Originally published in December 2013

From the Greek and Syriac sources of the Church Elders

There are those who love and there are those who hate. Of which were our pious predecessors and of which are you?

When the Muslims surrounded Jerusalem, the inhabitants said they would surrender the city only if the Muslim ruler himself —Omar, the second successor or “Caliph,” of the Prophet Muhammad— came to them. ((The Encounter of Eastern Christianity with Early Islam, Emmanouela Grypeou, Mark N. Swanson and David Thomas)) So Omar sojourned by camel from Damascus, Syria to Jerusalem in the Holy Land. As Omar approached the city, his servant became weary, so he ordered his servant to ride the steed while he walked it by the reins.

When they entered Jerusalem —records indicate it very well could have been Easter— the people of the city mistook the servant for the Caliph. When corrected, they couldn’t believe that this man in tattered and dirty clothes, leading on foot his servant who rode his steed, was the ruler of this new people who were conquering the Persian and Roman Empires, the greatest empires the world had ever seen, with such speed that had never been seen before. St. Sophronius, Christian Patriarch of Jerusalem, greeted Omar with a set of fresh regal clothes and insisted he wear them instead of the dirty rags he was wearing. According to the Greek chronicler Theophilus of Edessa (695-785CE), Omar refused saying, “It is not right for a man to take from another what God has not decreed for him, for God has given to each and every one of humanity from His Divine knowledge, and he who desires to receive something from his companion exceeding that, does so against God.” (( Theophilus of Edessa’s Chronicle- And the Circulation of Historical Knowledge in Late Antiquity and Early Islam, Liverpool University Press- Translated Texts for Historians, Robert G. Hoyland)) Yet, the Christians of the city were outraged and Omar sensed that they found it humiliating to concede the city to someone who looked so base and common. So he compromised. Theophilus further records from Omar, “Because you request it of me, and have shown me such great honor, please lend me these clothes and I will wear them while you wash mine. When mine are returned, I will return these clothes to you.” Michael the Syrian, 12^th Century Patriarch of the Syriac Orthodox Church, says about Omar, “He was certainly just and removed from greed, to the degree that from all the empire that the Arabs ruled, that is, from all the wealth and treasures of the Romans and Persians, he took nothing for himself. He did not change the simplicity of his habits, not even the piece of hide that was placed under him when he rode by camel and that he used for sitting on the ground or sleeping on.” ((Ibid))

As the time approached for the Muslim noon prayer, Sophronius invited Omar to pray in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the holiest site in all of Christianity that contains the Golgotha, the Hill of Calvary where Christ was to be crucified, as well as the tomb where Christ was to be interred. Omar refused saying that he feared future generations of Muslims might seek to make it a Muslim holy site. So he prayed opposite the southern courtyard of the Church where, sure enough, they eventually built the Mosque of Omar that stands there to this day facing the empty tomb of Jesus Christ.

Patriarch Eutychius of Alexandria of the Greek Orthodox Church (877-940CE) records:

“When the gate of the city was opened, Omar came in with his entourage and sat at the aetrion of the Church of the Resurrection. When the time of prayer approached, Omar said to Patriarch Sophronius: ‘I want to pray.’ And he responded: ‘Commander of the faithful, pray in the place where you are now.’ And Omar said: ‘I do not want to pray here.’ The patriarch and then led him to the Church of Constantine [the Church of the Resurrection] where he spread a mat made of straw on the floor of the church. But Omar said: ‘I do not want to pray here either.’ He went out to the steps, which are at the gate on the eastern side of the Church of St. Constantine, and he prayed alone on the steps. Then he sat down and said to Patriarch Sophronius: ‘Patriarch, do you know why I did not pray inside the church?’ He answered: ‘I do not know, Commander of the Faithful.’ And Omar said to him: ‘If I had prayed inside the Church, you would be losing it and it would have gone from your hands because after my death the Muslims would seize it saying: Omar has prayed here. Give me a piece of pergamene ((A type of parchment named after the ancient city of Pergamum in Aeolis)) to write for you a document.’” ((The Encounter of Eastern Christianity with Early Islam, Emmanouela Grypeou, Mark N. Swanson and David Thomas))

Eutychius goes on to relate the terms written in that document protecting the Church and the churches surrounding it forbidding Muslims from congregating near its steps for their prayers.

While some Muslims bicker over whether they should bid their Christian fellows “Merry Christmas” or any other variety of holiday greetings throughout the year, I urge them to drop such vain harangues. Instead, reach into the psyche of Omar, inspired by the Prophet Muhammad whom he served and later succeeded, and how he treated the Christians who found themselves under his rule. Had he wished, he could have done away with the Christian and Jewish populations and history would have no less recorded him as yet another conqueror. When the Christian Crusaders invaded Jerusalem 400 years later, they did slaughter the Muslims, Jews and even those Christians of sects they deemed heretical in a stadium as if it were sport. No man, woman, child or even babe in arms was spared. ((“In this temple 10,000 were killed. Indeed, if you had been there you would have seen our feet colored to our ankles with the blood of the slain. But what more shall I relate? None of them were left alive; neither women nor children were spared.” Gesta Francorum Jerusalem Expugnantium, Fulcher of Chartres)) The year prior to that, in 1098, the Crusaders had actually cooked and eaten the Muslims of Ma`rrat al-Nu`man in Syria. It is said that babies were skewered on spits, broiled and eaten. ((“Some people said that, constrained by the lack of food, they boiled pagan adults in cooking-pots, impaled children on spits and devoured them grilled.” Citing Rudolph of Caen, The First Crusade: The Chronicle of Fulcher of Chartres and Other Source Materials, Edward Peters.))

But that is not our way and any who adopt such ways in God’s name profane the very core of Islam. Omar chose the path of love, compassion, and mercy. He gave the Christians freedom and brought the Jews back to the Holy Land from whence they had been driven out just a decade before and successively in the centuries preceding that. The city’s Christians entrusted the keys to the Church of Holy Sepulchre into the hands of the Muslim family of Nusaybah. Today, a millennium and a half later, a member of that Muslim family unlocks the Church in the morning and locks it up at night. The Christians of Jerusalem would have it no other way. ((The Oxford Companion to Christian Thought, Adrian Hastings, ‎Alistair Mason, ‎Hugh Pyper))

Will the Christians love you when you deal with them thus? Some will. Some won’t. In spite of acknowledging the magnanimity of Omar related above, Theophanes the Confessor (760-818CE) refers to him as a devilish beast and mocks him for entering the city in dirty clothes. (( Theophilus of Edessa’s Chronicle- And the Circulation of Historical Knowledge in Late Antiquity and Early Islam, Liverpool University Press- Translated Texts for Historians, Robert G. Hoyland)) God even tells us in the Qur’an, “The Jews and Christians will never be fully satisfied with you until you follow their respective religions.” ((The Holy Qur’an, Chapter al-Baqara 2:120)) It should matter to you naught! Be good and seek no reward. We do not let the pleasure of people guide our actions. We do not behave well towards goodness nor do we mete ill with evil. Jesus is recorded in Islamic sources as saying:

“Virtuous action does not consist in doing good to someone who has done good to you—that is merely returning a favor. Virtuous action consists in doing good [even] to those who have wronged you.” ((Walk on Water, The Wisdom of Jesus from Traditional Arabic Sources, Hamza Yusuf. This work cites Ahmad bin Hanbal as the source. Begging the esteemed Hamza Yusuf’s pardon, “[even]” added by the author for clarity and context.))

Thus, we behave as our beloved Prophet Muhammad, the servant and messenger of God, instructed and exemplified seeking only the pleasure of the very One Whom we —Jew, Christian and Muslim— worship as the One God who rules over all with Love and Mercy. Seek not the pleasure of mankind because they will never truly be pleased with you no matter what you do. Love and brotherhood in humanity are found in behaviors well beyond the realm of mere words. Ponder well. Let your attitude and behavior towards your Christian fellows speak louder than any bidding of “Merry Christmas” ever could.

“The one you are looking to for help and guidance needs patience and good treatment too. No Muslim is perfect, whether revert or born into a Muslim family, student or Islamic teacher, layperson or scholar.”

—from the journal of Umm Zakiyyah

It took years before I realized how others saw me. In my mind, I was still that self-conscious girl whose voice was trapped inside her in a world that belonged to other people. I was still the girl who would walk the boisterous halls of middle school with the daily hope—and prayer—that no one took notice. I did not want anyone to see the white cloth on my head. It was the double-take that scared me most. If someone looked twice, I knew a snide remark or sneer was coming…and then maybe them yanking off my hijab.

O Allah, protect me from them. That was my heart’s daily plea. The banging of lockers slamming closed. The whirling whisper of combination locks turning. And even laughter. These were the most terrifying sounds to me.

In elementary school I fought back—once. But the school had swiftly punished me for harming the boy who had harmed me daily. So I knew better than to seek comfort in teachers or administrators. My only hope was in wowing them with my wits. They were on the other side, opposite me. Their cordiality was an obligation, their kindness a contract term that expired at the end of the day. But their hearts were aligned with students who hovered near my locker, saying, “What would you do if we snatched that rag off your head?”

At such moments, my words were a gift, a miracle even. And I was often in awe at the effect they had on others, the effect they had in protecting me.

“But you’re Umm Zakiyyah,” a friend and colleague said to me one day when I came to her for advice regarding some problems the teachers were having at our school.

“What?” I said, taken aback. I had no idea what my being a published author had to do with addressing our concerns.

“People expect a lot from you,” she said, almost apologetically.

After a few more moments of puzzlement, my heart dropped in understanding. If I spoke up, people would think, What’s her problem? Who does she think she is?

And like a prophecy, my friend’s words kept manifesting themselves around me. “I never expected this from you,” an administrator said to me when I asked if my workload could be lessened. I was teaching more hours than my contract stipulated, and I was also being given unofficial administrative responsibilities. I did not think I could handle much more. “You’re not the type of person I’d expect to complain about doing extra to help the school.”

Oh my God, how do other Muslims do it? This is the question that stays with me today. How do imams and scholars, public figures and Islamic teachers, and even overtly “strong Muslims” and those active in their communities carry the burden of benefiting others while managing to be viewed as human at the same time?

And I am not talking about excessive workloads. I am talking about the expectations that others have of you. The inability to make a mistake. Having no right to a bad day. The requirement to get everything right. The swift criticism if your words inadvertently offend someone—or if someone feels you could have done more for them.

“I’m only human,” I have often said.

“But you can’t expect others to see you that way,” I was told.

Years ago, I would have taken these words to heart, believing that I myself should deny my humanity simply because others expected me to. But today I am more realistic, more hopeful even. Because now I understand that each of us has a similar struggle as we seek spiritual direction and help others along the way.

But there are still times that I feel like that girl in the boisterous halls of middle school, hoping and praying that no one does a double-take and sees a person who is distinctly different from them.

Umm Zakiyyah is the internationally acclaimed author of the If I Should Speak trilogy and the novel Muslim Girl. Daughter of American converts to Islam, she writes about the interfaith struggles of Muslims and Christians, and the intercultural, spiritual, and moral struggles of Muslims in America. She also writes under her birth name Ruby Moore. Currently, she is working on an independent film project to turn her first novel into a movie. Visit her website at uzauthor.com

Copyright © 2015 by Al-Walaa Publications. All Rights Reserved.

WRITTEN FOR VIRTUALMOSQUE.COM

Photo: Anshu

Reflections of a Black Convert: Part I – A House in the World | Part II | Part III

By Anthony Hardy

“Remember – no matter what you achieve in life,” my mother told me when I was an eight-year-old child, “you will always be nothin’ but a nigger to them.” She looked at me with the piercing eyes only a mother has, the ones that see past your face and penetrate your soul. “When I brought you into this world, you already had three strikes against you: you’re Black, you’re a male, and you’re poor. You ain’t gonna get the same kinda leeway these White folks get.”

It’s the same admonishment all Black parents in America give their children at some point, though maybe not as candidly as my mother did. Above all else, she was a pragmatist and a martinet. Being a poor, single, Black woman in the American South will fashion a pragmatist; the desire to protect your three children from the negative influences of the environment will harden even the softest of hands. When my mother spoke these immortal words to me, the Civil Rights Act of 1965 had been the law of the land for some thirty-nine years; the landmark Supreme Court case of Brown v. Board of Education had been so for forty-five years; and the Civil Rights Act of 1968 – deemed the Fair Housing Act – had been law for thirty-six. Adequate instruction was still a necessity for survival in an ostensibly “integrated” world, particularly for Black males.

My Sustainer saw it fit to fashion me Black and to place me in a poor, deeply rooted Black Catholic community located in a portion of the Bible Belt South. The cathedral serving the community was originally constructed in the late 1800s to serve the ecclesiastic needs of German, Italian and Irish immigrants. A group of nuns opened a school for Blacks and Creoles a few years after the completion of the cathedral. The descendants of emancipated slaves flocked to Roman Catholicism from Protestantism searching for education for their children, as back in those days, Catholics were known for their stellar parochial educational institution. My great grandfather, so my mother told me, was among those individuals who converted seeking something better for his progeny. I would like to think some of those Blacks even shared the pews with their fellow White Catholics.

If so, not for long: the ninety years of Jim Crow laws and the deceptive fallacy of “separate but equal” bifurcated the community. Many of the recent European immigrants who were maligned for being Catholic were able to purchase Whiteness at a fairly cheap price. And then there was the White Flight, the embodiment of discriminatory housing legislation, urban planning, government subsidies, social engineering, predatory economic exploitation, and even physical violence that gave genesis to the coveted suburbs and exurbs, the culmination of the illusionary confluence of separation and equality. These were Jim Crow at its finest—the holy grail of the ever-elusive American Dream, built off the backs of Blacks through savagery, thievery, and connivery.

Long before my mother came into the world in the early 1960s, only Blacks attended the church. Most of the Whites in the surrounding area had long disappeared. In their absence, the powers that be erected in the center of what would become the community of my birth a sewage and water treatment plant. The house of my grandmother, the house in which I was to be raised, was juxtaposed with the cesspool. The cathedral where I was to be baptized was a ten-minute walk down street from the plant; the elementary school where I was to be educated was a fifteen-minute walk from it. For decades, everyone in the vicinity woke up, worked, and laid down to the putrid stench of excrement and chemicals. Some people would even die with the fumes in their breast, said my grandmother.

The smell had not abated when I came into the picture. Sometimes, it was so bad I remember my mother and grandmother praying for God to command the winds to take the fumes. At times, those prayers were answered; other times, we just had to bear it. Allāh subhanahu wa ta`ala (exalted is He), in His Infinite Wisdom, had coined for me a parable using my own childhood as to what I should expect from my existence as a Black man in America.

Said Moses to his people, “Seek help through Allah and be patient. Indeed, the earth belongs to Allah. He causes to inherit it whom He wills of His servants. And the [best] outcome is for the righteous,” (Qur’ān, 7:128).

“Ain’t much else you can do,” both my mother and grandmother would say, “but suffer it and go on.”

✻✻✻

Muslims often ask me what brought me to Islam. By way of preamble, I inform people of the obvious – that I’m a Black man – and the not so obvious – that I hail from the South. I then ask them to couple these facts with their own imagination as to why a man in my position from this part of America would accept the message of the unlettered, gentile Prophet ﷺ. Most of my interlocutors, at this point, have inklings as to some of the reasons—a sign, I hope, that people at the very least comprehend the connection between the social and historical realities and the theological consequences of those realities.

I then proceed to tell them this. In fifth grade, at a private Catholic school attended predominantly by White middle and upper class children, a fourth grader, a White kid, said, “All you Black people should still be slaves!” after I bested him in a game of basketball. Were it not for some childhood friends restraining me, I surely would have beaten him to Hell and back.

When I got home that evening, I started thinking about certain aspects of Christianity, at least as I understood them at the time. It possibly had something to do with the imagery often used in Catholic churches, chiefly pictures of a European Jesus and his equally European mother and disciples, and how inconsistent I thought it was for Blacks in America to be worshipping someone or something that so closely resembled our debasers. This kid and his parents believed that in accepting a certain theological interpretation of a historical event – the supposed crucifixion and resurrection of Christ – they were somehow absolved of their sins and thus would not have to answer for them. Yet I believed, even back then, people should be held accountable before God for their actions. I never told my mother what happened. She might have razed the school and maybe even the church.

Two years later, I found myself in an under-funded, dilapidated public middle school, an institution befitting of the low property taxes in its proximity, surrounded by teenagers who were more my peers, mostly poor Blacks and a few poor Whites. My mother withdrew me from the Catholic school because she could no longer afford the expensive tuition and because she was afraid I would “become White.” Back then I lacked the insight as to how one could “become White” and was unsure what that meant. I was sure, though, the strange white substance hanging exposed from the ceiling of the school was asbestos and that neighboring the school were a liquor store and a scrap metal yard. I was sure many of the teachers were not qualified for their positions, and those that were had to deal with sparse resources. I was sure many didn’t care at all: they were paid just to show up and leave.

The altercation with the fourth grader haunted me still, and because of it, I spent many nights wandering the streets of my neighborhood, agonizing over both social and theological issues as best I could. Although I believed in Him and although I was starting to challenge foundational Christian beliefs such as the Trinity and Vicarious Atonement, I also thought He was totally indifferent to our suffering or to the suffering of others. I never entertained the question of whether God existed; my concern was, rather, did God care? I wrestled with the wisdom of God putting my family in the position He did. I thought we denizens of ghettos and trailer parks were God’s bastard children, His “mistakes” in the way parents in our society often refer to their children, the ones He created by accident. Like our own derelict fathers, I figured He just left us to rot in the dirty armpits of America. I began to consider maybe there was something inherent to our nature that warranted our condition; or maybe we were guilty of some unknown transgression against Him that necessitated our status in society as just recompense. He seemed to prefer Whites, wealthy ones at that—they were made in His image after all. Why wouldn’t one want to “become White” in that case? Maybe, I reasoned, some element of their being was more favorable to the Almighty. Maybe He played favorites with His creation, the Whiter the better in His eyes. As such, I found myself wishing I looked more like them: wishing my skin color was just a little lighter, my hair was less coarse and kinky, my butt and legs were not as big. I was coming into tauhīd (belief in the oneness of God) in one sense but not in others.

I encountered my first Muslim a few months before I started college. She was a Black woman in her mid-fifties, a former member of the Nation of Islam in her youth who had embraced Sunni Islam later in life. She in many ways reminded of my mother, religious yet down-to-earth, profane yet wise. In fact, had my mother been Muslim, she would have resembled this woman. She elucidated the basic tenets of Islam, which I was eager to accept. I claim if one is predisposed to believing in God and prophets, the message of Islam will inevitably reverberate at a recognizable frequency; however, that being said, this woman, because of her background, possessed a manner of relaying the message that resonated with me on a personal level. Had someone else been placed in my path, I might not have been as receptive to the message. Allāhu `Alim (God is All-Knowing).

✻✻✻

Muslims often do not ask what happened after my conversion. In my experience, this appears to be less concerning to them, seeing as how the question seldom surfaces, which is a sad turn of affairs since that response is I think more beneficial and instructive.

Even after I declared shahadah (the declaration of faith in Islam), it took me many years of thinking, soul searching, reading the Qur’ān, considering the life of the Prophet (s), along with a hefty dose of Malcolm X, to reach conclusions about God that were more in line with Islam. I gave much thought to Allāh and how He relates to the suffering and downtrodden in societies, particularly Blacks in America: certain ideas about Blackness in the American context had to be challenged within my own being; ideas about Whiteness had to be jettisoned; old worldviews needed to be dismantled and new ones assembled. The psycho-spiritual furniture and psychological hardwiring in my mind and in my heart needed to be rearranged. The existential angst all humans experience borne of the paradox of infinite potential and mortal finitude needed to be directed towards a different qibla (direction Muslims face in prayer). It’s taken for granted that conversion is a process, not an event.

Not too much time elapsed following my conversion before I became acquainted with how the Muslim community actually functions in terms of race, color, class, and culture. Growing up in ghettos and trailer parks grants one amazing powers of perception. In addition to seeking God, I suppose I was also longing for a haven in the houses of Allāh against the monumental tribulation of being Black in America, a place of brief reprieve. I figured if anyone could understand us Blacks it would be the Muslims, who not only possessed a sizeable Black contingency, but who also by this point, post 9/11, were just as much the objects of unjust scrutiny as we were. I was, as it turned out, quickly disabused of this naïve notion: I went from Whites calling me “slave” to Arabs calling me ‘abd (literally, Arabic for “slave”, sometimes used in a derogatory manner to refer to Black individuals), I went from getting leery looks from Whites to getting them from South Asians, I went from Whites calling me “nigger” to Turks calling me zenci (Adopted from the Arabic “zanji”, meaning “one from the land of the Blacks”; more colloquially, the term means “nigger”), I went from hearing from Whites say, “You people can’t marry our children,” to hearing this from Africans, and I went from Whites saying, “You’re scary and uncivilized” to hearing this from non-Black Muslims in general. Not even the fanes of God were exempt, churches and mosques alike.

I remember, some time after my initial run-ins with the Muslim community, I visited my grandfather who was then eighty-two years old. He is from rustic regions of southern Alabama and had survived Jim Crow, portions of World War II, the Korean War, the Ku Klux Klan, and the Civil Rights Movement. On a whim, I asked my grandfather what he thought about race and if he thought the issue was ameliorating. Given his life experience, I figured his perspective would be valuable.

He gave me this response: “Nowadays, if someone wants to call you ‘nigger,’ they won’t do it your face. There ain’t no more ‘Whites Only’ drinking fountains and pools, ya see. There ain’t no more ‘Whites Only’ neighborhood. But what they do is they say make it so you can’t get a house or a job or they cheat you. They don’t say ‘You can’t live here!’ no mo’ but they make it hard to get a house! The Klan don’t do the lynchings. The police do it now. Ain’t no mo’ poll taxes but they still don’t want us voting! They call you ‘nigger’ but they hide it better. Don’t let them fool ‘bout what they say ‘bout progress. Things is really just the same as they always was.”

When I had this conservation with him, Trayvon Martin hadn’t been killed yet, nor had Jordan Davis, or Oscar Grant or Renisha McBride or John Crawford or Mike Brown. Richard Sherman, I imagine, was probably still in high school, so he wasn’t yet the brash “thug” he would become. And no one was asking for Barack Obama’s birth certificate or questioning his American citizenship.

At least not yet, anyway. I guess the old adage is true: the more things change, the more they remain the same. There is as much literal and figurative ‘nigger’ calling amongst the Muslims in America today as there is in American society at large. Like my great-grandfather before me, I sought something better. As my mother would say though, six in one hand, half a dozen in the other.

I’m looking for a house

In the world

Where the white shadows

Will not fall.

There is no such house,

Dark brothers,

No such house

At all.

—Langston Hughes, “House in the World”

By Salman Khan

I recently had the opportunity to sit in on an interfaith discussion that focused on the beauty of God and His existence. It was running ordinarily. Everyone was discussing their religion’s point of view and trying to get the other to see the beauty of their own beliefs. The dialogue was rich with stories from faiths across the board. It was beautiful hearing the sheer enthusiasm revolving around the beauty of God. However, there was one individual who, unfortunately, shared in our beliefs but not in our enthusiasm.

Whenever a topic was brought up, this individual would give his point of view and explain rather apathetically how those beliefs came to be. After some time he abruptly raised the question, “Can we even prove God exists?” The lively conversation reached a sudden standstill. The entire time, this young man contributed to our conversation, but he was not only insincere, but he doubted the basic fundamental principle around which that our entire conversation revolved! SubhanAllah (Glory to God), it turns out that this young man was a recognized community leader within his congregation who secretly held atheistic views. The others on our discussion table were frozen in shock. No one could believe that this young man who was a leader within his community could have such questions or thoughts. This was an individual who studied the religious texts, taught it to others, and was an example for others to follow.

After a moment of silence, we each took it upon ourselves to prove God exists. By the end, we had mentioned everything: the Islamic proofs, Christian proofs, logical proofs, and even some scientific proofs, but to each one, this young man argued in favor of luck, evolution, and chance. It eventually hit me that there was no 1-2-3 process one could perform to prove God exists. Without a spark to light belief there could be no belief, and to each and every one of us that spark was different and unique. We kept running in circles, until finally one of the Christian sisters said, “At the end of the day, you only have two options: either choose to believe in God or don’t. Either way, you have to take a leap of faith, but which one is easier?” SubhanAllah, this powerful statement hit me so hard; It was so simple, but so true. A life without God leaves you to in a state of constant uncertainty, chaos, and anxiety, but one with God leaves you to be in a state of security, serenity, and contentment. My proof for this is the young man who was so clearly insecure and anxious about his disbelief in God. He wanted so badly to have certainty and tranquility, but because he refused to take this leap of faith, he was left unhappy and discontent.

This experience caused me continuous distress in the weeks after, because the story mentioned above is also prevalent in the Muslim community. Too many of us fall into phases of doubt, and it is most times those of us who were born and bred into Islam. Those of us who were spoon-fed Islam from an early age, but only followed it because we did what we were told. Growing up we performed the actions of our religion physically, but not spiritually. And, when we grew older, we began to question the beliefs we shared with our parents, and decided that we, when thinking for ourselves, could not really discern if God truly exists. And so, we began living a double-life; we went to the masjid  (mosque) and looked like Muslims, but when it came down to it, we didn’t truly believe. Like the young man who is afflicted with doubt, we are looking for concrete evidence of God’s existence. We don’t want to hear the religious proofs, or possible “scientific” evidences, we want to see Him, hear Him, and feel Him—not metaphorically, but literally. We hear of His bounty and grace, but we aren’t aware that we are experiencing it first-hand, and so either He doesn’t love us or He must not exist. And, because God would not be God if He didn’t love us, then He must not exist!

This reasoning and conclusion is common to many of us. And, unfortunately, no one can make us believe any differently. By taking the wisdom from our Christian sister, I leave myself, first and foremost, and you with these final statements: think for yourself and find Allah (subhanahu wa ta`ala – exalted is He) in your own way. Don’t choose a life of unhappiness, because you choose to be blind. Instead, take a leap of faith, keep your eyes open, and be patient. With an open mind and an open heart, you will surely find God and see Him all around you insha’Allah (God willing).

Transcribed by Abdul Alim Abdullah

The following story is an extract from ibn al-Jawzī’s Ocean of Tears.

It has been related through some reports that there was a man who was from amongst the Islāmic jurists of Baghdād. He was a source of knowledge and authority for the people in addition to being a great and noble shaykh.

One time he desired to perform Hajj to Allāh’s Sacred House and to visit the grave of His Prophet ﷺ (peace be upon him). He gathered some of the students who used to study with him and they set out for the journey placing their full trust in Allāh, Exalted is He.

During their travels they came upon a Christian monastery. They had become exhausted and fatigued from the heat of the sun and thirst. The students said to the shaykh, “Our dear teacher, let us take refuge at the monastery until the weather becomes cooler and then we’ll set out again.” The shaykh said to them, “Do as you please.” They then went to the monastery and settled at its walls. The students slept, but the shaykh did not.

The shaykh left the students sleeping with no other concern except to search for some water to perform wuḍū’. As he was searching for the water he raised his head and saw a young woman whose beauty emanated like the sun. At this moment Iblīs gained control of his heart and he forgot about the water and wuḍū’. He did not have any concern now except for this young woman. He went to the monastery’s gate and knocked upon it intensely. A priest came out and asked, “Who are you?”

The shaykh introduced himself.

The priest said, “And what do you want, O jurist of the Muslims?”

The shaykh said, “Dear priest, that young woman who appeared at the top of the monastery. Who is she?”

The priest said, “She is my daughter. What’s your business with her?”

The shaykh said, “I want you to marry her to me.”

The priest said, “That is something not permissible in our religion. If it were permissible, I would marry her to you even without consulting her. However, she made a covenant upon herself that she would not marry anyone whom she is not pleased with. I will go to her and inform her about you, and if she is pleased I’ll marry her to you.”

The shaykh said, “My warmest love and honor to you.”

The priest then went to his daughter and informed her of what transpired as the shaykh listened nearby.

She said, “My dearest father, how could you marry me to him? I am a Christian and he is a Muslim. No marriage will occur until he becomes a Christian.”

When she said that, the priest replied, “So if he accepts your religion will you marry him?”

She said, “Yes.”

As these events were unfolding, the noble scholar was becoming overly passionate. Iblīs began to beautify all of this to him while his companions were in deep sleep with no knowledge of what had happened to their teacher.

The shaykh approached the young woman and said, “I have rejected Islām and have accepted your religion.”

She said to him, “A marriage destined to happen! However, it is from my rights of marriage that there is a dowry payment. So, where is my dowry? I see you as someone poor, but if you herd these pigs over here for one whole year, I will accept that as a dowry.”

He said, “Sure, I will do that. But I have a condition that you do not conceal your face from me so that I may look at you throughout the day and night.” She agreed.

He took his cane that he used to lean upon during his public sermons and went to the pigs, driving them towards the pasture.

All of this happened while his companions were asleep. When they awoke they began to look for their teacher, but with no success. They asked the priest about him, and he told them what happened.

Some of them fell down unconscious, others cried and wailed. Others felt great regret for what happened to him.

They then asked the priest, “Where is he?”

He said, “He is herding pigs.”

They went to him and found him leaning upon his cane—the one on which he used to lean during his public sermons. This time around he was herding pigs with it. They said to him, “Our dear teacher, what is this misfortune that has happened to you?” They began to remind him of the virtues of Islām and the Qur’ān, and the virtues of Muḥammad ﷺ. They proceeded to recite some verses of the Qur’ān to him, as well as Prophetic traditions.

He said to them, “Get away from me! I am more knowledgeable with what you are reminding me with. This ordeal of mine is from the Lord of the Worlds.”

His companions said, “We tried convincing him to come with us but we were not able to. Thus, we left him and proceeded to Makkah with a feeling of regret for him in our hearts.

They performed their Hajj and began their journey back to Baghdād. When they came across the same monastery on the way back, they said, “Let us go see what our teacher has done. Perhaps he felt regret over his actions and repented to Allāh, Exalted is He, and returned to his previous state.”

They went to him and found him in the same situation, herding the pigs. They conveyed their salām to him, gave him reminders, and recited some Qur’ān to him, but he gave no response. They left him and the regret for him in their hearts intensified.

As they distanced themselves from the monastery in a state of mourning, someone began to come from the direction of the monastery crying out to them, and they stopped. It was their shaykh and he joined them once again.

He said, “I bear witness that there is no deity worthy of worship except Allāh, and I bear witness that Muḥammad is the Messenger of Allāh. I have repented to Allāh and have abandoned what I was upon. All of this has happened because of a sin between me and my Lord, and He wanted to punish me and thus you witnessed the ordeal I was in.”

The students were happy beyond belief and returned to Baghdād. The shaykh engaged in acts of worship and self-struggling far more than what he used to do. One day while they were reading to the shaykh, there was a knock at the door and it turned out to be a young woman. The students asked her, “What do you need, young lady?”

She said, “I want to speak to the shaykh.”

They went to the shaykh and told her that she was so-and-so, the daughter of the priest. She came to accept Islām at his hands. He permitted her to enter and she said to him, “My master, I have come to accept Islām at your hands.”

The shaykh said, “What is your story?”

She said, “When you left me, I became weary and fell asleep. I saw in my dream `Alī b. Abī Ṭālib, may Allāh be pleased with him, and he said to me: ‘There is no religion except the religion of Muḥammad, may Allāh’s peace and blessings be upon him.’ He said that three times and then said: ‘And Allāh will not test one of His righteous servants through you.’ So now I have come to you, standing here in front of you to say that I bear witness that there is no deity worthy of worship except Allāh, and I bear witness that Muḥammad his the Messenger of Allāh, may Allāh’s peace and blessings be upon him.”

The shaykh rejoiced that Allāh blessed her with Islām upon his hands. He then married her based upon the law of Allāh and His Messenger ﷺ.

The students asked him about the sin that he committed that was between him and Allāh.

He replied, “One day I was walking in a path when a Christian man grabbed a hold of me. I said: ‘Get away from me! May Allāh’s curse be upon you!’

He asked, ‘Why?’

I told him: ‘I am better than you.’

The Christian man turned to me and said, ‘And how do you know that you are better than me? Do you know of the matters with Allāh that would lead you to say such words?’

After some time, news reached me that this Christian man accepted Islām, lived it in a beautiful manner, and was persistent in his worship. Thus, Allāh tested me because of this as you have witnessed.”

We ask Allāh for a state of spiritual well-being in this life and the Hereafter.

News of this terror plot is likely to spark a great deal of discussion around the idea of domestic terrorism. But there are some things that are not likely to be part of that discourse. For example, we’re not likely to hear experts discussing whether or not Christian doctrine teaches its followers to overthrow governments and kill people. And, although the Hutaree website quotes scripture passages that allude to battle and sacrificing lives for the greater cause, the Bible is not likely to become condemned for inspiring acts of terror.

Hutaree means “Christian Warrior,” yet the American public is not likely to blame Christianity. And Homeland Security probably isn’t going to single out all people with Christian names in the airport security line. The FBI most likely isn’t going to start wire-tapping Churches and Christian homes, and it’s unlikely that the whole world will be expecting every peace-loving Christian to apologize for actions they had nothing to do with — just because it was done in their name.

Unfortunately, these rules do not apply to Muslims. When a Muslim commits a crime, the Quran goes on trial. For example, after the failed “Christmas bombing,” a January Wall Street Journal piece highlighted the fact that Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab had studied at the San’a Institute for Arabic Language. “He knew how to read and write in Arabic because he had learned to read the Quran being a Muslim, but his speaking abilities were very limited,” recalls Mohammed Al-Anisi, the institute’s director. Abdulmutallab may have also studied French poetry as a student, but that probably wouldn’t have been considered relevant to his crime. The study of the Quran and Arabic, on the other hand, seems to be.

If there’s news of a Muslim terrorist, Islam becomes complicit in the crime. Yet few people are going to accuse Christianity of motivating the terrorism of the Hutaree militia. These Christian terrorists are considered violent criminals who’ve perverted a peaceful religion.

Muslim terrorists, on the other hand, are just following a violent, perverted religion. A Christian terrorist is considered violent in spite of his or her faith, whereas a Muslim is violent because of it. Some might claim that this assumption is because the Quran is full of violent passages while the Bible teaches only peace and love. But in a recent NPR piece, religion historian Philip Jenkins explained that in fact there is more violence in the Bible than in the Quran. “Much to my surprise, the Islamic scriptures in the Quran were actually far less bloody and less violent than those in the Bible,” Jenkins said. He explained that violence in the Quran is largely defensive.

“By the standards of the time, which is the seventh century A.D., the laws of war that are laid down by the Quran are actually reasonably humane,” says Jenkins. “Then we turn to the Bible, and we actually find something that is for many people a real surprise. There is a specific kind of warfare laid down in the Bible which we can only call genocide.”

Are we now going to create a new brand of crime called “Christian terrorism”? Is the entire Christian community going to be put on the defensive, while media pundits begin the mantra: “Why aren’t Christians condemning acts of terrorism?” Probably not. The question is: why should someone named Christopher need to condemn the acts of the Hutaree militia any more than someone named Mohammad does? And why should Mohammed be expected to condemn the acts of the “Christmas bomber” any more than Christopher?

As FBI agent Andrew Arena said, Hutaree is just “an example of radical and extremist fringe groups which can be found throughout our society.” Their crimes are committed in spite of their religious affiliations — not because of them.

Originally published at the Huffington Post