Similar to the Jehovah's Witnesses, figuring out when to attend the Muslim Mosque was half the battle. I couldn't find any Web sites with information about services. I even drove by the Mosque and noticed there were about six different times listed on the front door. But the words weren't English, so I had no idea what any of them meant. I immediately got the sense I really wasn't welcomed because they seemed to make it very difficult to access information about their services.
So, Friday afternoon (May 8th), I called the Mosque to communicate I was interested in visiting, but I didn't know what next steps to take. I never got a call back, so I called again around 4:00 pm. This time, one of the nicest people I have ever encountered answered the phone. Seriously, you know how sometimes you speak to a person, and her kindness almost puts you in a trance? That was her. Our conversation completely changed my first impression of Clifton Mosque.
First, she was able to point me toward their Web site, which was not easy to find through a Google search. Second, she explained all of their meeting times, and when I expressed concern over “offending” them by my lack of Muslim knowledge, she quickly calmed my nerves by expressing how happy they would be to have me visit.
Of course, because their worship service (she explained it was their meeting that most resembled a typical church service) was at 1:50 pm on a Friday (yeah, not the most convenient time), I had to rearrange my teaching schedule to make it happen.
It took a week, but once everything got worked out, I attended Clifton Mosque Friday afternoon.
Keep in mind, as I write this, I know very little about the Muslim faith, so I apologize up front if I use the wrong terminology, or say something ignorant or offensive. I'm simply going to communicate the experience as seen through my uneducated lenses, trying my best to respect rituals and traditions of the Muslim faith.
So, here we go …
I didn’t know how to dress, so I wore a suit with no tie. Once I pulled into the parking lot, I realized I was overdressed. Most men wore business casual type clothing (because they were coming from work?); others wore what looked to be traditional Muslim garb. (That is a good example of me having no idea what to call that type of clothing.) Some men had the Muslim cap on (is it called a Taqiyah?), but most did not. There were very few Caucasians, but a few of us were sprinkled in throughout the room. There were absolutely no women. I did see a separate entrance for women, so I’m guessing they are required to worship in a different area of the building. There were two little girls, but I assumed it was okay because they came with their fathers. There was also a little boy who was the highlight of my visit. More on him later.
The first thing you encounter when walking into the foyer is a sign that asks people to remove their shoes. Luckily, I wore clean socks. Everyone placed their shoes in a large closet before walking into the main room. Their “sanctuary” was a large, open area that was carpeted and had no chairs. Everyone sat on the floor. When I got there (about two minutes early), many people were already seated and praying. Most gathered near the front, but I chose a spot along the back wall with a couple dozen other men.
As the service (called Juma) progressed, lots of men entered late, bringing the final total to somewhere near four hundred people.
I Googled it, and the official title for the “pastor” who delivers the message is “k̲h̲aṭīb.” Riiiiiight. I’m not sure how to pronounce that either. The dot under the “t” is throwing me off. So, I’ll just say the “teacher” came out at the very beginning of the service to begin his message (called the Khutbah). He spoke from a tiny stage with a back door. Imagine a small balcony (at ground level) with a door leading back into the living room.
For the most part, his message was pretty dry. The Muslims seem like a pretty serious group during their services and prayers, so there weren’t any jokes. No clips from Spaceballs to help make a point.
In fact, as I mentioned earlier, my favorite part of the service was a little boy who just kinda walked around and did whatever he wanted. Near the end of the service, when everyone was kneeling and praying, he was walking amongst the crowd having the time of his life. Whenever I see little kids having fun in church while adults are engaged in the serious act of worshipping God, I am always reminded of Jesus saying people need to become like little children.
It seems like religion is always sucking the life out of faith, and sometimes little kids need to show us grownups a better way to approach God.
The teacher focused on the ethnic cleansing that occurred sixty-one years ago in Palestine. I knew nothing of this, so I made a couple of notes and did a little research once I got home. It seems like there is some disagreement over this historical event. Muslims claim Zionists (a Jewish political movement) attempted to wipe them out during Israel’s War for Independence. Jews have a slightly different take on what happened. I have no idea what happened and cannot even begin to speak intelligently on the subject, so I’ll just move on.
The message had many calls to action. They included:
1) Unifying Muslims and fulfilling their responsibilities all over the world.
2) Speaking out against injustice wherever you encounter it.
3) He specifically spoke out against the use of violence as Muslims.
4) Starting to make a difference by learning about Muslim history.
5) Spread peace, tranquility, and harmony all over the world.
6) He concluded by saying, “Only Islam can bring peace to the world.”
People prayed randomly as the teacher spoke. Mostly, it seemed like a ritual when you entered the main room. Before sitting, most men went through a series of prayers that mimicked one another. I wondered if it was the Muslim version of Catholics making the sign of the cross.
Often, the teacher spoke in a different language. Arabic? Not helpful for guests. Unless those guests speak Arabic, I suppose. I speak a little Spanish, but I am pretty sure those two languages have very little in common.
Once the message ended, a formal time of prayer began. This is when I got a little freaked out.
First, there was a long string of prayers led by the teacher, and every once in a while, the group would respond with some word (the Muslim version of Amen?).
Next, everyone—and I mean everyone—got up and moved forward, aligning themselves in perfect rows. The Chinese army would have been proud of the uniformity.
The only people who did not go forward (in a room of four hundred people, remember), were me, an Asian dude, a baby, and two little Muslim girls. (By the way, that sounds like an amazing premise for a sitcom, doesn’t it?) In twenty visits, I have never felt more like an outsider. My body temperature went through the roof. If it wasn’t for the Asian dude, I’m not sure I would have stayed in the room. I felt like I was doing something very wrong by not going forward, but going forward would have felt extremely awkward.
Then, someone started singing in Arabic (which was actually quite beautiful), and when he paused, everyone responded with the same word or phrase and moved into a different prayer position.
They all moved in unison. I was amazed. How many churches have that much solidarity? Muslims seem to take their worship very seriously. No one was text messaging, or chatting with friends, or rolling their eyes. People wanted to be there, and they engaged fully.
With that said, there were only a few young children, but I didn’t notice any teenagers. I suppose most are in school at 1:50 in the afternoon, so maybe there is another service for younger members of the Mosque.
Once prayers ended, everyone stood up and started exiting. Most just walked out the door, but oddly enough, a few walked a very specific path out of the room that circled back to where I was still seated against the back wall. I have no idea why they made such a major detour, but there had to be some significance.
What I do know is that one dude literally stared me down as he passed. Then, after he was about ten steps by, he turned around and pointed at me while whispering something to his friend. Ummm … what was up with that? I guess it’s possible he recognized me from a local newspaper article highlighting my experiment (since it specifically said I was visiting the Clifton Mosque the following week), but still, the stare down was quite awkward.
The whole service only lasted forty-five minutes, but they have many other events that happen at the Mosque throughout the week, so I’m sure people are there more than forty-five minutes per week.
One thing I thought was interesting: Not one person spoke to me the entire time I was there. No greeters in the parking lot; no greeters at the front door; no one said hello inside the main room; no opportunity to shake hands with someone around me. And when the service was over, even when I hung around and watched people exit, not one person said a word. Only the stare down.
I wasn’t necessarily offended. It just stood out.
Visiting a Muslim Mosque was … well, I’m not sure what the word is I’m looking for here. Moving, maybe? My visit came two days after watching a documentary called Religulous, by Bill Maher. His main point of the video was to illustrate the absurdity of religion, based primarily on the fact that religious conflict has led to many wars, many deaths, and far too much conflict.
Bill Maher is right, you know. It’s absurd to think about how many people have been killed in the name of religion. What the hell is wrong with us that we can’t find ways to coexist and get along?
I was a Christian sitting in a Muslim Mosque, and all I could think about was how much fear and hatred exists between our two groups. Throw in the Jews, and man, there has been some major conflict for many years. And where the heck has it gotten us?
I don’t care which group claims rightful ownership over God. Whatever name you want to use for our Creator, he’s got to be pretty pissed off that innocent people are being slaughtered in his name.
I don’t want any part of it.
I don’t believe all religions are the same. Some of their teachings directly contradict one another, so they can’t all be the same. Do they all lead to the same God? I personally don’t think so, but who the heck knows? I do know this: We have to find a way to get along and love one another on this planet, despite our differences, or we’re all going to pay the price.
I have been hesitant in the past, but this week’s visit has encouraged me to finally research the “Coexist” movement. You’ve seen the bumper stickers. Contrary to popular opinion, the group isn’t about saying all religions are equally true; it’s about teaching people that we can respect one another despite our differences. I’m not sure how anyone can argue with that.
No matter what we believe, people with different beliefs have a lot to teach us about our personal faith, the world, and ourselves.
Let’s all keep learning to coexist.
JOIN THE CONVERSATION
So, Friday afternoon (May 8th), I called the Mosque to communicate I was interested in visiting, but I didn't know what next steps to take. I never got a call back, so I called again around 4:00 pm. This time, one of the nicest people I have ever encountered answered the phone. Seriously, you know how sometimes you speak to a person, and her kindness almost puts you in a trance? That was her. Our conversation completely changed my first impression of Clifton Mosque.
First, she was able to point me toward their Web site, which was not easy to find through a Google search. Second, she explained all of their meeting times, and when I expressed concern over “offending” them by my lack of Muslim knowledge, she quickly calmed my nerves by expressing how happy they would be to have me visit.
Of course, because their worship service (she explained it was their meeting that most resembled a typical church service) was at 1:50 pm on a Friday (yeah, not the most convenient time), I had to rearrange my teaching schedule to make it happen.
It took a week, but once everything got worked out, I attended Clifton Mosque Friday afternoon.
Keep in mind, as I write this, I know very little about the Muslim faith, so I apologize up front if I use the wrong terminology, or say something ignorant or offensive. I'm simply going to communicate the experience as seen through my uneducated lenses, trying my best to respect rituals and traditions of the Muslim faith.
So, here we go …
I didn’t know how to dress, so I wore a suit with no tie. Once I pulled into the parking lot, I realized I was overdressed. Most men wore business casual type clothing (because they were coming from work?); others wore what looked to be traditional Muslim garb. (That is a good example of me having no idea what to call that type of clothing.) Some men had the Muslim cap on (is it called a Taqiyah?), but most did not. There were very few Caucasians, but a few of us were sprinkled in throughout the room. There were absolutely no women. I did see a separate entrance for women, so I’m guessing they are required to worship in a different area of the building. There were two little girls, but I assumed it was okay because they came with their fathers. There was also a little boy who was the highlight of my visit. More on him later.
The first thing you encounter when walking into the foyer is a sign that asks people to remove their shoes. Luckily, I wore clean socks. Everyone placed their shoes in a large closet before walking into the main room. Their “sanctuary” was a large, open area that was carpeted and had no chairs. Everyone sat on the floor. When I got there (about two minutes early), many people were already seated and praying. Most gathered near the front, but I chose a spot along the back wall with a couple dozen other men.
As the service (called Juma) progressed, lots of men entered late, bringing the final total to somewhere near four hundred people.
I Googled it, and the official title for the “pastor” who delivers the message is “k̲h̲aṭīb.” Riiiiiight. I’m not sure how to pronounce that either. The dot under the “t” is throwing me off. So, I’ll just say the “teacher” came out at the very beginning of the service to begin his message (called the Khutbah). He spoke from a tiny stage with a back door. Imagine a small balcony (at ground level) with a door leading back into the living room.
For the most part, his message was pretty dry. The Muslims seem like a pretty serious group during their services and prayers, so there weren’t any jokes. No clips from Spaceballs to help make a point.
In fact, as I mentioned earlier, my favorite part of the service was a little boy who just kinda walked around and did whatever he wanted. Near the end of the service, when everyone was kneeling and praying, he was walking amongst the crowd having the time of his life. Whenever I see little kids having fun in church while adults are engaged in the serious act of worshipping God, I am always reminded of Jesus saying people need to become like little children.
It seems like religion is always sucking the life out of faith, and sometimes little kids need to show us grownups a better way to approach God.
The teacher focused on the ethnic cleansing that occurred sixty-one years ago in Palestine. I knew nothing of this, so I made a couple of notes and did a little research once I got home. It seems like there is some disagreement over this historical event. Muslims claim Zionists (a Jewish political movement) attempted to wipe them out during Israel’s War for Independence. Jews have a slightly different take on what happened. I have no idea what happened and cannot even begin to speak intelligently on the subject, so I’ll just move on.
The message had many calls to action. They included:
1) Unifying Muslims and fulfilling their responsibilities all over the world.
2) Speaking out against injustice wherever you encounter it.
3) He specifically spoke out against the use of violence as Muslims.
4) Starting to make a difference by learning about Muslim history.
5) Spread peace, tranquility, and harmony all over the world.
6) He concluded by saying, “Only Islam can bring peace to the world.”
People prayed randomly as the teacher spoke. Mostly, it seemed like a ritual when you entered the main room. Before sitting, most men went through a series of prayers that mimicked one another. I wondered if it was the Muslim version of Catholics making the sign of the cross.
Often, the teacher spoke in a different language. Arabic? Not helpful for guests. Unless those guests speak Arabic, I suppose. I speak a little Spanish, but I am pretty sure those two languages have very little in common.
Once the message ended, a formal time of prayer began. This is when I got a little freaked out.
First, there was a long string of prayers led by the teacher, and every once in a while, the group would respond with some word (the Muslim version of Amen?).
Next, everyone—and I mean everyone—got up and moved forward, aligning themselves in perfect rows. The Chinese army would have been proud of the uniformity.
The only people who did not go forward (in a room of four hundred people, remember), were me, an Asian dude, a baby, and two little Muslim girls. (By the way, that sounds like an amazing premise for a sitcom, doesn’t it?) In twenty visits, I have never felt more like an outsider. My body temperature went through the roof. If it wasn’t for the Asian dude, I’m not sure I would have stayed in the room. I felt like I was doing something very wrong by not going forward, but going forward would have felt extremely awkward.
Then, someone started singing in Arabic (which was actually quite beautiful), and when he paused, everyone responded with the same word or phrase and moved into a different prayer position.
They all moved in unison. I was amazed. How many churches have that much solidarity? Muslims seem to take their worship very seriously. No one was text messaging, or chatting with friends, or rolling their eyes. People wanted to be there, and they engaged fully.
With that said, there were only a few young children, but I didn’t notice any teenagers. I suppose most are in school at 1:50 in the afternoon, so maybe there is another service for younger members of the Mosque.
Once prayers ended, everyone stood up and started exiting. Most just walked out the door, but oddly enough, a few walked a very specific path out of the room that circled back to where I was still seated against the back wall. I have no idea why they made such a major detour, but there had to be some significance.
What I do know is that one dude literally stared me down as he passed. Then, after he was about ten steps by, he turned around and pointed at me while whispering something to his friend. Ummm … what was up with that? I guess it’s possible he recognized me from a local newspaper article highlighting my experiment (since it specifically said I was visiting the Clifton Mosque the following week), but still, the stare down was quite awkward.
The whole service only lasted forty-five minutes, but they have many other events that happen at the Mosque throughout the week, so I’m sure people are there more than forty-five minutes per week.
One thing I thought was interesting: Not one person spoke to me the entire time I was there. No greeters in the parking lot; no greeters at the front door; no one said hello inside the main room; no opportunity to shake hands with someone around me. And when the service was over, even when I hung around and watched people exit, not one person said a word. Only the stare down.
I wasn’t necessarily offended. It just stood out.
Visiting a Muslim Mosque was … well, I’m not sure what the word is I’m looking for here. Moving, maybe? My visit came two days after watching a documentary called Religulous, by Bill Maher. His main point of the video was to illustrate the absurdity of religion, based primarily on the fact that religious conflict has led to many wars, many deaths, and far too much conflict.
Bill Maher is right, you know. It’s absurd to think about how many people have been killed in the name of religion. What the hell is wrong with us that we can’t find ways to coexist and get along?
I was a Christian sitting in a Muslim Mosque, and all I could think about was how much fear and hatred exists between our two groups. Throw in the Jews, and man, there has been some major conflict for many years. And where the heck has it gotten us?
I don’t care which group claims rightful ownership over God. Whatever name you want to use for our Creator, he’s got to be pretty pissed off that innocent people are being slaughtered in his name.
I don’t want any part of it.
I don’t believe all religions are the same. Some of their teachings directly contradict one another, so they can’t all be the same. Do they all lead to the same God? I personally don’t think so, but who the heck knows? I do know this: We have to find a way to get along and love one another on this planet, despite our differences, or we’re all going to pay the price.
I have been hesitant in the past, but this week’s visit has encouraged me to finally research the “Coexist” movement. You’ve seen the bumper stickers. Contrary to popular opinion, the group isn’t about saying all religions are equally true; it’s about teaching people that we can respect one another despite our differences. I’m not sure how anyone can argue with that.
No matter what we believe, people with different beliefs have a lot to teach us about our personal faith, the world, and ourselves.
Let’s all keep learning to coexist.
JOIN THE CONVERSATION
