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A thin sliver of a crescent hung low on the horizon. I’d never seen the new Ramadan moon before, and although I hadn’t been planning to sight the moon this year either, its faint glow had magically appeared in my field of vision as I was driving home.

Every Ramadan, a minor controversy erupts among Australian Muslims as to exactly when the Islamic month of fasting starts and ends. Partisans of the calculation method argue that science allows us to know exactly when each new moon will be born. They argue that astronomy has long been a valued science among Muslims, producing great luminaries such as the ninth century’s Albumasar, who accepted the movement of planets around the sun; the 11th century’s al- Biruni, who theorised the earth’s gravitational centre and invented a precursor to the telescope; and the 16th century’s Taqi al-Din, who invented the first astronomical clock showing hours, minutes and seconds.

Alternatively, there are Muslims who take a literal reading of the Prophet Muhammad’s instruction, “Do not fast until you see the moon and do not break fast until you see it”, with calculation of the month’s days permitted only if the sky is cloudy. They argue that the busy rush of modern life alienates us from the natural rhythms of our world. Moon- sighting invokes a different concept of time and our place in the universe.

Seeing the new Ramadan moon, I suddenly felt I was taking part in a 1400-year-old ritual. The excitement of beginning the holy month of fasting flooded over me, and I had a taste of the conjunction between material and spiritual consciousness. Ramadan reminds me that I am but a puny human, physically vulnerable, completely dependent on food and water, and merely one among countless billions of creatures on the planet, with earth being but a tiny speck in the unfathomably large universe.

Yet, the fasting month also provides for Muslims to feel most connected with the divine and with each other. The Koran says that fasting was ordained for Muslims (as it had been in earlier religions) to help us learn self-restraint and piety. A few verses later, in one of the most oft-quoted passages, Muhammad was told: “When my servants question you about Me, tell them that I am very close to them. I answer the prayer of every suppliant when one calls Me; therefore, they should respond to Me” (2:183-86). Ramadan, then, brings with it a special time to become aware of our intimacy both with the natural world and with the divine.

Moral choices are inescapably part of the human condition. It starts in the sandbox when we are toddlers fighting over a plastic toy “I saw it first,” “but it’s my shovel” and continues on for the rest of our lives. Some choices are trivial “Can I give my uncle’s unwanted Christmas present to someone else as a gift?” Some decisions are big: “do I have an abortion?“ Some involve lots of people: “should we invade Iraq?” Others are intensely personal: “should I be able to end my life in the face of terrible suffering from a terminal disease?” Being human involves making hard decisions, a lot of which don’t have immediately clear and right answers.

One of the commonest insults that believers and atheists hurl at each other, is the sub-standard morality of those belonging to “the other side”. How can atheists be moral when they don’t believe God knows everything they do? Theists only have “carrot and stick” morality and can justify anything by claiming to speak for God.

Actually, I think the question is one of accountability: whether someone is a theist, a deist, a pantheist, an agnostic or an atheist–do they feel accountable to something greater than themselves? Whether it is God or a philosophical commitment to Good, it is accountability that is the driving force behind moral decision-making.

Both believers and non-believers can make good moral decisions if they hold themselves accountable, and sadly, bad ones if they don’t. This hit home recently, when within the space of a week or two, I saw two people casually betray a commitment to morality. One asked me to collaborate in a lie, the other smeared a work colleague by repeating scuttlebutt. Now, granted this is not breaking news and I’m trying not to lob too many stones (I’m not perfect either) but what struck me about these two ordinary events in close succession, was that their authors stood on either side of the religion fence. One was a Christian, the other an agnostic ethicist. What was lacking from both was a real sense of accountability.

Ron House, a Baha’i philosopher, has developed what he calls the “principle of goodness” as an ethical gold-standard. In judging what is good and evil, House suggests we define the former as “the attempt to benefit everyone” and the latter “the attempt to harm even a single innocent one”. Applying this standard to the moral choices we face, holds us accountable for our decisions, whether to God or to each other. Surely that is something on which believers and atheists alike might agree?

Two years ago I put my name down to attend the Parliament of the World’s Religions (yes, I was embarrassingly keen) and it seemed like December 2009 was so far away. Yet, as I write the Parliament is over. The stages have been dismantled; a 60-meter scroll filled with thousands of messages has been sent to the Climate Conference in Copenhagen and sand from the beautiful mandala painstakingly constructed by Gyuto Tibetan monks has been dissolved.  This was (as I put it to my sport-mad husband) the Grand Final, the World Cup, the Olympics for those of us for whom religion and spirituality are animating passions.

There were Christians, Hindus, Buddhists, Muslims, Brahma Kumaris, Sikhs, Baha’is, Pagans, Jews, Hare Krishna devotees, Mormons, Zoroastrians, Jains and followers of Indigenous Spiritualities, all vitally interested in the role of religion in addressing the most fundamental questions facing the planet as we move forward into the twenty-first century. Whether they were locals from Melbourne or visitors from the furthermost far-flung corners of the globe: these were my people.

Sometimes interfaith events like these are seen as being warm, fuzzy, feel-good occasions. That the Parliament only attracts like-minded souls, and what is the point of preaching to the converted? In a sense this might be true–I don’t think al-Qa’idah or the Christian Identity movement proposed sessions–but there is an important role for gatherings like the Parliament of the World’s Religions, and that is to model how the followers of the world’s religions might interact with each other, and with those of no religious faith. More practically, those of us who do interfaith work, use these occasions to ‘stock up’ on our feel-good stories to take back to our communities, to inspire them that change is possible.

I’ll choose one such story to convey here. After a few days of sessions, hugs, coffees and swapping business cards, an American Muslim came and told me of her animating drive to be involved in inter-religious dialogue. When the outbreak of violence in Gaza occurred recently, she took it upon herself to attend a rally with a placard declaring peace. A nearby Jewish group were rallying to support Israel, and whenever members of that group would come to visit her she made a point of saying “shalom” (peace in Hebrew). Finally, two young Jewish lads came over to her and asked whether they could join her as they liked her placard calling for peace better. In the meanwhile, a car of lads had been circling the block shouting out “death to Palestinians” every time they passed her spot, whilst she replied “shalom”.  Next time around, the car of lads were startled to find their school-mates standing with the Muslim lady and stopped and got out to talk and find out why. From that event, their school initiated an interfaith dialogue that brought Muslims and Jews together.

I tell this story, which I learned at the Parliament, to remind myself and others that all over the world, in small moments as well as great ones, there are people of good-will who are changing the world we live in, who have a vision for a brighter future for our children.

Last month when Attorney-General Rob Hulls announced changes to the Equal Opportunity Act, he polarised opinions on the right of religious groups to discriminate based on freedom of belief. Out went discrimination on the grounds of race, disability, age, physical features, political belief or activity, and breastfeeding–bad luck for the Christian Identity churches or the Creativity Movement, which teach white supremacy–but retained was the ability for much larger religious organisations with more powerful voter influence, to discriminate on the grounds of sex, sexuality, marital and parental status and gender identity–good luck for the Catholics who disallow divorce and remarriage or Evangelicals who abhor homosexuality.

Prejudice and religion have not been strangers down the centuries. At times, racism, sexism, xenophobia and other types of intolerance have been explicitly taught as religious doctrine, used as the basis of much oppression and persecution. Still, it’s no longer au fait to believe the Bible teaches black people are the descendants of a son of Noah cursed with servitude and marked thus with darkened skin. Nor will you do well at cozy interfaith dinners if your sermons quote the great Protestant reformer Martin Luther referring to Jews as “children of the devil.”

It took brave souls to challenge the institutional religious prejudices against Jews and blacks by offering different readings of their scriptures. Yet, the very same arguments of “freedom of belief” and “protecting the flock”, were the same ones used to defend slavery in the American south and the  virulent anti-Semitism that spawned the Holocaust. It also rings loud and clear in the statements of groups like the Taliban and Saudi Arabia’s religious police. What they all have in common is the misperception that exclusion and stigma will purify society of immorality. I can’t think of an instance where marginalisation and oppression have been genuinely effective proselytising tools.

Furthermore, it only takes one good single mum or gay teacher, to put lie to the claims of religious exclusivists that excluding or marginalising such people will protect our society, and in particular our children, from immorality.

In fact, researchers at the Christian Research Association found that while many of our youth are fully aware of the traditional doctrines of the church, they just do not believe them. As Rev. Dr Philip Hughes has written: “Western culture has changed. Throughout the Western world, young people have been brought up not to accept what is handed to them.”

Our kids are not fools–they know when they are being sold a bill of goods in this fast-paced multi-religious, multicultural, postmodern information age. Soon, they will grow up to be voters too. Perhaps they will be embarrassed by our generation’s prejudices, as we look back askance on the racists and bigots of the past.

Ramadan, the Islamic month of fasting, has just begun and for thirty days, Muslims the world over refrain from eating, drinking and marital relations between dawn and sunset each day.

Fasting is an ancient practice, shared by many different religious traditions. For Jews, the most important fast is that observed on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. During this fast, Jews do not eat or drink for twenty-five hours. Some Buddhist monks and nuns observe a type of fast in which they do not eat after the noon meal each day. Many readers may be familiar with the Christian Lent as a period of fasting and abstinence. The Koran, the Islamic holy book, makes reference to this shared practice when it says: “Fasting is ordained for you as it was ordained for those before you, so that you might remain conscious of God.”

When I first became a Muslim, I was struck by how much Muslims love Ramadan. You would think all that deprivation would be a penance, but wherever you go around the Muslim world, at Ramadan people celebrate. Even in Melbourne, if you drive down Sydney Road of an evening, the shops are all lit up, and you can see Muslims enjoying the festivities: there is something in the air.

Of course, one of the most important parts of Ramadan, aside from the discipline it engenders, is the emphasis on developing a keen awareness for the rights and needs of others.

It is during Ramadan, that many Muslims give their annual charity tax and generally increase other acts of alms-giving. When our stomachs rumble from having to give up our lunches and caffeine fixes, it is impossible to avoid reflecting on the situation of those around the world who do not know where their next meal may be coming. May we be moved to remember their plight and end their poverty and suffering!

It is also a feature of Ramadan to host dinners and invite lots of family and friends, as the Prophet Muhammad said: “Whomever gives someone something to break the fast with, they would have the same blessings as the fasting person.” Given the multicultural nature of the Muslim community in Melbourne, there is usually a smorgasbord of cuisines in which to delight.

Over recent years, I have been struck by how many different interfaith gatherings are being held during Ramadan. It is a heartening sight as religion is often seen as a source of discord instead of peace and harmony. In the Koran, God says: “O humankind! Behold, We have created you all out of a male and a female, and have made you into nations and tribes, so that you might come to know one another. Verily, the noblest of you in the sight of God is the one who is most deeply conscious of Him.”

Ramadan gives us a wonderful opportunity to come together, share a meal, and put the injunction to ‘know one another’ into practice. May this month be a time of peace and goodwill for all!