Officially I'm James E. Faulconer. That's almost how my name looks on my church record, where my middle name is spelled out. It's how I sign the things I write for publication and what I put on my business cards. But to most people I'm just "Jim." When I was young I was "Jimmy," but by the time I was about ten or eleven I'd decided that "Jimmy" was far too juvenile for me. I wanted a more grown up name. The choices were "Jim" and "James" -- my middle name, Ernest, was impossible, both because it was already my father's name and because it was unfashionable. "James" seemed too formal, so I stuck with "Jim," though I've often wondered if I shouldn't have gone with "James." Too late now.

Choosing a name for this column has involved similar difficulties. What should I go for? Witty? A witty title would lead readers to expect something quite different than I'm likely to provide. Casual, perhaps? I'm a causal person, so that seemed right. But I couldn't think of a casual title that didn't sound flippant or inappropriately irreverent. Serious seemed the only category left, but seriousness runs the risk of pretentiousness. I decided to run the risk, and readers will have to judge whether I avoid it.

Patheos is a site where people are invited "to engage in the global dialogue about religion and spirituality." It "is designed to serve as a resource for those looking to learn more about different belief systems." So perhaps my title should say something about how I think about dialogue and difference. Part of my current job is to engage people in discussions across the gaps between our faiths, and sometimes across the gaps within my own faith tradition. Some of the most fruitful discussions require that difference. Without it, there's nothing really to be learned. Of course learning isn't everything. Worship is many things, but it is not usually learning, for worship requires that, at least at the experiential level, we already know. But dialogue about religion and spirituality is necessarily learning. It presumes a gap.

Sometimes the gap is symmetrical: I see from my side the same difference that the other person sees from hers. Sometimes it's asymmetrical. I know that asymmetry between myself and younger colleagues. They see and hear someone quite different than themselves. Yet I see them and see someone I used to be. Though a gap remains, at least initially I understand them better than they understand me.

The distance between those on the inside and those on the outside can be either symmetrical or asymmetrical. For life-long Mormons relating to non-Mormons, it is usually symmetrical. For those who are non-Christians or simply nonbelievers, the space is often symmetrical and sometimes very wide, a chasm. Each of us is ignorant of the other, though the Pew U.S. Religious Knowledge Survey suggests that nonbelievers are more likely to know us than we are to know them. For converts to Mormonism like me, the gap between ourselves and other Christians is usually asymmetrical: non-Mormon Christians tend to see a larger difference than Mormon converts do. Sometimes the gap is between those on the inside, and it can be either symmetrical or asymmetrical. Other Mormons may read what I write and wonder how that represents Mormonism. It doesn't describe their religious life. And, of course, that wonder can go both ways.