The woman across the desk paused in her writing. "Is he Muslim?"
"Yes, we are Muslim," I responded, emphasis on we. At that she cocked her head up and raised an eyebrow at me. I wondered if this was going to be a problem. I was at a lawyers office having some papers drawn up. She was an immigration lawyer of some foreign descent- Pakistani? Indian? She began to ask some questions about when I'd converted, commenting that I seemed uncomfortable talking about it.
It was my turn to pause. Was I uncomfortable? I remember the first time, after I had internally committed to Islam, that someone asked me my religion. I'd replied, "Nondenominational," and immediately felt overcome with shame and regret. I remember just as vividly the first time I replied with quiet confidence a more sure answer to the same question. "Religious preference?" Muslim. No doubts, no shame but a calm sense of dignity and truth. All was as it should be. I've come a long way since those uncertain first few days- in my responses to others and my certainties within myself. So her question gave me reason to consider. Was I really uncomfortable? Surely it couldn't be.
More likely it was the tone in which she presented her questions. "Practicing? Are you a practicing Muslim? What is it that made you convert?" I wasn't really sure which position she was coming from, but I admit, initially, I believed she herself was a Muslim. I felt a bit as if she were testing me in some way, and this is what led to the reluctance to answer her questions. My journey to faith and acceptance is one that was truly enlightening and personal. I spent years researching, reading and cautiously skirting the edges. Finally, I read the Qu'ran and all of the pieces fell into place. Everything that had never really made sense or had tested my faith too much were suddenly resolved. This inner sense of conviction is not easy to translate into words. But I did try. "What is it that just made sense? What do you mean by that?" she queried as I wondered why she couldn't see, as I did, that this conversation did not belong in the middle of our legal business.
Words hardly seem adequate to express the clarity that enveloped me as I read the role of Jesus, a prophet, a man, not the son of God. I remember realizing how simple a mistake was made in the time that passed and the perspectives that changed as the Bible was written. Accepting the Qu'ran as the word of God, unchanged and directly spoken, left no room for doubt. I tried to explain how, as simple as this realization felt to me, I understood it to be something that caused wars between nations and - living in Congo as I do- could be the point of unresolved conversations and debates that stretched long into the night.
I began to hear words from her, even as she listened intently, phrases that signaled I'd misunderstood her intentions. "God as the trinity." She went on to explain her firm Christian beliefs and the fact that she'd been raised Christian in a Muslim society. I pointed out the difficulties of extracting culture from religion. I mentioned that, were I to compare her to a Christian growing up in mid-America, there would be differences. These differences related to circumstance and culture as opposed to actual tenets of the faith. She didn't seem to agree but her face was alight with the joy of her belief. Even as her words seemed to contradict this light. "The only salvation is through Jesus Christ, not through good works. There's nothing we can do." She didn't seem to see the irony. All I could think about was the importance of humans caring for other humans and wanting for their fellow borthers and sisters all they would wish for themselves. I resisted the urge to tell her my belief that when we can truly help and love our neighbors with genuine sincerity, would the will and wishes of God be fully realized.
I looked across at her beaming face as she shook her head and uttered words that seemed hopeless and full of darkness. "There's nothing we can do." I'd worked hard to keep this conversation from becoming a debate or a struggle of wills, even as I began to wonder if she was trying to convert me. I couldn't synchronize her vision of our duties (or apparent lack of) in this world with the happiness she exuded.
"That's too bad," was all I could respond. We turned back to our legal matters and I felt oddly reassured about my faith.
