Seeking Allah, Finding Jesus: A Devout Muslim Encounters Christianity

by Qureshi, Nabeel

  David and I had a few discussions about religion and the existence of God. He and I did not see eye to eye, and it was clear that our upbringing had a lot to do with it. He was hesitant to move past agnosticism, and my starting point was Islam. The discussions in TOK seemed to bolster his hesitance, and although it did not shake my conviction in God’s existence, it did bring some critical differences between Eastern and Western cultures into sharp relief.

  When my parents taught me to examine my beliefs, I was essentially expected to build a defense for what they had taught me. In TOK, we were ostensibly doing the same thing — examining our beliefs — but in practice, it was the exact opposite. We were critically probing our beliefs, challenging them, testing them for weak points, pliability, and boundaries. Some students were even replacing them.

  This difference between Eastern and Western education can be traced to the disparity that divides Muslim immigrants from their children: Islamic cultures tend to establish people of high status as authorities, whereas the authority in Western culture is reason itself. These alternative seats of authority permeate the mind, determining the moral outlook of whole societies.

  When authority is derived from position rather than reason, the act of questioning leadership is dangerous because it has the potential to upset the system. Dissension is reprimanded, and obedience is rewarded. Correct and incorrect courses of action are assessed socially, not individually. A person’s virtue is thus determined by how well he meets social expectations, not by an individual determination of right and wrong.

  Thus, positional authority yields a society that determines right and wrong based on honor and shame.

  On the other hand, when authority is derived from reason, questions are welcome because critical examination sharpens the very basis of authority. Each person is expected to critically examine his own course of action. Correct and incorrect courses of action are assessed individually. A person’s virtue is determined by whether he does what he knows to be right or wrong.

  Rational authority creates a society that determines right and wrong based on innocence and guilt.

  Much of the West’s inability to understand the East stems from the paradigmatic schism between honor-shame cultures and innocence-guilt cultures. Of course, the matter is quite complex, and elements of both paradigms are present in the East and the West, but the honor-shame spectrum is the operative paradigm that drives the East, and it is hard for Westerners to understand.

  This reliance on positional authority explains some characteristics in parts of the Muslim world that confound many Westerners, such as the continued practices of honor killings, child brides of six or younger, and blood feuds. For one reason or another, the prevailing sources of social authority in these regions deem these customs acceptable, perhaps even preferable. No amount of sheer reason is going to change these practices, nor will externally imposed prohibitions. The change will have to be social, internal, and organic.

  But honor killings and blood feuds are generally not struggles for children raised as second-generation Western Muslims. We wrestle with the honor-shame principle that tells us, “It’s okay as long as you don’t get caught.” If there is no dishonor, it is not wrong.

  I saw this principle play out many times while I was growing up, though I am obliged to share only innocuous accounts. The most innocent one I can think of has to do with free refills. Many of my Muslim friends thought it was perfectly acceptable to order water from fast-food restaurants and then go to the dispenser and fill up on soda. We rarely blinked an eye at this, and I myself did it regularly.

  But at a Taco Bell in Virginia Beach one day, one of my friends was caught getting Mountain Dew Code Red instead of water. A young employee had glanced over the counter and seen my friend filling up on soda. Without much tact, he pushed my friend’s hand away from the fountain drinks and said loudly, “You ordered water. You can’t get soda!”

  At this, many people turned to see the commotion, and my friend immediately blushed. It was obvious that the employee was correct, since the cups for water were transparent and the cups for soda were opaque. The employee caught him literally red-handed. The soda was clearly visible to all.

  For my friend, this was the moment that made his actions a poor choice. He had suffered dishonor in front of many. Stealing the soda was not an issue for him before being caught. In fact, it was still not the issue after being caught. As strange as it might sound to Westerners, it was more dishonorable for him to be called out by a minimum-wage employee than to be caught stealing soda. So he denied it, asserting firmly, “I am getting water!” He filled the rest of the cup with water and walked away from the counter, as if it were perfectly normal for water to be a deep, bubbly pink.

  On another occasion, one of my cousins was receiving some lighthearted ridicule from the rest of my family for having been caught committing minor insurance fraud. To help alleviate the shame, my cousin turned it into a funny story for us all.

  He started by telling us that, as he was getting quotes for auto insurance, he found he would save a lot of money if he lied and told the insurance companies he was married. So he made up a long back-story about meeting his wife, what she did for a living, and even the mnemonic he used to remember her birthday. He planned to tell the agent that he unfortunately did not have any papers since she was still in Pakistan. When he had invented enough details, he called a company, convinced them he was married, and secured the lower rate.

  Only one other family member and I chided him for this, and we were both American born. The elders laughed and told us to lighten up, asserting that the insurance companies had enough money as it was. My cousin boisterously agreed.

  As the story went, over a year later, he had a fender bender and needed to make a roadside claim. While sharing details of the accident on the phone, the insurance agent asked him if he was with his wife. His mind on the accident, he responded that he did not have a wife. Unfazed, the agent asked him if he had ever been married, and my cousin replied “no.” Shortly thereafter, my cousin received an adjusted insurance rate well over twice what he had been paying.

  By the time the story was through, the family was roaring with laughter. For having told such a good story, he was able to transform the shame of being caught lying into the honor of being a good storyteller. Actually doing the right thing did not even enter into the equation, and neither did guilt.

  These are relatively harmless examples of how an honor-shame culture might see things differently from a Western culture of guilt and innocence. Of course, there is a highly developed notion of morality in Islam, so we must take care not to oversimplify the matter and assume that Muslims do whatever they wish if they believe they will not be caught. All the same, it is safe to say that guilt is less of a determining factor in the East than is shame.

  Coming back to second-generation Muslim Westerners, it might now be easier to see just how difficult it can be to straddle these two cultures. When engaged in something less than socially acceptable, the young Muslim will be tempted to hide it and will begin to struggle with internal guilt. The natural Eastern tendency to hide shameful truths exacerbates the Western tendency to feel guilty.

  For me, this became a major problem as I progressed through high school. All my friends knew that I was Muslim and that I was not allowed to date. I had done my best to be an ambassador for my culture by telling others I was happy about the idea of an arranged marriage. And it truly didn’t bother me — until I started developing a real interest in girls.

  In my senior year, I developed a crush on a girl who also confessed she was interested in me. By anyone’s standards in the West, it was a very innocent relationship, holding hands and speaking romantic words. But still, I kept it secret because it went against my Eastern standards, and I felt very guilty. I called it off after a matter of weeks, even though I still had feelings for her. Not long after, she started dating my best friend, David. My feelings for her were unabated, and after a while,
I felt very guilty for having a crush on my best friend’s girlfriend. I confessed to David that I had had a secret relationship with her before they started dating and that I still had feelings for her.

  None of my friends understood why I had hid this from them, least of all David. From his perspective, I had utterly betrayed him by not being open with him and for harboring feelings for his girlfriend. There was a falling out between David and me just days before graduation, with everyone on one side and me on the other.

  Once again, I was friendless, but this time I was deeply hurt and utterly confused. What had happened? Why did I always end up alone? I knew I had done something wrong, but was it so wrong that I deserved to lose all my friends? I went to no graduation parties, I was no longer invited to any of the precollege trips we had planned, I did not get to see my friends off as they went to college, and I was unable to reunite with everyone when they returned home for breaks.

  Had I understood the way I was acting at the time, I might have done things differently. Had they understood me, they might have been less hurt by my secrets. Had we only known, I might still have my childhood friends today.

  Some believe that cultural differences between East and West do not exist, that people all see the world the same way. Others consider the Eastern and Western paradigms as a curiosity to consider. But for me, and for others like me, the schism between East and West shapes the very course of our lives. Because of it, I had no friends in my early childhood, and because of it, I was launched into adulthood alone once more.

  Thankfully, the worst of the pain lasted only the summer. I started college a few months later, in August of 2001, looking forward to the prospect of reinventing myself and finding new friends. But just three weeks into college, a new crisis hit, and this one affected our entire nation. The world would never be the same again.

  Chapter Nineteen

  THE RELIGION OF PEACE

  IT WAS THE BEGINNING of my fourth week at Old Dominion University. Baji and I both attended ODU for the same reason: it was the best school close to home, and Ammi and Abba would not let us go any farther. We often went to school together, but on Tuesday mornings, Baji would come after me to avoid waiting in traffic. I had to be at my anatomy lab by eight o’clock.

  That Tuesday morning started like any other. I finished in the anatomy lab at ten thirty and headed toward Webb Center, the student union at ODU. I was free until the afternoon, when the forensics team met for practice. I had joined the team the first week of school and was excited to see if I could carry my high school success into college.

  As I strolled through the entrance of the student union, the captain of the forensics team strode out hurriedly. I had no idea anything was amiss, so I asked, “What’s going on?”

  Without stopping, she said, “The second tower just came down.” Confused, I saw a crowd by the televisions in the lounge behind her, so I made my way there.

  The news stations were playing and replaying footage of the north and south towers of the World Trade Center collapsing. Over and over, they played the images of a plane crashing into one of the towers and each tower successively crumbling. It felt like a scene out of a movie, but we were transfixed by a very real horror.

  No one moved, and no one spoke. After a few moments, my phone rang. It was Abba, his voice uncharacteristically pressured. “Nabeel, where are you? Why haven’t you been picking up your phone?”

  “I’m at school, Abba. I didn’t have reception in the anatomy lab.”

  “Come home now! Is Baji with you?”

  “No, is she okay?”

  “She’s not picking up her phone either. Find her, and come home right away.”

  Still reeling from the previous few minutes, I tried to fit the pieces together. “Abba, what’s wrong? Why do I have to come home?”

  Surprised, Abba asked, “Don’t you know? There has been an attack.”

  “Yes, but why does that mean I have to come home?”

  “Nabeel! They’re blaming Muslims! People will be emotional, and they could take it out on you or Baji. It’s your job to find her, make sure she’s safe, and come home.”

  “But Abba, I . . .”

  Abba wasted no more time. “Nabeel! Do as I say! I have to call Baji. Keep your phone close.” With that, he hung up.

  I looked around at the people watching the televisions. Were these people my enemies? Could they really want to hurt me? Slowly, the danger shifted from being on the television to being all around me. I was now a part of this macabre movie, and I had a role to play. I left quickly and called Baji.

  To my great relief, she picked up. “Assalaamo alaikum?”

  “Baji, do you know what’s going on? Where are you?”

  “Yes, I’m in my car. I’m going home.”

  “Why weren’t you picking up your phone when Abba called?”

  “I was at 7-Eleven watching the TV, and a policeman pulled me aside. He told me it might not be safe to stay out because I am wearing a burqa. He offered to escort me back to my car, and now I’m going home.”

  “Really? That was nice of him. Okay, drive safely. I’ll see you at home soon.”

  For the rest of the day, we stayed glued to the television. Abba made arrangements to take the week off, and he told us to do the same. We left the home only to buy American flags, which were quickly selling out. We displayed flags prominently on each car, in our yard, and kept a few in the garage, just in case.

  We wanted people to know that we weren’t the enemy, no matter what they were hearing on the news.

  This was not paranoia on my father’s part. During Operation Desert Storm, members of my family had been targeted and victimized. Nani Ammi was refused service at a gas station in New York because she wore a burqa. Nani Ammi, my sweet little grandmother. A distant aunt of ours had even been assaulted in a parking lot, punched in the stomach while getting groceries. Indeed, not long after the September 11 attacks, the mosque that sat at the outskirts of ODU was vandalized, all of its windows broken. I knew the people who paid to repair the mosque. They were good, hardworking people.

  As the days progressed, it became clear that the hijackers were indeed Muslim and that this attack on our nation had been carried out in the name of Islam. But what Islam was this? It was clearly not the Islam I knew. True, I used to hear of Muslims in distant lands committing atrocities in the name of Allah, but those accounts were too remote to create any cognitive dissonance. This hit much closer to home. This hit us in our hearts.

  Over the following weeks, news stations mercilessly looped footage of the crumbling towers. Again and again and again, I witnessed thousands of innocents massacred in the name of my God. It finally became too much. I had to learn the truth about my faith once and for all. I had to figure out how to reconcile my Islam, a religion of peace, with the Islam on television, a religion of terror.

  In the twelve years since that day, I have learned that the question is far more complex than it first appears. The most important consideration is the definition of Islam. If by Islam we mean the beliefs of Muslims, then Islam can be a religion of peace or a religion of terror, depending on how it is taught.

  In the West, Muslims are generally taught a very pacific version of Islam. Just like Baji and I, Western Muslims are taught that Muhammad fought only defensive battles and that violent verses in the Quran refer to specific, defensive contexts. Jihad is here defined as primarily a peaceful endeavor, an internal struggle against one’s baser desires. When asked about their religion, Western Muslims honestly report what they believe: Islam is a religion of peace.

  In the East, though, Muslims often have a less docile view of Islam. They are taught that Islam is superior to all other religions and ways of life and that Allah wishes to see it established throughout the world. They often define jihad as a primarily physical endeavor, a struggle against the enemies of Islam. When asked about their religion, these Muslims will honestly report what they believe: Islam will dominate the world.
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  So if we define Islam by the beliefs of its adherents, it may or may not be a religion of peace. But if we define Islam more traditionally, as the system of beliefs and practices taught by Muhammad, then the answer is less ambiguous.

  The earliest historical records show that Muhammad launched offensive military campaigns31 and used violence at times to accomplish his purposes.32 He used the term jihad in both spiritual and physical contexts, but the physical jihad is the one Muhammad strongly emphasizes.33 The peaceful practice of Islam hinges on later, often Western, interpretations of Muhammad’s teachings, whereas the more violent variations of Islam are deeply rooted in orthodoxy and history.34

  Of course, like all people, Muslims in the East and West generally just believe what they are taught. Rarely is there much critical investigation into historical events, and the few that invest the effort usually do the same thing I had done in my TOK class: attempt to defend what is already believed, potentially ignoring or underestimating evidence that points to the contrary. This is only natural, since it is extremely difficult to change beliefs that are dear to the heart.

  Such was the case with me. In my heart of hearts, I wanted to know the truth about Islam, but it would be nearly impossible to challenge my childhood beliefs just by investigating them. I would keep finding ways to ignore difficult truths. What I needed was something that would not let me get away with my biases. I needed something that would mercilessly loop my bad arguments before my eyes, again and again and again, until I could avoid them no longer.

  I needed a friend, an intelligent, uncompromising, non-Muslim friend who would be willing to challenge me. Of course, not only would he have to be bold and stubborn enough to deal with the likes of me, but I would have to like and trust him enough to dialogue with him about the things that mattered to me most.

  Little did I know, God had already introduced us, and I was already on a path that would change my life forever.