For those privileged to have experienced education in a Western-model university, Pope Benedict's speech at Regensburg last week was a template of an academic lecture: intellectually challenging, provocative, clarifying some issues while also raising new questions. But in the ever-shrinking twenty-first century global village, such discourse, particularly by a world leader, can never stand in isolation. Across the globe, life is dominated by insatiable 24-hour rolling media, always looking for the next controversy. The worldwide Islamic family, communicating through email and blogs, appears to take offence easily, its sensibilities heightened by the traumas of Guantanamo Bay, Iraq, Gaza and Lebanon.

That the Pope's speech, with its quotation from an obscure Byzantine emperor, should open up divisions between Catholicism and Islam 41 years after the ground-breaking Second Vatican Council document, Nostra Aetate, forged a new relationship with other religions, is regrettable. But the possibility that such a rift might occur during this pontificate was apparent before the Pope cited Manuel II Paleologus as saying that Muhammad brought evil and violence to religion. As Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, Benedict had already expressed concerns about Islam's impact on Europe - a continent he sees as fundamentally Christian - and had questioned whether Turkey should join the European Union. Since being elected 17 months ago, he has moved Archbishop Michael Fitzgerald, one of Catholicism's leading experts on Islam, out of Rome. The word from Rome is that Benedict XVI made his address with too little of the kind of advice a twenty-first-century Pope needs. For today he requires not only input from those of the highest intellectual, theological and spiritual calibre but from people quick to spot the pitfalls awaiting those on the world stage.

This is not to suggest that the Pope should not raise difficult issues, nor should he be bullied into silence. But today tone, the qualifying phrase, and the gesture matter as much as intellectual firepower. This was something that John Paul II, trained as an actor, understood.

The consequences of the Regensburg speech will be far-reaching, particularly for the Pope's planned November visit to Turkey. But to assume that dialogue between Catholics and Muslims is damaged irreparably would be a mistake. Interfaith dialogue is conducted on many levels, from visits to a mosque by parish justice and peace groups, to academic discourse among theologians and specialist staff of bishops' conferences.

This work will continue, and indeed since Regensburg, the Pope has stressed the importance of dialogue. But that dialogue, he says, must be frank and sincere. Just as Catholics should try to understand Islamic sensibilities, Muslims should be prepared to answer painful and difficult questions. They also need to heed the Pope's justifiable request for more reciprocity: religious freedom for Muslims in the West must be matched by religious freedom for Christians in the East. This is one area where Archbishop Dominique Mamberti, the Vatican's new foreign minister with great experience of Muslim countries, may well play a vital role.

Two events of the past week indicate that it is possible for Catholic-Muslim relations to be warm and fruitful. The first is the gathering in York, organised by the World Community for Christian Meditation and reported on page 9, where Muslims and Catholics came together in spiritual exploration. The second is the delegation to Downing Street that brought Muslim, Jewish, and Christian leaders together to speak out about the situation in Darfur. Debate, however difficult, should continue between the Abrahamic faiths. But focusing on mutual interests is even more essential.