Day 8

Culture of Faith

I’m pretty certain the 15 year old me would not recognize the present-day me… and this is probably true for lots of people.

The former me swore certain truths:

I would never wear anything other than black

I would always be true to lunch boxes as my purse/bag of choice

Brad Pitt would be my #1 crush (well, this is still true) with Kaia Wilson in close second

Depeche Mode would always be the soundtrack to my life (still true)

I would one day work for the UN

… you get the idea.

The 15 year old me was frustrated and angry with being cooped up with lots of restrictions on when, with whom, where and with what frequency I was allowed out of the house. I never understood the double-standards between my younger brother and I. And sadly, because my faith and my culture were so muddled together, I also held another truth:

my faith was oppressive and when I could gain power over my own life, I would put an end to the source of my oppression by likely leaving it.

When I was 16, there were a pair of visiting teachers from Egypt at our school. For months, I would see them in the library during lunch and often talk to them. One day, religion came up and they asked if I was also Muslim and I told them something about being ‘culturally’ Muslim – I wasn’t you know, a Muslim-Muslim.

The man took a patient, kind look at me (black cape, eye liner, red lipstick, spiked collar and all) and generously said:

You’re always a Muslim.

At age 15, I made the mistake of collapsing my faith with my culture and although the two are not the same, elements of my faith impact the cultural expectations my parents had/have of me.

In 1999, shortly after meeting the Egyptian teacher pair, I had the opportunity to travel to China and Inner Mongolia as part of a delegation of NYC teachers and students. As part of the trip, we visited the Great Mosque of Xi’an and learned about the intense, rich and long history of Islam within the community. As the only Muslim in my group, I was the only one allowed inside the mosque – I had brought gifts from home for the mosque and the Imans to give and had an opportunity to pray.

Standing alone inside the thick and luxurious walls of the mosque and Allah, I cried. I had felt so alone that summer, away from my family for the first time ever. In the familiar presence of the otherwise stranger to me, the bearded Chinese men with kufis reminded me of home.

I understood something in those moments that I have not been able to put words to until more recently: ummah.

The worldwide community of Muslims. A family. A bond. A common thread of faith in Allah that weaves through each of us and ties us together and that I do not want to leave or lose.

As Muslims we do not share a common food, one language or even a standard set of cultural norms dictated based on geography or boundaries on a map. I reject the generalizations that are made about my community and my faith based on the actions of a few. However, I do believe there is deeper place from which the universal familiarity, goodness, commitment to love, justice and kindness in each Muslim comes from and this is what ties us together. This is the culture of my faith – as a Muslim.