The South Caucasus is a region where religion, culture, and ethnic identity have intertwined for centuries. Sometimes this coexistence blossoms into hospitality and shared celebration; other times, it hardens into suspicion and division. In this climate, especially today in Georgia, I find myself returning again and again to one central question:
How can we break through polarization—religious, political, cultural—without first learning to trust one another?
The answer, I believe, is both spiritual and deeply personal. And one ancient story from Scripture captures the danger of mistrust like few others.
📖 David’s Messengers and the Wound of Suspicion (2 Samuel 10:2–6)
King David had just heard that the king of the Ammonites—Nahash—had died. Wanting to honor the goodwill Nahash once showed him, David sent messengers to express sympathy to his son, Hanun. A gesture of peace. A sign of respect.
But Hanun’s advisors saw a threat instead.
“Do you really think David is honoring your father?” they whispered. “Hasn’t he actually sent spies to scout out the city and plan an attack?”
Fear overpowered trust. And so, Hanun humiliated David’s men: he shaved off half their beards (a grave insult) and cut their garments to expose them—sending them home in disgrace.
David was heartbroken—not just because of the offense, but because the relationship that could have been strengthened through honor was now shattered by assumption, fear, and dishonor. Eventually, this act of mistrust spiraled into military conflict.
And sadly, that dynamic still echoes today.
🕊 When We Assume the Worst of Each Other
How many opportunities for peace and partnership have we lost in the Caucasus because we didn’t trust the motives of the “other side”? How many messengers of goodwill were dismissed as threats? How often have we humiliated or silenced those we didn’t even try to understand?
I’ve seen it in conversations between Christians and Muslims. Between ethnic Georgians and minorities. Between political camps. Between generations.
Too often, we respond not to people as they are, but as we fear them to be.
This is why I believe that the only cure for fear is relationships.
🌱 Meeting the Yazidi Community: A Door Opens
In 2023, LYNC gave us the opportunity to visit the Yazidi religious and cultural center in Tbilisi. For many of us, this was our first real encounter with Yazidis—not as abstract “others,” but as neighbors with names, families, memories, and dreams.
We learned of their history—how they had been persecuted, scattered, and misrepresented in so many places. We heard their leaders speak of pain, of resilience, and of their hope for a future in Georgia as full members of society.
And in that sacred space, something happened: the air changed. The atmosphere warmed.
Why?
Because we didn’t come to debate or “correct” them.
We came to listen.
To sit.
To drink tea and ask real questions.
To let their story touch our own.
🤝 How Can You Love an Invisible God…
Afterward, I found myself reflecting on a verse from 1 John 4:20:
“Whoever claims to love God yet hates a brother or sister is a liar. For whoever does not love their brother or sister, whom they have seen, cannot love God, whom they have not seen.”
This is what warmed the atmosphere in the Yazidi center.
This is what cracks open cold hearts.
This is what prevents us from becoming like Hanun—defensive, isolated, and quick to offend.
✨ LYNC as a Space for Rewriting the Narrative
The beauty of LYNC is not just that it promotes “tolerance.” That word is too soft for the hard work we’re called to.
LYNC helps us build bridges where there were once walls.
It invites us not only to coexist, but to collaborate.
It teaches us that religious literacy isn’t about knowing all the right theological definitions—it’s about recognizing the divine image in the face of someone who doesn’t believe as you do.
The Yazidis are part of Georgia now—part of the cultural and spiritual mosaic of this land. But they, like many minorities, often feel invisible. That’s why visits like the one we had matter. That’s why knowing each other’s stories matters.
Because the opposite of mistrust is not agreement.
It’s a relationship.
🔚 Conclusion: Trust Begins with You and Me
Like David, we may sometimes send gestures of peace that are misunderstood. And like Hanun, we may be tempted to listen to the voice of fear rather than friendship. But if we want peace in our region—true peace—we must be willing to take the first step.
It may not always be returned. But it might.
And even when it isn’t, we show the world—and our neighbors—what faith really looks like.
Because at the end of the day, as I’ve seen in both the Scriptures and the Yazidi center:
You cannot truly love the invisible God unless you begin by loving the visible stranger standing beside you.
Let’s make that our starting point...
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About the Author
A passionate human rights advocate and multi-faith leader, Guram Imerlishvili brings over 20 years of experience promoting religious tolerance, civic engagement, and social impact across the Republic of Georgia and beyond. Known for building bridges between diverse communities, he has led a wide range of educational, publishing, and humanitarian initiatives—both large-scale and grassroots. With a strong focus on dialogue, inclusion, and collaboration, Guram’s work has earned international recognition for fostering understanding and peaceful coexistence.
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