Most of us will not forget, where we were, how we heard, what we felt, twelve years ago today when our nation was attacked. It was a dark and difficult day. A day that marked only the beginning of sorrow for many families and turmoil for our whole nation. In just one morning the future of our country seemed to turned upside-down.
I was 18, a freshman in college. I remember the very first thing I asked my dad when I finally connected that evening after the day of overloaded phone lines. “Are we at war?” I was completely caught up in the fear and confusion sweeping our nation.
That day changed everything.
But for years I didn’t realize it had changed me. Then one day, I had the shocking realization that probably nothing in my life would look the same if the September 11 attacks hadn’t happened in America. We all react differently to tragedy. I react differently to every tragedy in my life. But I think I ended up in Camel-land as a response to America’s response to the September 11 tragedy.
It quickly became clear that our government’s response to the attack was going to be through counter-attack. The rhetoric rapidly escalated, pitting Muslims as the enemies of Americans. Even as our nation contemplated the first war, I wished there was another option. As the second war developed, I wondered if there was another way to respond than compounding violence with even more violence.
But I knew nothing about Muslims.
I had never even met a Muslim. So I started learning. A summer in Jordan is what really sold me on standing for Muslims, living with Muslim and learning from Muslims for the rest of my life. Though there are many cultural differences, as Christians we share a lot of spiritual common ground with Muslims. And Muslims are really amazing people.
It’s impossible to make generalizations for more than a billion people, but my experiences during nine years living and traveling in the Muslim world have been only positive. I have traveled in Turkey, Malaysia, Sudan, Jordan, pre- and post-revolution Egypt and Muslim majority areas of Kenya and the Philippines. I’ve drank tea in Bedouin tents and village huts, and with government officials, university students, village leaders and rebel fighters. I’ve seen protesters in Cairo, laughed with soldiers holding machine guns and lived three years in a war-zone. I’ve met radical Islamists who are too pious to shake my hand, but who still smile when they realize I speak a little Arabic and chose to live in their country. I’ve prayed in mosques and discussed Jesus with Muslim families. I’ve been lost in Cairo, Istanbul, Amman, Khartoum and Mombasa – and every time I’ve been overwhelmed by the friendliness and eagerness of Muslims to not only point me in the correct direction, but often personally take me where I need to go and then pay my bus fare to ensure I arrive safely. I have lived under sharia law and in neighborhoods with Muslim extremists. But I have never been attacked, I have never been threatened and I have never even felt unsafe.
Because here’s the thing…when you know someone, it’s really hard to hate them.
In America I have watched hatred for Muslims sprout out of the fertile soil of fear and lack of understanding. But I think when confronted with violence and terror, we as humans have two options. Fear, revenge, hatred, and more violence. Or forgiveness, love, blessing, and peace. The second option grinds against our human instincts. Tearing down walls when we are vulnerable and hurting, may be humanly impossible. But with God’s strength, forgiveness becomes an option. I have found that getting to know someone and trying to understand them can pave the way to forgiveness and love. Terrorists can only cause fear if we let them. But Jesus can grow love in the hardest of hearts.
When I first moved to Camel-land, a Muslim family invited me to move in with them after just an hour of chatting. They didn’t know me at all and had no expectations of rent or pay, but invited me to stay when I was a student eager to learn their language and culture. For a year I lived as a daughter in their house without having any personal space, I ate, slept and shared everything with them. During that year I saw stereotypes break down on both sides. They can’t hate Christians anymore, because they know one. And I can’t be afraid of Muslims because I know some – I count them as family. When you live with someone you start to understand why they act as they do.
And that’s my story about how I changed in the last twelve years. Instead of focusing on staying safe and being on the defense against Muslims, I aggressively pursued reconciliation and wall destruction. Being a pacifist isn’t about being passive, but of actively working to build peace. A full 87% of Muslims have never had a conversation with a Jesus follower. My guess is that even more Americans have never talked with a Muslim. Let’s get to know each other, let’s find our common ground.
Wow!
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