Resources

I teach a religiously diverse crowd at my college. In any given Intro to Christianity course, I can expect one or two atheists, one or two conservative Christians, and twenty students running the rest of the gamut in between – my agnostics with religious trauma, my cultural Catholics, my “we went to church until I started playing sports” folks, and a group of people who are into spirituality but could never imagine themselves being committed to any one religious tradition. This is how I like it! More variety means better conversations, more interesting questions, and a lot of learning from one another. As I tell them, practicing talking about religion with people from another background is a little awkward, but being able to talk awkwardly about important things is a needed and transferable skill. Even if they never talk about religion again after they take their final for my class, they’ve still practiced for the day when they’ll need to ask their boss for a raise, or tell their significant other that the laundry situation is a big deal and needs to be solved now. Awkward conversations are a part of life!But I don’t want my students to just marinate in the awkward – I want them to think about how they can communicate and connect across difference, and to grow in mutual respect for the experiences and beliefs of others. This is a more complex task. How can I simultaneously suggest to the non-religious that there might be something lovely in the way religious people use traditions and rituals to stay rooted, while also teaching my most traditional believers that maybe there’s something exciting in how people without religious commitments forge their own paths and craft their own meaning? Oddly enough, inspiration struck in my own garden. I grow plants with far more enthusiasm than skill, but I do find that some of the fun of gardening is doing it a little “wrong” and seeing what happens. From my literal and metaphorical soil sprouted a metaphor that I now use constantly when trying to explain why some people love religion while others don’t – tomatoes and cucumbers.People, I say, might be more like tomatoes, or more like cucumbers. Tomatoes (or at least the tomatoes I manage to grow), love structure. They do great when surrounded by a framework to grow into, like a tomato cage or trellis. They grow bigger, leaf out better, and fruit more if they have something to help hold them up. So too, some people thrive with religious structure. They like the parameters and clear expectations. They feel safer with something to lean into – beliefs, community, ritual – when life feels less stable. There’s nothing better or worse about thriving with structure. It’s just the way tomatoes work best.Then again, people might also be cucumbers. Cucumbers (at least the ones I cultivate), laugh at every attempt I make to corral them. Trellis? No thank you. Wire cage? Cute, but not happening. Once the cucumbers start, they go where they darn well please. They find the best light, the prime pollinator areas, and the most hidden spots to grow their fruit on their own. Every time I’ve forced a cucumber plant up a structure that I created, it droops and mopes and refuses to blossom or fruit until it makes a break for it when I’m not looking. Cucumbers want to be free! And when I just let them go on their own journey, they thrive. People can be like that too – structure can feel constricting and artificial rather than comforting, and they’d rather strike out on their own to see what they learn, and create something entirely unique. There’s nothing better or worse about thriving with space and options – it’s just how cucumbers work best.While the metaphor may reveal more about my sub-par gardening chops than I’d like, I do appreciate having a relatively neutral way to explore how religiosity just looks and feels different for each person. How do you explain the variety of ways to be religious to your students?