The angels said, ‘Mary, God gives you news of a Word from Him, whose name will be the Messiah, Jesus, son of Mary, who will be held in honour in this world and the next, who will be one of those brought near to God. He will speak to people in his infancy and in his adulthood. He will be one of the righteous.’
-Qur’an 3:45-46
This week’s challenge was to “attend a vastly different religious service,” but what I ended up learning was that, this religion, that I thought would be so different, wasn’t really so different after all.
What I felt mostly this week, was hospitality, openness, and a sense that we are much more alike than we are unalike. When I decided that this would be my challenge, I emailed a fellow student in my program at OSU to see if I might be able to attend a service with him. He was so gracious, sending a detailed email suggesting a typical Friday service (or Jumu’ah, their weekly service) and a Sunday night dinner (or Iftar, breaking of the daily fast during Ramadan) followed by Sunday night prayers (or Taraweeh, nightly prayers said through Ramadan in which the entire Qur’an is recited). He explained what each was called and what each was for and also solicited the aid of a female cousin to attend with me. Before I even got to the mosque, they had answered several questions (Should I cover my head for Friday’s service? Yes.) and made sure that I knew how to get there and that someone would be waiting for me. I didn’t have any of the anxiety that I thought I might going to visit a new place, where I was an outsider, for the first time.
The mosque is in Dublin, a nice suburb northwest of Columbus, and I don’t know what I was expecting, but I didn’t expect a beautiful new mosque with two domes sitting in the middle of suburban Ohio. There it was though. I missed the entrance, so I ended up parking on a street in the neighborhood next to the mosque. I found my friend, H (I’m not sure if he or his cousin want me to use their names, so I won’t for now), without much of a problem and he escorted me in. His cousin, M, was running a bit late, so he showed me where to go and I headed up to the women’s section to take a seat. See, in a mosque the women are separated from the men. Part of the reason for this is modesty during the physical prayer where you bend over multiple times and part is because women are not obligated to go to the Friday service because of childcare responsibilities. So, I was headed to a room upstairs that was overlooking the area where the men and the man giving the sermon were. When I got there, I took off my shoes and put them in the cubbies outside. As I was taking off my shoes, there was an African woman there with me. It seemed that it was her first time in this mosque because she had asked my friend where to go and we both were trying to figure out which room to sit in (there were a few upstairs). She acted like she wasn’t surprised to see me at all. In fact, she acted like I should know the answers to her questions. This surprised me. When I got in to the sanctuary (I’m not sure if that’s the right word), I sat in the back of about two rows of women and I thought this relatively small turnout would be it. But, it was funny because just like Catholic church, lots of people were late. And, just like Catholic church, lots of babies were crying. One cell phone even went off and made everyone turn and give a look. I don’t know why I thought this was somewhat comforting. It just made the whole experience feel “normal,” like something I could relate to, something very regular and human. And what also struck me was that no one was staring at me like I thought they might. I didn’t feel like anyone was wondering what the heck I was doing there. I think that if a woman in a scarf came into a Catholic church, she might get some stares, and I was curious why I wasn’t.
The service went on, a man preached about giving money to the poor, fasting, asking for forgiveness, being a good person and other things I think are standard in a religious service. I had a hard time following at times because once in a while verses or words in Arabic would be used and I didn’t understand (obviously). When M arrived, she filled me in a bit. But as I listened, I looked around at all of the women and all of the different scarves and different ways of wearing scarves. And, it wasn’t just the diversity of the scarves and the styles that struck me, but the diversity of the women themselves. There were women of every color, black, white, and every shade in between. A blonde child pranced around behind her mother. Later, both my friend and his cousin would explain that Islam is truly a global religion. I believe it.
When the sermon ended, it was time for prayer. The women lined up in straight lines, while I moved the the back (accompanied by a few other women; I wasn’t the only one not participating). These are the prayers that I’ve seen on television numerous time. There’s a lot of standing, prostrating, and more Arabic that I didn’t understand. Later, I was informed that this type of prayer is called Salah and is different from supplication prayer or the prayer that Christians are more used to, a talking to God. Salah is this specific ritual act of communicating with God. This is how wikipedia explains it:
The chief purpose of prayer in Islam is to act as a person’s communication with God. By reciting “The Opening”, the first chapter of the Qur’an, as required in all prayer, the worshipper can stand before God, thank and praise Him, and to ask for guidance along the Straight Path.
So, here are the words that Muslims say during Salah (which is also the first chapter of the Qur’an):
In the name of God, the Lord of Mercy, the Giver, of Mercy!
Praise belongs to God, Lord of the Worlds, the Lord of Mercy, the Giver of Mercy, Master of the Day of Judgement. It is You we worship; it is You we ask for help. Guide us to the straight path: the path of those You have blessed, those who incur no anger and who have not gone astray.
Of course, this is an English translation and the true meaning can only be in the original language, Arabic, so I’m sure there’s a little something lost in our Germanic clunkiness.
Salah
The women said their prayers and when they were finished, M and I began to leave. On our way out, we were stopped by many of her friends and family members, each would embrace and give her a kiss on both cheeks. There were lots of smiles and they were all just as friendly with me. Then, M realized that there was going to be a funeral prayer because a member of the congregation (again, not sure if that’s the right word) had passed away. “You’ll want to stay for this,” she said. To me, it looked rather similar to Salah, as M expected. There’s a nuanced difference. After the funeral prayer, and as I was standing and waiting for M to finish up a spirited conversation with a particularly upbeat girl, a woman came up to me to explain that during the funeral prayer they say one prayer for the dead and one to God (if I’m remembering that right). She seemed very comfortable with me and I just nodded and smiled, not sure what to say.
After the sanctuary had cleared, M took me on a tour of the mosque, starting with the upstairs washroom. In Islam there is something called ablution, which is a ritual cleansing before prayer. They don’t pray until they have gone through quite an intense cleansing of their hands, head, and feet. When I think about the communal holy water and the communal wine glass at Catholic church, I think this might be a good idea. We then ran back into the lady that had talked to me about the funeral prayer. It turns out that she is M’s aunt and she thought I was muslim (I told you no one was staring). She told this to M in Arabic and laughed a little. M then took me downstairs and showed me the rooms that are for meetings and youth group, the main area where the men worship, and even the mosque basement, which is very much like every church basement I’ve ever seen (linoleum floors, classroom spaces, a big area with tables and chairs for meals, etc.). We also met back up with H and saw a few more things, including a small outdoor amphitheater. I asked the obligatory dumb questions like “Are you always hot?” (No), “Just how much do you have to cover up?” (scarf, long sleeves, long pants/skirt and it should all be loose) and “Did Muhammed write the Qur’an?” (Not exactly). I also received a free English translation of the Qur’an (probably as a result of that last comment). Did you know that Jesus is mentioned in the Qur’an more than Muhammed? I had no idea. So, I learned that Muslims believe that the Qur’an is the word of God that was spoken to Muhammed through the Angel Gabriel. And it’s really very different from the Bible; not so much a linear history, but a series of lessons with stories of the prophets intermingled (to make the point of the lesson). Muslims believe that there were several prophets that included Moses, Jesus (and several other old and new testament prophets), but that the final prophet was Muhammed. This was all news to me and it makes me wonder why, when all three of the Abrahamic religions (Judaism, Christianity and Islam) are so interwoven, that we can’t get along a little better. Ignorance might be the answer.
I bid farewell to M and H until Sunday night’s dinner.
Me and M
In the holy month of Ramadan, Muslims fast from sun up to sun down every single day. This is very unfortunate (at least in my hungry opinion) when Ramadan happens to fall on these long summer days. Muslims eat something before the sun comes up, which is very early right now, and then wait until the sun goes down before breaking fast (This includes water!). I ate a late breakfast with my family this morning, and then I decided that, since I would be breaking the fast with my Muslim friends tonight, I should probably not eat anything until then (It just didn’t seem right to come to the huge fast-breaking meal already full and content, you know?). So, I started to get hungry around three, and when it was finally time to break the fast, I was starved! And I allowed myself to have some iced tea during the day! Muslims treat Ramadan as a time of reflection, as one guy that gave a presentation tonight before dinner said, as a time to stop being “automatons.” In daily life, it is so easy to fall into your automatic behaviors without thought, especially the one where you mindlessly visit the fridge over and over. Ramadan, is a chance to pay attention to your routines, in order to be closer to God. This sounds very much like what I am trying to do with these challenges… to pay attention, to stay awake and to better myself even if just bit by bit.
So, when I got to the dinner tonight, I was met by H once again. He walked me in. I was given a gift basket (And now I have two copies of the Qur’an! Any takers?) and then a bunch of people were all filing into a room to hear some speakers. First up, was the leader of a mosque. Then, the pastor from a Presbyterian church. Then, a (female) rabbi, and finally some closing words from a member of this mosque (basic history of Islam) and the director of this mosque (who gave his opinion on the ground zero mosque; he thinks other options should be considered if there is going to be discord over it. I disagree, but it’s a nice thing to say.). Most of what these speakers talked about had to do with the importance of people of different faiths coming together to benefit the community. Who benefits when all of these faith communities remain isolated? Together, more good can be done and understanding one another makes for a more peaceful world.
After the speakers were finished, a tour of the mosque was given. Since I had already had a special personal tour on Friday, H and I went downstairs, chatted, and got prime seats so that we (okay, I) could be first in line to get food. There was a beautiful spread provided by Lavash (a Mediterranean restaurant that I had meaning to get around to… lucky me, right?). And on each nicely decorated table were a plate of dates and a small bottle of water, which is typically used to initially break the fast. When it was time to eat that date and water (8:09pm to be exact), I was having hunger pains. (I just want to remind my regular readers that I fasted once before, but I allowed myself juice and broth and it wasn’t bad at all. No calories for 9 hours was very hard to do, and I even cheated and had iced tea… Can you imagine no water or food for more than 12 hours every day for 30 days? Wow.) Anyway, that date was delicious and then I hopped in line just after all of the kids (I have no shame when it comes to food) and got a heaping plate of hummus, baba gannouj, tabbouli, potato salad, greek salad, okra, rice, bread and lentil soup. Check me out:
Come to bugsii.
And for dessert, baklava! And a little more baba, tabbouli and bread… (sheepish grin). Everything was delicious and I was also able to sit around and chat with H for a long while about Islam. There’s just too much to share. I mean, what would you say if someone asked you to explain Christianity over dinner… sort of impossible, right? But, I feel like I’m starting to get a handle on a peaceful, intellectual religion that would really appreciate being understood and accepted so that it could stop having to explain over and over why they are not terrorists or misogynists. I hope I’m doing my own tiny part with this blog post. I also had a chat with a nice Presbyterian pre-school teacher and her husband who were invited by her co-teacher (who is Muslim). The crowd at the dinner was amazing. There were priests, nuns, rabbis, ministers, and a bunch of different lay people of various ethnicities, Muslim and non-Muslim alike. When I ran into M, who was rushing around with a camera interviewing people (she eventually got a hold of me too), I told her, “Everyone needs to come to this!” She said, “I know, right?”
As the evening prayers began, I said goodbye to H and M and headed out. The main sanctuary was bursting with people gathering for Taraweeh and the parking lot was packed. It was 10pm. I got in the car, scarf still on my head. Eminem’s new song came on the radio and I felt like an anachronism; white Catholic girl in a scarf leaving a mosque that was hosting an interfaith dinner, singing along to trashy pop rap. Now this is an America I can be proud of.
