Fear?

This week, I was invited to a Shanti Puja prayer memorial honoring the mother of some dear friends of mine. I have been incredibly fortunate to have Hindu friends who have welcomed me into parts of their culture and faith over the years. They answer my questions. They explain traditions when I don’t understand them. They invite me in. And I love it.

Not because I am looking for a different faith or trying to decide who has the “right” answer.

I simply love learning about people. I love discovering what matters to them. What brings them comfort. How they celebrate. How they grieve. How they pray. How they make sense of this strange, beautiful experience of being human. And every time I have the opportunity to step into a culture or faith different from my own, I walk away thinking the same thing: We are so much more alike than we realize.

The memorial was beautiful. There were prayers and rituals I didn't understand. Most of the words were unfamiliar to me. I didn't know exactly what was being said or the significance of every part of the ceremony. But something interesting happened. I didn't need to. I could feel it. I could feel the love. I could feel the reverence. I could feel the intention. There was a rhythm to the prayers that felt almost meditative. At some point, I stopped trying to understand what was happening intellectually and simply allowed myself to experience it. And sitting there, surrounded by a tradition that wasn't mine, I felt God. That may be the only way I know how to describe it. I felt connection. I felt peace.

I felt people honoring someone they loved and reaching toward something greater than themselves.

And none of that required translation.

Different Words, Familiar Longing

The experience reminded me of another time I was invited into a Muslim mosque. I remember sitting there listening and suddenly being struck by how familiar parts of the experience felt.

I grew up attending a Southern Baptist church, and although the theology, traditions, and forms of worship were different, there were moments in that mosque that reminded me of the church services of my childhood. People gathering together. People praying. People trying to live according to their values. People seeking guidance. People looking for comfort, meaning, community, and connection with God. Different traditions. Different expressions. But underneath them were some very familiar human desires. To love. To belong. To understand. To find peace. To raise our families well. To make sense of loss. To believe our lives mean something. To connect with something greater than ourselves. Maybe we don't have to agree on what that something is, or even agree that there is something, to recognize the humanity in one another.

Fear Has a Harder Time Surviving Curiosity

I think one of the greatest dangers of staying inside our own bubbles is that it becomes very easy to fear people we've never actually met. When we don't know someone, we fill in the blanks.

We hear stories. We inherit assumptions. We learn stereotypes. We reduce enormous, diverse groups of human beings to a few words, beliefs, headlines, or behaviors. But then something changes when you actually sit beside someone. When you eat their food. When they tell you why a tradition matters to their family. When you attend their celebration. When you sit quietly with them while they grieve. When you hear them pray. Suddenly, "those people" have names. They have mothers. They have children. They laugh. They worry. They hope. They lose people they love. They ask big questions. Just like you. Understanding doesn't require agreement. Curiosity doesn't require conversion. Respecting someone else's beliefs doesn't diminish your own. We can be deeply rooted in what we believe and still be genuinely interested in the way another human being experiences God, faith, meaning, life, or the universe. In fact, I wonder if being secure in what we believe should make curiosity easier, not harder.

What If We Asked More Questions?

What if, instead of beginning with: Why do they believe that? we began with: I'd love to understand what that means to you. What if we entered conversations without needing to prove anything?

What if we could listen without preparing our rebuttal? What if we could walk into a temple, mosque, synagogue, church, meditation center, or sit across the table from someone who believes none of those things, and simply be curious? Tell me about your life. Tell me what you believe. Tell me what brings you peace. Tell me what this tradition means to you. Tell me about your family. Tell me what you hope for. I think we might discover something extraordinary. Not that we're all the same. We're not. Our differences are real, and I don't think we need to erase them to get along. Our differences can be fascinating. They can teach us. They can challenge us. They can make the world richer.

But underneath those differences, there is so much shared humanity.

I Didn't Understand the Words. I Understood the Love.

That's what I keep coming back to from the Shanti Puja. I didn't understand most of the words.

But I understood what it feels like to love someone. I understood what it feels like to honor a life.

I understood grief. I understood reverence. I understood people gathering together because someone mattered. And I understood that feeling of becoming quiet enough inside yourself to sense something sacred. Maybe that's part of the invitation here. We don't always have to understand before we can appreciate. We don't have to agree before we can respect. And we don't have to fear what is unfamiliar simply because it is unfamiliar. Sometimes we can just walk through the door someone has graciously opened for us, sit down, listen, and allow ourselves to learn. Because when we get curious about one another, something happens. The labels get quieter. The assumptions begin to loosen. The fear has less room to grow. And eventually, we start seeing the person sitting across from us. A person who loves. A person who hurts. A person who hopes. A person trying to make sense of life just like the rest of us. Maybe we don't need everyone to believe the same things.

Maybe we simply need to become curious enough to know one another. Because it's much harder to fear someone once you've sat beside them. And sometimes, even when you don't understand a single word they're saying... you understand the prayer.

XXOO,

Leigih