The Oakhurst Baptist youth, all boys tonight, are discomfited by all this, despite some muted laughter. We have just played a game called 'baby shark'. 'Baby shark'? What in the world does this have to do with conflict, with what the United States is doing in Iraq, with the economics and geo-politics of oil? 'Cuz that's what they wanted to talk about. The silly miming of 'baby shark' is rather undignified when one is trying to be dignified, trying to figure out both the minefields of adolescence and the treacherous terrain of U.S. foreign policy.

Before we finish for the evening, we work our way through another Conflict Transformation tool called 'the Human Knot', once more placing ourselves in close proximity to the other, touching, negotiating, risking, advising, taking advice, eventually unravelling the confusion of hands and ropes and bodies to form an unknotted, disentangled human circle. Feeling the bio-chemicals of success, collaboration, humour coursing through our bodies.

In between time, we talked history, studied maps and looked at photos. We talked about the feelings elicited by photos of the material and human devastation of bombardment, the spiritual price of soldiering, of following orders, of creating a killing distance sufficient to kill.

The next day it is the adults' turn to play, to risk, to negotiate, to role play and experience. 'Did you hear the one about Mrs McGarrity?' A silly game and to what possible end? An icebreaker some call it. An energiser. Sure. But much more. The anxieties of the work or chores or responsibilities undone or neglected are consigned outside the room. Power shifts, hierarchies flatten. Stuffed shirts do not survive Mrs McGarrity. Possibilities for mutual vulnerability expand.

Although the personal and communal issues of conflict that trouble the participants rarely surface in so many words, they are explored, considered and re-assembled through Bible Study, small group discussion, liturgy and drama. In a role play in which neighbours are invited to intervene with the other who is beating their dog, Oakhursters try out techniques of non-violent intervention and then talk about what worked, what didn't work and why. From the sermon on the mount we re-imagine 'turning the other cheek' as rule-breaking humanity-claiming that opens the door to new relationship, far from the way of the wimp so commonly understood. We discover unknown diversity in a group of people who know one another well and offer grace as we confess our ambivalence about the challenges of a commitment to diversity. We acknowledge our differences in both giftedness and shadow, as well as our impoverishment without the other. In liturgy we bless ourselves to choose the fast that matters, to loose the bonds, undo the thongs, break the yoke, feed, clothe, liberate; to be repairers of the breach and restorers of streets to live in.

*************

The 40 people sitting in a circle in a Chicago suburb are not sure how to respond. They laugh. But not too vigorously, a little uncertain. What's going on here? This is not your garden-variety inter-faith dialogue, clearly. We have just introduced ourselves, 20 Muslims, 20 Christians, demonstrated our preferred mode of greeting and voiced our hesitant expectations for the day.

They have come not because they know Rabia, my co-facilitator, and me, but because they trust the ones who have invited them. Ed and Ellen McManus and Sam Smith of the newly-formed Chicago chapter of the Fellowship of Reconciliation found the requisite willing Christians and Tabassum Haleem of the Organization of Islamic Speakers Midwest persuaded an equal number of her Muslim colleagues and friends to join this experiment. They come for different reasons, with varying degrees of willingness and guardedness, suspicion and hope. The Muslims present are a heterogenous mixture of Muslim-born and converts, U.S.-born and immigrants, but all have experienced the corporate and individual wounding of Patriot-Act-sanctioned detentions and harassment, vandalism and bomb threats, rights violations, stereotyping and vulnerability. The Christians are similarly a mixed bag of denominations, conviction and citizenship, though their motivation differs. This is not a representative group, we all realise. Though we do not conduct a poll, no one here seems content with what is going on in Iraq.

In the days and months following the attacks of 11 September 2001, BPFNAers responded with a variety of initiatives, resources and projects; one of those was Muslim-Christian conflict transformation training, variously known as Peace Warriors and, here in Chicago, That we may know one another. Unlike the doctrinal discussions of our respective jots and tittles or the diluting searches for common ground that characterise many inter-faith encounters, this kind of training invites participants to remain in their respective passion while venturing into risky places of confrontation and confession, self-exposure and other-recognition. In unanticipated but mutual confession of the anxiety, embarrassment and confusion that arises over gaps between faith and praxis, we discover unexpected common ground.

People return to the circle after a break to discover the middle of the floor spread in collage-fashion with newspaper images, the shocking, stomach-turning images of Abu Ghraib. Silently and unremarked-upon, the images accompany us through the perilous territory of stereotyping. So what have you heard about Christians? the Christian facilitators ask the Muslims. And what have you heard about Muslims? the Muslim facilitators ask the Christians. Though they start slowly, eventually, the responses fly. While Lee asks, Sam flipcharts the results; while Rabia works the crowd, Tabassum flipcharts. Colonialist. Crusader. Imperialist. Racist. Immoral. Arrogant. Marketing. Fundamentalist. Then Political extremism. Oppressed women. Violence. Fatalism. Jihad. Fundamentalist. For some, this is too much; they counter with kind, loving; hospitable, devout.

The responses hang while we move into a conflict-mapping exercise that looks inside at how each of us is tempered to deal with conflict. By the midday break, some express their astonishment at the ground we have covered. 'We have made more progress in three hours than my Jewish-Christian-Muslim dialogue group has made in nine months!' says Asma. By the end of the day, the group is clear more of this must happen again. Whatever it was, it must happen again. And again. We make commitments to one another, bless one another in English and Arabic and we go out into a rainy Chicago night.

The work of the Gavel Fund is part of the commitment of the BPFNA in the task of building a culture of peace. If this sounds like something your church or group would like to consider, please contact the Gavel programme director at lee@bpfna.org