Chasing Grace

Grace is no longer that serendipitous moment I stumble on earnestly as I plow through my day.  I recognize its dominion, I have charted its domain, I know where it blooms.  I know where it is, how to entice it, how to embrace it when it comes.  It is no longer an elusive stranger, flirting and fleeing, leaving me with the cruel temptation to delay it.  I know grace.

I find grace in three places actually, each unique, each as bountiful as the other.  Ironically, these portals are all at the intersections of people, sometimes strangers.  I am not sure if I am a full, card-carrying misanthrope, but I have never found solace in others, never been able to share much with too many people.  The fact that the greatest feeling I know comes from the confluence of my efforts and their openness does not escape me, does not fail to raise a small, sardonic smile.

I find grace when I connect to my daughters - it doesn't happen as often as I would like, but we are working on it.  It seems I have always been a stage behind them.  I can remember when they were very young, being eager for the day they could talk, when they did, I didn't understand them.  My gruff, reserved nature did not help them bond with me, and neither were too keen to spend my free time with me out in the garage building furniture.  But now, as they have matured, we can talk.  It is easier for me to listen, and for the first time in my life, my ears are open for another purpose than to extract detail, to solve problems - I just simply enjoy their company, they are wonderful young women.  This is Ramadan, and it would be remiss if I did not thank Allah for his patience, and that which he bestowed on them. I am a very, very lucky man.

The second place I find grace is in the classroom, whether there are a hundred

of my peers, a few dozen lost teenagers, or just three kids at a friend's house in Amman.  When I teach, I reach, share, and care.  This realm is the first place I encountered grace many, many years ago.  It was in Jamaica, and I had experienced it many times, always surprising me.  I could not engender it, call it out, even sustain it once it arrived.  It was a feeling that I belonged, that I was giving for once, and receiving in direct proportion.  It was natural, and I was connected to everyone in the room - the teacher/student boundaries were gone, and we were all smiling and learning, no one of us subjected, no one of us superior, all of us as one.  My college did not prepare me for this, as a matter of fact, I did not learn to cajole it until I left those lessons of my youth, and I taught as myself, taught as a man who cared for his students more than his ego or his reputation.  I have found my way, and a balance with the expectations of my craft.  Today, the classroom is often a haven from the rest of my day, a refuge.

My final venue for grace is the newest to me - it is in prayer, often when I congregate with others.  I don't pray like I should, and I don't make it to the mosque every Friday, but I am improving.  When I pray, my mind clears, and the minutiae of the day drifts off with any pain or frustration I might be suffering.  I am praying at least twice a day regularly now, sometimes more.  I want to pray five times as I should, and I want to pray in the mosque more often.  I have prayed in many places around the world, including the Al-Aqsa Mosque in Jerusalem on Eid, a humbling experience.  My favorite moment praying however, was on Eid a year or so ago in Amman, at the downtown mosque.  I had spent a lot of time in the crowded neighborhood around the mosque, exploring the side streets and markets.  There were video stores, clothing stores, food markets, hardware stores, and restaurants. It was a favorite spot of mine to hang out.  Oddly though, as a tourist, I mingled with thousands of people who paid no mind to me, with whom I felt no connection.  It was as if we were each alone, moving about avoiding each other.  I didn't expect the experience I had that first morning I prayed in the mosque.

As I made my way in and took off my shoes looking for a memorable spot to store them, there were hundreds of others filing in.  We all found places on the carpet, and made unique and lonely prayers.  But then as we were called to prayer, we all moved forward easily, filling every open spot without effort, and at once, we were a sea of worshippers all in unison.  Shoulder to shoulder, sole to sole, brother to brother. It was such an incredible feeling to be there, a White American ignored for who he usually was, and embraced as a brother Muslim.  No one looked at me as if I was out of place, no one looked at all - I was granted the anonymity of respect, and I never felt so connected to a group of people in my life.  We prayed in unison and I understood the affirmation of fellowship.  Not patting each other on the back, raising our voices in cheers, bellowing for attention. It was the closest I have been to my God. As we rose to leave, there were kind smiles and gentle nods as I made my way back to find my shoes.  I never felt isolated again downtown, and I am sure I smiled more often as I shopped.

A Prayer for Forgiveness

If an one does evil
Or wrongs his own soul
But afterwards seeks
Allah's forgiveness, he will find
Allah Oft-forgiving,
Most Merciful
S.4 A110

This is a selfish prayer, a prayer for myself.  If you have read my posts, I know it sounds like I lament far too many of my sins and actions, and I am sure that appears I haven't learned anything.  That is not my intent, actually far from it.  I believe I have been blessed with an extraordinary life, a life filled with service to others.  I have given so much to others, in so many ways, in so many places.  Unfortunately, the magnitude of my philanthropy is in direct proportion to my weaknesses. I have posited in the past that I work so hard to improve the lives of others to combat my selfish behaviors, my selfish needs.  Now I view that formula a bit differently.

I will continue to ponder on and write about my weaknesses, as I want to spend the next twenty-five years making a bigger difference, not one mediated by the backwards steps of my sins.  In less than a month, I will return to my high school to be inducted into their Alumni Hall of Fame for humanitarian service.  I want to feel good when I talk to the students in that school, I want to be honest, I want to feel clean.  When I share my story, and try to motivate them in a modest way, I want no lingering shards of a lifetime of hypocrisy to penetrate the authenticity of my remarks.

So this prayer is for me - Allah forgive me, let me forgive myself.

Ramadan Night 1

Do ye enjoin right conduct

On the people, and forget

(To practice it) yourselves,

And yet ye study the Scripture?

Will ye not understand?

Nay, seek (Allah's) help

With patient perseverance

S.2 A. 44-45

It is Ramadan, alhamdulilah, and I trying to rededicate myself to my faith.  I have always had a deep connection to the philosophy of Islam, just haven't  been as connected to many of the day to day disciplines like I should have.  I think I have allowed myself to confuse other issues with my relationship to Islam.  I am ashamed for that.  For the last two years, I tried to read the entire Koran during Ramadan.  I didn't succeed but I enjoyed picking it up every night. This year I am going to read different Suras and react here to what I have read.  Please forgive me in advance if my interpretations are awry, I just think it would be nice to read and try to articulate what I feel......

This Surah serves a dual purpose I think: it is at once an admonishment to the Jews, but also intended to all of us, whatever holy book we practice.  I found this pertinent as I begin to observe this holy month, a reminder to work on my behaviors, both outwardly and inwardly. I have worked hard to make sure my actions reflected the tenets of my faith. It's not just about avoiding bad practices, it is being proactive and living a generous and dignified life. I am in a place, where I may be the only Muslim most of my coworkers have known. I know whatever I do will reflect on my faith. I think I do a good job representing a good image, but I want to work on my inner faith, that which no one sees.

I know the reference above deals with hypocrisy of behavior, but I am battling hypocrisy of spirit. I want to work on the things that are not easy for me: praying when I should, praying with the right attitude, communing with other Muslims, humbling myself more completely.

My comfort lies in the last line, with patient perseverance.

I hope to continue these small discussions over the next 30 days, pray that I do, pray that I do it gracefully. Thank you.

Reciting Koran at Gunpoint

I will tell you that reciting Koran for me is difficult in the best of circumstances, and that I still am working on it. I never dreamt that the first time I would be called upon to read Koran publicly would at the behest of a 22 year-old hostile Israeli, with an automatic weapon (not mine) squarely between us. It was an experience I can honestly say I had no preparation for.
I was visiting Jordan and Palestine for the first time, shortly after my conversion. I started my trip in Jordan, and had a fabulous time. I visited a good friend, and made several new acquaintances in the process. After a week, my friend and I made our way to Jerusalem overland for the upcoming Eid. I was very, very excited to visit the holy land on a holy day! When we got to the border, we had little problems on the Jordanian side. We waited two hours to make the ten minute bus ride between countries. I remember passing through "no man's land" truly feeling glad I was in the bus and not outside - it really did look desolate and dead. I found myself singing an obscure Loggins and Messina tune that I had not heard for thirty years "it's an hours flight, but it takes all night to get from Cairo to the promised land. And is it people's rights or just people's lights, and can the line be drawn that thin?"
I could not believe the scene at the Israeli border crossing. We got off the bus and walked up to a semi-circular barricade. Here we all pushed to pass our passports over to a very disinterested guard. There were maybe 75 of us trying to get his attention. He just gathered them up and we waited. About a half an hour later, he emerged and just handed all the passports to whoever was closest. I asserted myself and managed to get my passport and that of my friends. We were then allowed to proceed into the building. When we passed through the initial metal detector, they detained my friend (she was wearing a hijab). She told them she was with me, so they made me wait outside the room she disappeared into. After about 20 minutes, they let her out and called me in. The young woman, probably about 19, asked me several questions about our trip and our relationship. I could tell she was looking for inconsistencies, so I simply answered honestly. After about 10 minutes, she released me and we made our way to the next stage. We got in line at the visa desk, and I was horrified by what I witnessed. We were in the "good" line as we were British and American tourists. The rest of the folks were huddled in several long lines beside us. It was a large open room with good acoustics. I could barely tolerate the cacophony that engulfed me. At nearly each desk, at the front of each line, sat a young Israeli woman dressed in a military uniform. And at each desk, at the front of each line, the young woman was screaming at the meek Arabs. They were demeaning, insolent, and openly hostile. Imagine the cruelest clique of girls from your high school with weapons and the power to humiliate anyone they pleased. It was nightmarish.
The woman at the end of my line did not yell or insult me. Nor did she make eye contact or show any interest in my application. When my friend approached the counter, she cast her a terrible look, but restrained her obvious contempt. My friend requested that her passport not be stamped as she was planning a trip to Pakistan where she could not gain entry with an Israeli stamp in her passport. This request is a common one, and the Israelis grant hundreds each day, but she told my friend that she could wait to see. We waited two hours for her to walk twenty feet to get permission to stamp an alternative slip of paper then insert it into the passport. We smiled and thanked her, and I think it irritated her greatly. We walked into another hall, passed through several other gates without incident and emerged into the sunshine of Palestine.
We enjoyed the crowded bus ride to Jerusalem, and I was astonished that I was about to walk through Damascus Gate, into the famed old city. We made our way to our hotel (a former Austrian palace) and cleaned up. We met an hour later to walk about the old city. It truly was incredible. We walked through the crowded streets (many covered passageways) and made our way to the wailing wall. I was very cautious to be respectful as I realized the significance of the place. We did not go up to the wall as there were people praying there and we did not want to disturb them.
When we left the wall, we walked up to the higher part of the city. We came around a corner to see a group of young Israeli boys playing soccer in an open courtyard. I smiled at them. One of them saw my friend beside me, frowned, and kicked the ball as hard as he could at her. We were lucky that he wasn't very talented, and the ball smashed into a building above our heads. I rushed her past the scene into another street. We turned a corner and came upon another check point. Initially, the guard returned my smile until he saw my friend. The smile evaporated into a frown, and we spent ten minutes being hassled to pass that simple gate. We returned to the hotel and arranged to meet again to go to the mosque for Eid prayers. I was so excited! I would be praying at the Al Aqsa Mosque (the Dome of the Rock) in an hour's time. Well it took more than an hour to get there (despite the fact it was two minutes away), and I was lucky my friend suggested we leave early. "It's and hours flight, but it takes all night.........."
To get to the mosque, we had to turn from the main thoroughfare unto a small covered alley. At the end of the alley we could see the checkpoint replete with guards and guns. As we walked up, I was in a good mood, somewhat nervous. Not about the Israelis, but about praying in such an important place so early in my conversion. They waived my friend in but stopped me. I was informed that the mosque was closed to tourists and that I could not come in. I explained that I was a Muslim, and he just smirked. My friend stepped back closer to us and affirmed my statement. The young man looked at me and said "say something from the Koran." I started to recite the Al Fatiha, the first verse in the Koran. After about ten seconds, he looked at me and told me to stop. He told me in broken English that I couldn't go in. I got irritated, as he obviously didn't listen to or understand the verse. My friend stepped in and defended me. He told her that now she couldn't go in. We retreated, and she offered another plan - we go in through another gate.
We tried another time with the same result. We waited for thirty minutes and returned to the first gate where the was now a new guard. Twenty something with a permanent scowl. When we approached, he stopped me. He turned his gun around on its strap, inches away from my chest, and commanded that I recite Koran. I proceeded and as before, he stopped me, this time declaring loudly that I wasn't a Muslim. This really irritated me and I started to protest. My friend grabbed my arm and we retreated once again. Finally, with a few minutes before prayer time, we found a new gate. When we approached, another young man stopped us. When I explained I was a Muslim, he called a young Arab man over. The young man looked at me and smiled. He asked me to recite the Al-Fatiha. I was nervous, humiliated, and somewhat scared. As I began to stumble, he gently prodded me by inserting a few words. I made it through the prayer and he looked at his Israeli counterpart and nodded. They moved aside, and just like that, I was in the compound. I turned to thank them both, tears in my eyes. The young Arab man smiled back.
We rushed to the mosques, one for women, one for men. I made my way through the large crowd, took my shoes off, entered the second mosque with thousands of fellow Muslim men. As we began to pray, no one took notice of me. I was simply another Muslim friend, praying to my God on a holy day. I never felt so at peace, despite the machinations it took to get there. When I left the mosque to meet my friend, it was raining lightly, and thought I was in the most beautiful place on earth.
*Postscript
Several months later, I was at home wathing the IFC (the Independent Film Channel) when I noticed an upcoming movie called "Close to Home" about the Arab-Israeli conflict. I watched it a week later. It told the story of two young Israeli women serving their compulsory military service. The movie detailed their training, particularly the focus on degrading Arabs. I cried openly, not for the Arabs depicted in the movie, but for the fist time facing my humiliation months before, my impotence and helplessness.