Pulpit rabbis often play community roles. In my own beyond-the-walls-of-my-shul rabbinate, I frequently get invited to various interfaith or political gatherings at which a number of clergy are represented. Often, I’m the only rabbi. Sometimes, I’m the only Jew. Recently I was at one of these convenings, and one of my Christian colleagues lead the invocation. It was a beautiful prayer with soaring, inclusive rhetoric, powerful imagery drawing us in, incisive and provocative language challenging us to work together toward our collective aim of showing up for West Baltimore. I held my breath. I knew what was almost certainly coming. And then it did. The pastor ended her remarks, “in Christ’s name we pray.” And everyone around the table (except the rabbi, the Imam and the head of another Jewish organization) said, “Amen!”

Jewishness in America is cartographic; it’s about finding our place. Most of us enjoy the privileges of whiteness that undergird many of our country’s institutions, and yet we are not part of the Christian majority that dominates so many facets of American life. Being a Jewish faith leader, I’m reminded of this all the time. The other day, I went for a run and stumbled upon a small church with a big white cross over the keystone archway.  Over the door were three words in all caps: ALL ARE WELCOME.

A culture of welcoming is a beautiful thing. I recently attended mass at the Church of the Nativity in Lutherville, where they have nearly perfected the art of welcoming. I intend to incorporate some of what I learned there into our approach at Beth Am, a place (I’m proud to say) already boasts a solid record of hospitality.

I very much want to celebrate the church’s catchphrase: ALL ARE WELCOME, and part of me does. But deep down I understand what those words, positioned under the cross, really mean: All are welcome to believe what we believe. This is sort of how I felt at the interfaith gathering recently, a tone-deafness, not to the possibility of different beliefs in the room, but to the onus of the prayer-leader to applaud those differences. Difference has become a derivative of collaboration, not the cause of it.

I guess it’s always been that way, but maybe it doesn’t have to be.  Perhaps we can champion inclusiveness over triumphalism. Perhaps Baltimore, a city where non-Christians are regularly subjected to and, ostensibly, included in Christological prayers in the name of ecumenicalism, can lean into a better version of interfaith work.

Here’s a phrase that might help. Instead of ALL ARE WELCOME, what if we said three other words: I APPRECIATE YOU. These are words I hear frequently in my majority black neighborhood. I’ve always been taught when someone does something generous or praiseworthy, you say “I appreciate that.’ But in my neighborhood, people say, “I appreciate you.” The difference is subtle but profound.  I appreciate THAT means I value what you’ve done.  I appreciate YOU means I value who you are.  Justice begins with our posture toward difference. If more of us cherished difference, we would be more inclined to create inclusive spaces and experiences, where all truly feel welcome.

(A verison of this post will appear at jmoreliving.com).