Out of the Garden, Into the Labyrinth

I had an unsettling experience Labor Day Weekend, and I've been mulling over it ever since.
I was invited to a potluck barbecue* at the house of my dear friend, Jenny. And, although I live my life these days in a way that belies the fact I am an introvert, really, I am. I do not like parties. I especially do not like parties where I don't know at least half of the people there. So I really had to put my brave on to even get there, but a basic tenet of my belief system is show up. A corollary is: bring food, and bring homemade food if you really mean it. I was aware that Jenny keeps kosher, and knew enough not to make anything with meat or dairy. So I spent my morning making a rather complicated cooked vegetable salad, and trundled off, secure that I had prepared a fitting offering.
I got to the barbecue only to discover, in one of the most awkward social interactions ever, that anything that I would have made would not be, well... kosher. When it finally dawned on me that this was the case, I just felt crushed. I even started to tear up, much to my embarrassment and Jenny's dismay. Not really ideal conditions for relaxing and enjoying meeting new people.
I was surprised at the bitterness this episode provoked. If my God tells me to make food, but your God tells you not to eat it, then someone's God must be wrong, right? I felt like a kid on a playground, "Oh, yeah? Well, my God is better than your God!" I realize that this is absurd, really I do. But in the moment, I just felt cast out. My friend and I were suddenly on opposite sides of a chasm that could never be crossed. In fact, it seemed to be getting wider: She's becoming more devoutly Jewish, I'm becoming more devoutly something that borders uncomfortably on Christian...
This is the side of universalism that no one talks about much: that our differences aren't always merely the spice of life. Sometimes they are genuinely painful. It's all very well to think that there are many paths, each right for those who follow it. That is what I believe most of the time. It's easiest to hold this view when our differences are trivial: I love silent worship, and I find it easiest to hear God there. I even think that more silence in the world would be good for everyone. But I don't think it's the only valid way to worship God, just the way that is most comfortable to me. And, rightly or wrongly, I can just dismiss those who seem to be motivated by fear, hatred, greed, or ignorance as they use religion to justify self-righteousness, war, or the oppression of women and gay people. But it's not so easy when someone you genuinely love and respect has beliefs that are in conflict with yours. I really value the ways in which Jenny's deepening faith has illuminated my own experience. But our paths are not the same, we are not the same, and that division felt very sharp when I was suddenly the goy with the inedible food at a kosher barbecue.
I find myself surprised to say this, but I'm actually kind of grateful for this experience in retrospect. I think it is too easy to paddle in the shallows, pretending we're all the same, never really risking being hurt even a little as we venture into our depths. Staying on the polite and comfortable surface can only result in a mirage of community, never the real thing. I'd rather be real and get bruised a bit if it means the possibility of true friendship and connection.
This all reminds me of walking a labyrinth with a group of people. Because of the way the path bends on its way to the center, sometimes you seem very far away from the person you are actually closest to on the path. Maybe instead of being on the edges of an ever-widening chasm, Jenny and I are finding our way through a labyrinth... It's helpful to remember that a labyrinth, unlike a maze, has no dead ends.
*I remember the invitation as a potluck, Jenny remembers issuing the invitation as being to a barbecue.