Mosques

About a week ago, I was walking home from work when I passed a community center. It was early evening, so the lights inside the center were bright enough that I could see into the center. As I walked by, I noticed that there were people inside. They were standing, facing the back wall, and after a little watching, I saw them bowing down. I then realized that the back wall was the east wall, and that I was walking past some people participating in evening prayers.

I slowed my pace. Not because I was afraid or angry or anything like that, but because I wanted to learn more. It was the first time that I had ever really seen any Muslim pray, save for footage on TV or pictures on the Internet. For a moment, I got a really warm, happy feeling in my chest. How great is it that I live in a place where we are free to practice religion so freely? How great is it that just by walking down the street, I could see a part of someone's life that was different from my own, though not wholly new? I realized how lucky I was to live in a country where, if I needed to have a place to worship, I could use a place like a community center to worship as I see fit.

I didn't stop walking. I didn't want to stand there and stare in at people while they were praying, only because I know that I would feel a little strange if someone strolled into the mission during mass and sat next to me with a clipboard and recorder. But what I saw was peaceful. All the people in the community center were praying together. It was just like being in mass, with everyone holding hands and saying the "Our Father" before Communion.

Back in 2001, I was in eighth grade. One Autumn day, in mid October, a girl in my English class started talking about how one of the Muslim families in our home town was celebrating on September 11th. The girl was propagating a rumor that the family had openly celebrated the attacks at the local quick mart they owned.

"That's BS!" I shouted. I knew the family relatively well, and knew that they were good people that were just as American as anyone in town. They had immigrated to the states about 10 years earlier from the Middle East, and were doing very well for themselves and the community. I stood up. "What you're saying is a lie. They would never celebrate the death of others. And they have worked so hard to be here, to be Americans, and this lie could destroy all of that for them. It's not true, don't say it."

I'm not sure what had come over me. Maybe I was just frustrated from all the news I had heard over the last month about September 11th. Maybe I was just irritated from the split that I was seeing between groups of people in my country and in my home, the split between those that wanted some kind of revenge and those that just wanted to mourn. Maybe I was just desperate to change the subject of conversation.

Or maybe I was just acting like a decent human being. Maybe I was acting with love.

When I walked by that community center and saw Muslims praying, it did have an impact on my life. It made me feel like my religion was safe, too. It made me smile.