I just finished watching a movie The Kingdom of Heaven, or just the last third or forth of it. Nothing like watching a movie about the Crusades with a Muslim family. I cannot express the pain in my heart when watching armies killing each other in the name of God, even if it's just a Blockbuster. The ruthlessness of both armies was horrific and I'm left frustrated and a bit depressed. One of my favorite quotes in the movie however, was from a guy who refused to fight with the Christian armies against the Muslims. I caught the movie late so I don't know his background but he said something that stuck out to me, "First I thought we were fighting for God, then I realized we were just fighting for wealth and land." For me, it was a little glimpse of hope that one man knew that this isn't what God had in mind, but instead a way to justify their selfish greed. One of the priests (in the movie) then commented that it was the duty of the Christian army to kill the "enemies of God". I thought this was interesting, seeing how the Bible says not only to "love and pray for your enemies" but also that the enemy of God is Satan himself, not the Muslim Army. For Muslims, Christians, Jews, Hindus and Buddhists are created in the image of God. It is so painful to watch how the greed for money, land, and wealth of the "Christians" was masked by a ruthless war "In the name of God" (though I have to question which god they were serving) against God's beautiful and priceless creation. I cannot help but feel a bit uncomfortable watching these horrific scenes of history with the Muslim family I'm living with. I felt a bit more comfortable when my roommate Haitam (my age) commented, "It's too bad there are some people like that." His comment followed the priest's comment that God's will was to destroy the "enemies". Luckily, Haitam knows that Christianity doesn't equate to the Crusades, war, killing, and imperialism, but these evil people do terrible things in the name of Christianity, Judaism, and Islam. Ironically, during the commercial break, there was a powerful ad about terrorism. The commercial began by showing a peaceful and quiet Middle Eastern neighborhood with kids playing soccer in the street. Suddenly, several trucks turned down the street with AK-47s and began shooting. The screen when black and written in Arabic were the words, "Terrorism has no religion." I thought that was a beautiful message and at an appropriate time. Terrorism, killing, wars, and genocide are horrific events masked by religion to hide ones own greed and evil.
If only there could be a Hollywood film about the story of St. Francis of Assisi, a mad monk who lived during the times of the Crusades and knew that God's message was not (and is not) a battle of power or a raised fist, but an outstretched arm of service and indiscriminate love, then maybe I'd feel more comfortable watching this movie than the one about killing. Jesus' challenging words of love led St. Francis to live with and serve the Muslim army (seen as "the enemy" by his contemporaries). He understood that God does not need mercenaries, but messengers of mercy and that the Gospel (literally "Good News" of Jesus) cannot go hand-in-hand with intolerance and aggressive attitudes, but instead with unconditional love and with all warfare strategies aside (Mallouhi 2000). St. Francis was a man who believed that if Jesus was alive in his era, that he would have renounced worldly possessions and lived a life of radical love and service. Call him an extremist... because he was. But not like today's extremists who bomb abortion clinics, gay bars, or hijack airplanes. He was an extremist who loved like no one else did during his time. He lived simply and faithfully to the loving message of Jesus, which meant living with the Muslim armies. It is comforting to know that in the midst of war and hate, that the message and spirit of Jesus is found in the vulnerable outstretched arm of one man(St. Francis) who refused to deny anyone the love of God.
As I am reading several books right now, including Mallouhi's Waging Peace on Islam who looks to the life of St. Francis of Assisi as an example of one who loved unconditionally. He dedicated his life to loving Christians, lepers, and Muslims alike, and I am challenged to love the same way that he did, that Mother Teresa did, and that Jesus did. I'm going to be honest with you, it's not as easy as it might sound. The three I mentioned above devoted themselves to a life of poverty. For them, the material possession of this world only got in the way of loving people with their entire heart. Coming from my suburban Southern California background, I am anything but poor. Yes, I am a college student drowning in student loans (ok, maybe not that bad, but it seems like a lot at the moment) and I don't have a job. But, the fact that I go to a University in the United States, that I have a car, that I could come to Morocco (even if I had to take out a loan to do so), and the fact that I could even take out a loan for several thousand dollars makes me one of the richest people on the globe. I am not saying that one has to be poor to love. In fact, I think it is more commendable when someone can love even with all of their riches. When someone has a mansion in Beverly Hills and opens it up to the poor, needy, and homeless is something beautiful. But lets be honest, how often does that happen? In my experience across the globe, those who had less were often more hospital and loving than those who had a lot. It doesn't make a whole lot of sense. But then again, this is just my experience. May we not be judged on the size of our homes or bank accounts, but by how we use these things (whether big or small) to serve others.
Several times this last month, I have been humbled, broken, and challenged over the blunt words of Jesus, "It is more difficult for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of God" (Matthew 19:24). This verse has come up several times recently, whether in my own reading, personal studies, or churches I've been too. These words come just after an encounter that Jesus has with a rich man who has obeyed all the commandments. This guy was religious and without fault, yet Jesus said "If you want to be perfect, go sell your possessions and give to the poor." (Mt. 19:21). Is it just me or is this painful? I'm sure most of us are good law-abiding citizens and some of us obey God's commandments to certain degrees. But this wasn't necessary what Jesus was looking for. Now, I'm sure there are hundreds of books and thousands of sermons about this passage and how maybe Jesus doesn't really mean the words he said, or those words were just applicable to the rich guy in the story, or we focus on the verse at the end which says, "With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible." (Mt. 19:26). Sitting on the old wooden pews in St. Andrew's Anglican Church of Tangier this last Sunday hearing the pastor read this passage, I was broken-hearted, growing uncomfortable from of the wooden pews and even more uncomfortable from the piercing words of Jesus. Am I willing to give away my possessions to the poor? Maybe more importantly, are my possessions getting in the way of me loving people? There is part of me that says, "Right now, I'm ready to be finished with worldly possessions and live a life of poverty and service to the poor." And the other part of me enjoys the "finer" things in life. A nice gourmet meal here and there, an exotic vacation, a laptop, a house with an ocean view, or a Dave Matthews concert are all things that I enjoy. I'm not going to lie, I don't know if I'm ready to give those things up for a life of poverty. Then I think, is a life of poverty even possible? Sure I can live in the slums of Calcutta, India as Mother Teresa did, or with victims of unjust war crimes in Palestine and Israel, or with those dying of starvation in sub-Saharan Africa, but I may never be poor (And even so, without love, it would be completely useless. What makes Mother Teresa the light in the darkness of Calcutta's slums was her unconditional and relentless love, not her poverty). I could live in a shack, but could I ever be poor? The words of Henri Nouwen seem suitable for my situation (as they have been through most of my time and experiences here), "Living here not only makes me aware that I have never been poor, but also that my whole way of being, thinking, feeling, and acting is molded by culture radically different from the one I live in now. I am surrounded by so many safety systems that I would not be allowed to become truly poor. If I were to become seriously ill, I would be sent back to the United States and given the best possible treatment. As soon as my life or health were really threatened, I would have many people around me willing to protect me...I am not poor as my neighbors are. I will never be and will never be allowed to be by those who sent me here." (Nouwen 1999). I am by no means living in poor conditions at this moment in Morocco, but his words remain true. If I were to live in one of the places I mentioned above, I still couldn't be one of them. On the outside, I might be like one of them, living in a small house in their community, wearing the same dirty clothes, eating the same food, and taking the same buses, but on this inside I would still have the world at my fingertips. I have opportunities that those around do not have. I have the choice of living in that particular community or country, where most of them are there by fate. I have safety nets that distinguish the lucky (myself) from the unlucky (those around me). No matter how hard I try to live a life of poverty, it may be something impossible. Instead, Nouwen looks to a realistic lifestyle, "I have to accept my own history and live out my vocation, without denying that history. On the other hand, I realize the way of Christ is a self-emptying way." A life of poverty isn't necessary or even possible. And I don't think this is even what Jesus was getting at when he talked to the rich young man. For this man, it was his possessions the prevented him from complete obedience to Christ and love for all. Nouwen recognizes that possessions and personal wealth aren't the problem, insofar as they do not prevent us from a life of love and sacrifice. In the mean time, I must reflect on how I can live out such a life of love, service, and sacrifice without "denying" my personal history, background, culture, or social status.
Daily, I am faced with this challenge of love. At my internship with Darna, an association for disadvantaged children (many of whom have come off the streets), I am finding it difficult to love. The grave reality is that these kids know no love. It's pretty obvious from the scares on their faces, arms, and legs or simply by the way they treat each other. The scares on their arms and legs come from knives and other weapons during fights, they tell me. Some of the kids have faces completely scared, either from abuse, fights, or just the marks of daily survival on the streets. Beyond the physical scares of poverty, their behavior is even more telling. I cannot tell you how many times I've had to break up fights because I thought one of the kids was going to kill the other one. Because they haven't been loved, they do not have the capacity to love others. Darna association is doing a great work by teaching them the skills to rise from their poverty and find hope in the abilities (both natural and learned) that they have. But because they do not know love, discipline, or opportunity, this is a difficult task. The kids come to "school" (Darna) every day, but they come with nothing. No pens, no paper, no books. It's no wonder that after 15 minutes, most teachers have lost the attention and interest of their students. Whatever supplies are in the class are vulnerable for kids to take and use as weapons. Chalk, makers, paint, books, and chairs have been thrown across the room. My 3+ weeks at Darna have given me some much respect and appreciation for the amazing and dedicated teachers in America's inner-cities, especially those who work for programs like Teach For America (http://teachforamerica.org/). I realize that I am not made for such demanding tasks. My gratitude and respect goes out to those who have the patience to work with society's marginalized youth; the poor and unloved. These teachers are the heros of today that often go unnoticed and unappreciated.
Today, I was spit on twice by a kid who was trying to come in and disrupt the class. You have to be rough with this kids, but where do you draw the line? I believe that violence (most cases) only perpetuates more violence (particularly on a global level, but I won't go there now). But I also believe that kids need to be disciplined. At the end of the day, I am so exhausted from protecting myself from not being punched, slapped, or stolen from, and also dragging the kids out of the classroom who are spitting on, fighting with, and cursing the teacher or other students. How can I love these kids when they have no respect for anyone (or anything)? I feel that to love them for who they are would mean to let them walk all over me like a doormat. When that kid spit on me today, part of me wanted to embrace him as an act of unconditional love, mercy, and forgiveness, but the other part of me wanted to strangle the little twerp. Usually the more aggressive half of me overrides the doormat side. I don't think he should get away with spitting on the volunteer, so I chase after him. When I think about how Jesus, Mother Teresa, Gandhi, or St Francis would love these kids.... well, I am left without answers. I just don't know. If Mother Teresa was spit on by a little daredevil of a kid, would she smile and embrace him or give him a good spanking? My first instinct is teach the kid that if he treats people like that he's not going to get too far in life. But then what do I know? Survival for them is the only way of life and far be it for me to impose my believes or worldviews on these boys and girls who really have so much to teach me. May I learn to embrace nuisance when needed and discipline the menace when appropriate.
Showing posts with label Jesus. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jesus. Show all posts
Friday, October 16, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
Ramadan Reflections and Ibrahim's Smile
I realize that when I don't write often, I'm left with an abundance of words. I apologize for the length of this entry, but I encourage you to read the whole thing if you have time. I hope you enjoy my Ramadan reflections and writing about the past few weeks....
Ramadan is now officially over. Last night at this time, I also thought Ramadan was over. Everyone was talking about how the Eid (holiday) was going to be today but due to a moonless sky, Ramadan went on for another day. The Islamic year is based on the lunar calendar, something I am not used to growing up in the US. Each year, every Eid and the month of Ramadan take place 15 or 16 days before it did the last year. In some countries, Ramadan may start or end a day earlier or later than another country... it all depends on the moon. Assuming that yesterday was last day of Ramadan, when people found out that it was one more day of fasting, I felt a sense of burden among the people. To make things worse, today is a Sunday and therefore, most everything is already closed. The last day of fasting became a day of rest, sleeping in, and naps for many Moroccans. Its amazing to think about how the lives of 35 million Moroccans and 1.3 billion Muslims around the world are at the will, so to speak, of the moon. This has made me realize two things. The first is that Ramadan has really showed me the freedom we have in Christ. Jesus invites us to live an abundant life with the freedom to love and be perfect. It may be an impossible task, but it is the goal; to "be perfect, for the Lord your God is perfect" (Matthew 5:48). This does not take place one month of the year, but every day that our heart beats. It is a freedom not to indulge in a selfish life for oursevles, but instead to "serve one another in love" (Galatians 5:13). On the flip side, I think there is something to learn about being at the will of the moon. Like my attitude yesterday, too often we are concerned about tomorrow. I had my heart set on Ramadan being over, not because fasting is so difficult, but because I was so excited about the Eid (Eid Al Fitr is the holiday at the end of Ramadan... consists of eating breakfast (the real thing, not the one at sunset) with your family, the first time in a month, and then visiting friends and family for the reminder of the day while wearing Morocco's traditional dress, a djellaba) and to move on with life. I'm ready to get on with the next thing, but with the prolonging of Ramadan, I'm reminded to focus on today. And let me tell you, today has been a great day (more on that below)! If we are satisfied with today and not preoccupied with the worries of tomorrow, we can enjoy life. This is the day that the Lord has made, so rejoice and be glad in it (Psalm 118:24) for tomorrow has enough worries of its own (Matthew 6:24). When we live at the will of the moon (aka, God, the creator of the heavens and the earth), we cannot control the future, but are instead forced to live in the present. What a beautiful and calming lesson that can be learned from this. Let us focus our eyes on today instead of tomorrow so that we may see the beautiful things, both big and small, that God has given us.
Besides learning how to live at the will of the moon, I have learned a few other things during this Ramadan. A month ago, I started fasting and fasted the whole month, except for the four days I spent in The Netherlands and the one day I was sick here in Tangier. If I was following the pure form of Muslim fasting as discussed in the Qur'an than I have nothing to worry about. In Islam, exceptions to fasting are made for those who are on a journey (my trip to Holland) or who are ill (like I was a week ago) as well as those who are pregnant, children, and a few other exceptions. However, these days must be made up later in the year. If someone breaks the fast before the call for prayer at sunset and he/see does not fall under any of these categories of exception, the punishment is quite heavy. For every day one breaks the fast early (intentionally), their punishment includes the following choices: freeing a slave (a bit more difficult to do now than back in the 7th century), fasting for two months (this also means that if you break the fast 2 days you can add 4 months to your fasting, including having to finish Ramadan), or feeding 60 poor people (not giving them money, but feeding them, with the same amount of food you would eat... in other words, you can't just buy 60 McDonald's burgers or loaves of bread and pass them out to 60 beggars). I'm not a Muslim, but if I was, I don't know what I would choose. The truth is that even today, there are hundreds of thousands of slaves around the world today, ranging from child labor slaves to sex slaves. As much as I would love to free a slave, there are two factors I need to consider. First is the fact that I don't know of any slaves. I don't know where I could begin to look for them... maybe visiting a brothel in Thailand frequented by American, Canadian, European, Russian, Saudi Arabian, or Australian men men on "Sex Tours" (yes, as disgusting as this is it's the truth... such "tours" can even be arranged in Los Angeles) or a cocoa farm in West Africa run by a large multi-national corporation that exploits their workers so that the privileged in the global north can indulge in chocolate, unaware of the tired perhaps bloody hands that picked it under the extreme conditions of climate and abuse. The second aspect worth considering is being able to recognize and tend to the psychological effects of being released from slavery. I read an article a few years back about the psychological repercussions that freed slaves suffer from after being "released". Though physically released, every other aspect of their being remains in bondage to their master and the once-slave-now-free person often seeks to return to their previous lifestyle. I'm not saying that slaves should remain slaves, but a freed slave needs serious psychotherapy, otherwise they are worse off than they were before. (I cannot remember the exact title of the article, but if you are interested, please contact me. I have the article back in the US and I could pass it along when I get back) So maybe then I would fast for two months or feed 60 poor people. Fasting for two months seems a bit selfish, so I might as well spend the energy doing something that is beneficial to others, not just focus on myself for two months. Then again, I've cooked for 10 or 15 people and that was a lot of work. 60? I'd definitely need some lessons in the kitchen from some of the Moroccan women, who cook for 20-30 people like it's just another night with the family.
Ramadan has definitely been a time of reflection, not just fasting. Actually, when I look back on Ramadan, fasting remains in the background. The focus of every day seems to be the f'tour (feasting). "F'tour" literally means "breakfast" since it is the first meal eaten. At the Maghreb (sunset), the call for prayer is proclaimed from loudspeakers on every minaret in the city. When Ramadan began a month ago, the maghreb was around 7:30pm and with the days getting shorter, the maghreb tonight was at 6:28pm. The later in the month it gets, the less time it is to fast. In The Netherlands though, the maghreb wasn't until 9pm when I was there... making Ramadan much more difficult for the thousands of Muslims living there and in northern Europe. Forbidden during (the day) Ramadan are eating, drinking, smoking, lying, sexual activities, fighting, lust, alcohol, etc. but once the sun sets, the fasting is over. Things like eating and drinking (and smoking for some) are now permissible. I'm having trouble understanding how other things people fast from, like lusting, bad language, or lying are OK to do at night, but not during the day, or even after Ramadan for that matter. I know that no one can be perfect, but if Ramadan is supposed to be a month of fasting from the things of this world that bring us further away from God, it seems that it would be missing the point for people to carry on staring at girls the wrong way or taking part in indecent behavior just because the sun went down and the rules don't apply as strictly anymore. I'm reminded of the brilliant, and sometimes humbling words "It is not what goes into a man's mouth that makes him 'unclean,' but what comes out of his mouth that makes him clean, for the things that come out of the mouth come from the heart" (Matthew 15:11,18). The broader picture of this is that the life we produce through words, actions, and attitudes, come from the heart. This is of unparalleled significance to the things that we put in our body. If for example I fast (during the day) for a month straight and eat only kosher food (at night), it is unrivaled to my actions, attitudes, and words, which originate from the heart. If by night my heart is full of hate and lust, what good is fasting during the day? I don't mean to sound harsh or sound as if I'm making sweeping statements about Moroccans. Alternately, I'm thinking out loud, as these are some of the thoughts I've been wrestling with the past couple weeks. These words to not convey direct experiences but instead express personal reflections regarding fasting. It's not so much about the details of the law as it is the heart of the law. Furthermore, I'm seeking to understand the Muslim context in which I am living in while keeping Jesus' words fresh and alive in my life.
Anyways, back to the food! F'tour, or breakfast, is taken at the maghreb. I am blessed to have had the opportunity to take f'tour with at least 15 different people/families and locations. I broke the fast with wealthy families and a huge feast throughout many parts of Morocco, with younger Moroccans fresh out of college and making the transition into the adult/working life in Casablanca (the biggest city... a city of opportunities), with my host family in Fez, with a poor family in Azrou, in a restaurant in the college town of Ifrane, at a bible study with Al-Akhawayn University international students and faculty, on an airplane just before take off (nearly everyone on the plane was Moroccan and at sunset, people all of a sudden broke out meals they prepared and packed in tupper-wear containers and shared with everyone.... I brought a bag of dates to share with others... I'm quickly learning that in Morocco "what's mine is yours"... sharing is a part of the everyday life), and with friends, old and new, in several different homes here in Tangier. Typically, 30 minutes before the maghreb (and sometimes up to 45 minutes or an hour), families start gathering around the table as it is being set. The empty dinner tables quickly become filled with harira (soup), shabakia (sweet pastry-like thing with honey), dates, baklava, a plethora of sweet Moroccan pastries, milk, and juice. Then, everyone sits around the table and waits for the call. At the sound of "Allah Akbar..." ("God the Greatest...") everyone digs in. Once again, this idea that life revolves around the moon, or in this case, the call for prayer is so foreign to me. At that call, life changes. Drinks are sipped, food is eaten, and cigarettes are lit. Words cannot express what it is like to live by the authority of a call for prayer. I had trouble with that throughout the month. Some days I wanted to fast longer and other days I just wanted pray or go spend the meal with someone on the streets. The first few days, I was so thirsty that I skipped the food and went straight for the juice and the water. One thing I miss is saying a prayer of thanksgiving before eating, especially during such an important meal. Part of fasting is the aspect of remembering the poor and knowing what it may be like to be poor and hungry, but this is soon forgotten when there is a feast in front of your eyes and everyone starts devouring their food. Throughout the month, I tried to remember to spend time giving thanks to God for the food. For me, beginning a meal, in this case f'tour, should be marked with thanksgiving and not just hearing the call for prayer at the maghreb.
The f'tour meal lasts anywhere between 20 minutes and 2 hours. It is usually followed by tea and more pastries. One night in Tangier, I was invited for f'tour with Haitam (who I'm staying with), his dad, and his brothers. (Haitam's mom has been in Saudi Arabia for the last month for the "O'mara", not to be confused with the Hajj. Since she is gone all month, the boys (including the father) are left to eat f'tour at other peoples' homes or downstairs with Haitam's aunt because most men do not cook in Morocco). Not only did this one f'tour meal last 2 hours, but two rounds of two different tea were served, followed by a huge "dinner" (as if we weren't already full). Four hours later, we were done eating! This isn't anything out of the norm for Morocco, especially during Ramadan. I had trouble adjusting to eating absolutely nothing during the day and then feasting (literally) once the sun went down. I'm still having trouble trying to swallow (excuse the pun) this idea of "fasting". Personally, I think fasting should be the giving up of a meal, or two or three or four...etc. Instead, the month of Ramadan is fasting in the day and feasting at night. The meals that would be eaten during the day are pushed back until after sunset. This calls for a very late night. Dinner time is usually around 12 midnight or 1am. However, one night Haitam and I played a futsal match with some friends from 12:30-1:30am. Any excersize/activity during the day is difficult, especially when you can't drink water. So the only time to play soccer is at night, several hours after people spend f'tour with their families and friends. We got home after 2am, showered, and ate around 3am. This is the life of Ramadan in Morocco. Now that Ramadan is over, I'm looking forward to going to bed before 2am, morning runs and staying hydrated throughout the day. And the food... not as big of a deal as long as I eat once or twice. Not eating during the day even saved me a bit of money and we know that's always a plus! :)
Tonight, I just got back from a huge dinner. I had f'tour here with Haitam's family (minus his mom who is in Saudi Arabia for another week) and then we were invited to a friend's house for dinner. There were about 10 of us in total, all crowded around a 5 foot table. For dinner, an entire goat was served on a huge platter that just about took up the whole table. It's not very Moroccan to use cutlery, so we all dug in with our hands. I felt pretty barbaric sitting at the table with 10 other men eating a roasted goat with our hands. I've had goat quite a bit in parts of Africa and even India but this one took away the gold medal! After stuffing myself with a kilo worth of meat, a large assortment of fruit was served. Just when I thought I couldn't put anything else down my throat, we all shared an icecream cake from one of my favorite cafe's in Tangier. What a meal! This definitely makes the Top 10 list of meals I've had in Morocco.
Although the meal was definitely nothing short of a highlight to my day, the main highlight happened earlier this afternoon. Two blocks from Haitam's house, on the way to the main street, is a wall that attracts a handful of beggars. Most of the beggars here are regulars that I walk by every day. Some of them are blind, others missing a limb (others two, three, or all limbs), and there are sometimes women and children. My heart breaks every time I walk by them. I pass by them daily, sometimes several times in one day. Besides not being able to speak enough Arabic with them, I'm left with limited options. (1) I can smile at them, hoping that it might brighten their day just a little bit. On the other hand, I have to wonder what it must be like for them to see me walk by and smile like everything is OK and life is wonderful. I usually take the risk and give a little smile. (2) I can give them some money. The problem with this is twofold: I have a limited amount of money because i have no income and secondly, if i give to one, i should probably give to all. Since I see them every day, when do i give them money? I can't do it every day, otherwise i might run out of money and be stuck in Morocco. Hey, maybe that's a good idea! ;) (3) I can give them food. This too has been a problem. During Ramadan, finding food during the day is more difficult than one might imagine and eating in public is illegal. With the food option out of the question (until after tomorrow), I'm left with options 1 and 2.
So today I passed by a guy who I see just about every day. I smile at him and he gives me a warm smile back. More than anyone else, I feel drawn to this guy. His smile is impressive and it touches my spirit, walking by him several times a day as he sits in his wheel chair with only one leg and an outstretched arm. Unlike the other beggars, he does not say anything or try to get peoples attention. He just sits there waiting for someone to notice him and give a smile so he can give one in return. I can tell he is African, so I assumed that he knew a little English. Today as I was walked back to the house, I was praying for him, praying that he would be there and I could get to talk to him for a bit. Sure enough, as I turned the corner, I laid eyes on him. I greeted him and Arabic and shook his hand. I made sure to shake his hand and put my arm on his shoulder like most Moroccans do when they greet each other. The power of touch is something that most people take for granted as part of their everyday life. When you live on the streets and live off of the change that people give to you, you are nothing more than an outcast, an untouchable. Humans need physical touch to survive and remain healthy, not just physically, but mentally and emotionally (there have been studies on it). Henri Nouwen, a Dutch priest/pastor for a mentally handicapped community in Canada/author, describes his day at an orphanage in poverty-stricken Bolivia, "The children were so starved for affection that they fought with each other for the privilege of touching me. How little do we really know the power of physical touch. These boys and girls only wanted one thing: to be touched, hugged, stroked, and caressed. Probably most adults have the same needs but no longer have the innocence and unself-consciousness to express them. Sometimes I see humanity as a sea of people starving for affection, tenderness, care, love, acceptance, forgiveness, and gentleness" (Gracias! pg. 44). With an exchange of handshakes and greetings in Arabic, I asked him if he spoke English. Being from Senegal he spoke mostly French, but could understand most of my English. I sat with him and talked for a few minutes. A man, whom I didn't notice, was listening to us talk. He was Moroccan and offered to translate for me, just to make sure my new friend Ibrahim knew what I was saying. When you step out of the status quo, people not only notice but are drawn to do the same. With a little act of love, walls come quickly down and all of a sudden a Muslim Moroccan, a Senegali immigrant, and a Christian from America are quickly joined together. What a beautiful sight. So I told Ibrahim that because I live just down the street, I will see him every day and I won't be the stranger who just walks by with a smile. Although I gave him some money, I told him that whatever he needs to let me know. I may not have tons of money to offer him, but what I do have is love and touch.
I tell you this story for a few reasons. I do not want to build myself to be a righteous do-gooder or anything like that... I am neither of those. I wanted to tell you about my new friend, a man who's smile is not only contagious but humbling at the same time. When you sit in the same spot every day with a humble outstretch hand and with one less leg than everyone who walks by, grateful for the smallest coin to drop from someone's hand and you can still put a smile on your face... that is powerful! I don't know Ibrahim's story, but that my next reason for writing this. Morocco attracts a lot of immigrants from Sub-Saharan Africa. Located only 15 kilometers across the Straight of Gibraltar from Spain (the EU), Tangier is the destination for thousands who flee their home country in hopes to pursue a better life in Europe. Although Europe is the goal, most do not get there. Some stay in Morocco, finding life in Morocco better than their war-torn and impoverished homelands. Others, who remain set on their original goal, attempt to cross the Mediterranean in makeshift boats. If they are not caught by official patrol or guard boats, they often capsize and drown. The narrow, but deadly, straight has claimed countless lives of those who tried to cross, as it did this weekend (see attached link to article: http://english.aljazeera.net/news/africa/2009/09/200991919917332747.html). The ugly truth is that people leave their dire situations to search for a better life, a life where they can live in peace and dignity, without the threat or fear that terrorizes them daily. Some have fled civil wars and others manage to escape grinding poverty. Despite your political views on immigration, these are people in desperate need of love... a love that comes from the God of peace, not in the unfulfilled dreams and policies of politicians and world leaders. The Bible speaks repeatedly about caring for the stranger and the alien. Even if you don't follow the Bible, I think the least we can do as decent human beings is to stretch out a caring hand to these poor and oppressed people. If we can attempt to put ourselves in their shoes, then we can begin to understand what life is like for so many people in this world.
I don't know Ibrahim's story. I don't know how he lost his leg. I don't know if he's attempted the most frightening and treacherous task of crossing the Mediterranean in a makeshift raft with the hope of starting a new life in Europe, or if he's lost family or friends in the process of doing so. I do know that he deserves the loving touch of a friend and a few bucks at the very least. I ask that you will be praying for Ibrahim. Though you don't know him, please pray for his life as a foreigner, an alien, an amputee, a beggar, and a beloved child of God. Pray that through his little bit of English and my little bit of French and Arabic that we will be able to communicate with eachother. More importantly, I would encourage you (I want to command you but that might just be too overbearing... so I challenge you) to love. Jesus says that of course we can love our friends, anyone can do that. But can we love those we don't like? our enemies? the marginalized? In America, there are plenty of marginalized people groups. Illegal immigrants may be a drain on the education system, but that's no excuse not to love them, to treat them with dignity and respect, to reach out a caring and helping hand, to invite them into our homes or out for a meal, or to put ourselves in their shoes and imagine what a day in the life of an immigrant might be like. May we learn from Ibrahim's smile to be grateful of all things even though all around us looks so much better. May we learn from and love the meek.
Ramadan is now officially over. Last night at this time, I also thought Ramadan was over. Everyone was talking about how the Eid (holiday) was going to be today but due to a moonless sky, Ramadan went on for another day. The Islamic year is based on the lunar calendar, something I am not used to growing up in the US. Each year, every Eid and the month of Ramadan take place 15 or 16 days before it did the last year. In some countries, Ramadan may start or end a day earlier or later than another country... it all depends on the moon. Assuming that yesterday was last day of Ramadan, when people found out that it was one more day of fasting, I felt a sense of burden among the people. To make things worse, today is a Sunday and therefore, most everything is already closed. The last day of fasting became a day of rest, sleeping in, and naps for many Moroccans. Its amazing to think about how the lives of 35 million Moroccans and 1.3 billion Muslims around the world are at the will, so to speak, of the moon. This has made me realize two things. The first is that Ramadan has really showed me the freedom we have in Christ. Jesus invites us to live an abundant life with the freedom to love and be perfect. It may be an impossible task, but it is the goal; to "be perfect, for the Lord your God is perfect" (Matthew 5:48). This does not take place one month of the year, but every day that our heart beats. It is a freedom not to indulge in a selfish life for oursevles, but instead to "serve one another in love" (Galatians 5:13). On the flip side, I think there is something to learn about being at the will of the moon. Like my attitude yesterday, too often we are concerned about tomorrow. I had my heart set on Ramadan being over, not because fasting is so difficult, but because I was so excited about the Eid (Eid Al Fitr is the holiday at the end of Ramadan... consists of eating breakfast (the real thing, not the one at sunset) with your family, the first time in a month, and then visiting friends and family for the reminder of the day while wearing Morocco's traditional dress, a djellaba) and to move on with life. I'm ready to get on with the next thing, but with the prolonging of Ramadan, I'm reminded to focus on today. And let me tell you, today has been a great day (more on that below)! If we are satisfied with today and not preoccupied with the worries of tomorrow, we can enjoy life. This is the day that the Lord has made, so rejoice and be glad in it (Psalm 118:24) for tomorrow has enough worries of its own (Matthew 6:24). When we live at the will of the moon (aka, God, the creator of the heavens and the earth), we cannot control the future, but are instead forced to live in the present. What a beautiful and calming lesson that can be learned from this. Let us focus our eyes on today instead of tomorrow so that we may see the beautiful things, both big and small, that God has given us.
Besides learning how to live at the will of the moon, I have learned a few other things during this Ramadan. A month ago, I started fasting and fasted the whole month, except for the four days I spent in The Netherlands and the one day I was sick here in Tangier. If I was following the pure form of Muslim fasting as discussed in the Qur'an than I have nothing to worry about. In Islam, exceptions to fasting are made for those who are on a journey (my trip to Holland) or who are ill (like I was a week ago) as well as those who are pregnant, children, and a few other exceptions. However, these days must be made up later in the year. If someone breaks the fast before the call for prayer at sunset and he/see does not fall under any of these categories of exception, the punishment is quite heavy. For every day one breaks the fast early (intentionally), their punishment includes the following choices: freeing a slave (a bit more difficult to do now than back in the 7th century), fasting for two months (this also means that if you break the fast 2 days you can add 4 months to your fasting, including having to finish Ramadan), or feeding 60 poor people (not giving them money, but feeding them, with the same amount of food you would eat... in other words, you can't just buy 60 McDonald's burgers or loaves of bread and pass them out to 60 beggars). I'm not a Muslim, but if I was, I don't know what I would choose. The truth is that even today, there are hundreds of thousands of slaves around the world today, ranging from child labor slaves to sex slaves. As much as I would love to free a slave, there are two factors I need to consider. First is the fact that I don't know of any slaves. I don't know where I could begin to look for them... maybe visiting a brothel in Thailand frequented by American, Canadian, European, Russian, Saudi Arabian, or Australian men men on "Sex Tours" (yes, as disgusting as this is it's the truth... such "tours" can even be arranged in Los Angeles) or a cocoa farm in West Africa run by a large multi-national corporation that exploits their workers so that the privileged in the global north can indulge in chocolate, unaware of the tired perhaps bloody hands that picked it under the extreme conditions of climate and abuse. The second aspect worth considering is being able to recognize and tend to the psychological effects of being released from slavery. I read an article a few years back about the psychological repercussions that freed slaves suffer from after being "released". Though physically released, every other aspect of their being remains in bondage to their master and the once-slave-now-free person often seeks to return to their previous lifestyle. I'm not saying that slaves should remain slaves, but a freed slave needs serious psychotherapy, otherwise they are worse off than they were before. (I cannot remember the exact title of the article, but if you are interested, please contact me. I have the article back in the US and I could pass it along when I get back) So maybe then I would fast for two months or feed 60 poor people. Fasting for two months seems a bit selfish, so I might as well spend the energy doing something that is beneficial to others, not just focus on myself for two months. Then again, I've cooked for 10 or 15 people and that was a lot of work. 60? I'd definitely need some lessons in the kitchen from some of the Moroccan women, who cook for 20-30 people like it's just another night with the family.
Ramadan has definitely been a time of reflection, not just fasting. Actually, when I look back on Ramadan, fasting remains in the background. The focus of every day seems to be the f'tour (feasting). "F'tour" literally means "breakfast" since it is the first meal eaten. At the Maghreb (sunset), the call for prayer is proclaimed from loudspeakers on every minaret in the city. When Ramadan began a month ago, the maghreb was around 7:30pm and with the days getting shorter, the maghreb tonight was at 6:28pm. The later in the month it gets, the less time it is to fast. In The Netherlands though, the maghreb wasn't until 9pm when I was there... making Ramadan much more difficult for the thousands of Muslims living there and in northern Europe. Forbidden during (the day) Ramadan are eating, drinking, smoking, lying, sexual activities, fighting, lust, alcohol, etc. but once the sun sets, the fasting is over. Things like eating and drinking (and smoking for some) are now permissible. I'm having trouble understanding how other things people fast from, like lusting, bad language, or lying are OK to do at night, but not during the day, or even after Ramadan for that matter. I know that no one can be perfect, but if Ramadan is supposed to be a month of fasting from the things of this world that bring us further away from God, it seems that it would be missing the point for people to carry on staring at girls the wrong way or taking part in indecent behavior just because the sun went down and the rules don't apply as strictly anymore. I'm reminded of the brilliant, and sometimes humbling words "It is not what goes into a man's mouth that makes him 'unclean,' but what comes out of his mouth that makes him clean, for the things that come out of the mouth come from the heart" (Matthew 15:11,18). The broader picture of this is that the life we produce through words, actions, and attitudes, come from the heart. This is of unparalleled significance to the things that we put in our body. If for example I fast (during the day) for a month straight and eat only kosher food (at night), it is unrivaled to my actions, attitudes, and words, which originate from the heart. If by night my heart is full of hate and lust, what good is fasting during the day? I don't mean to sound harsh or sound as if I'm making sweeping statements about Moroccans. Alternately, I'm thinking out loud, as these are some of the thoughts I've been wrestling with the past couple weeks. These words to not convey direct experiences but instead express personal reflections regarding fasting. It's not so much about the details of the law as it is the heart of the law. Furthermore, I'm seeking to understand the Muslim context in which I am living in while keeping Jesus' words fresh and alive in my life.
Anyways, back to the food! F'tour, or breakfast, is taken at the maghreb. I am blessed to have had the opportunity to take f'tour with at least 15 different people/families and locations. I broke the fast with wealthy families and a huge feast throughout many parts of Morocco, with younger Moroccans fresh out of college and making the transition into the adult/working life in Casablanca (the biggest city... a city of opportunities), with my host family in Fez, with a poor family in Azrou, in a restaurant in the college town of Ifrane, at a bible study with Al-Akhawayn University international students and faculty, on an airplane just before take off (nearly everyone on the plane was Moroccan and at sunset, people all of a sudden broke out meals they prepared and packed in tupper-wear containers and shared with everyone.... I brought a bag of dates to share with others... I'm quickly learning that in Morocco "what's mine is yours"... sharing is a part of the everyday life), and with friends, old and new, in several different homes here in Tangier. Typically, 30 minutes before the maghreb (and sometimes up to 45 minutes or an hour), families start gathering around the table as it is being set. The empty dinner tables quickly become filled with harira (soup), shabakia (sweet pastry-like thing with honey), dates, baklava, a plethora of sweet Moroccan pastries, milk, and juice. Then, everyone sits around the table and waits for the call. At the sound of "Allah Akbar..." ("God the Greatest...") everyone digs in. Once again, this idea that life revolves around the moon, or in this case, the call for prayer is so foreign to me. At that call, life changes. Drinks are sipped, food is eaten, and cigarettes are lit. Words cannot express what it is like to live by the authority of a call for prayer. I had trouble with that throughout the month. Some days I wanted to fast longer and other days I just wanted pray or go spend the meal with someone on the streets. The first few days, I was so thirsty that I skipped the food and went straight for the juice and the water. One thing I miss is saying a prayer of thanksgiving before eating, especially during such an important meal. Part of fasting is the aspect of remembering the poor and knowing what it may be like to be poor and hungry, but this is soon forgotten when there is a feast in front of your eyes and everyone starts devouring their food. Throughout the month, I tried to remember to spend time giving thanks to God for the food. For me, beginning a meal, in this case f'tour, should be marked with thanksgiving and not just hearing the call for prayer at the maghreb.
The f'tour meal lasts anywhere between 20 minutes and 2 hours. It is usually followed by tea and more pastries. One night in Tangier, I was invited for f'tour with Haitam (who I'm staying with), his dad, and his brothers. (Haitam's mom has been in Saudi Arabia for the last month for the "O'mara", not to be confused with the Hajj. Since she is gone all month, the boys (including the father) are left to eat f'tour at other peoples' homes or downstairs with Haitam's aunt because most men do not cook in Morocco). Not only did this one f'tour meal last 2 hours, but two rounds of two different tea were served, followed by a huge "dinner" (as if we weren't already full). Four hours later, we were done eating! This isn't anything out of the norm for Morocco, especially during Ramadan. I had trouble adjusting to eating absolutely nothing during the day and then feasting (literally) once the sun went down. I'm still having trouble trying to swallow (excuse the pun) this idea of "fasting". Personally, I think fasting should be the giving up of a meal, or two or three or four...etc. Instead, the month of Ramadan is fasting in the day and feasting at night. The meals that would be eaten during the day are pushed back until after sunset. This calls for a very late night. Dinner time is usually around 12 midnight or 1am. However, one night Haitam and I played a futsal match with some friends from 12:30-1:30am. Any excersize/activity during the day is difficult, especially when you can't drink water. So the only time to play soccer is at night, several hours after people spend f'tour with their families and friends. We got home after 2am, showered, and ate around 3am. This is the life of Ramadan in Morocco. Now that Ramadan is over, I'm looking forward to going to bed before 2am, morning runs and staying hydrated throughout the day. And the food... not as big of a deal as long as I eat once or twice. Not eating during the day even saved me a bit of money and we know that's always a plus! :)
Tonight, I just got back from a huge dinner. I had f'tour here with Haitam's family (minus his mom who is in Saudi Arabia for another week) and then we were invited to a friend's house for dinner. There were about 10 of us in total, all crowded around a 5 foot table. For dinner, an entire goat was served on a huge platter that just about took up the whole table. It's not very Moroccan to use cutlery, so we all dug in with our hands. I felt pretty barbaric sitting at the table with 10 other men eating a roasted goat with our hands. I've had goat quite a bit in parts of Africa and even India but this one took away the gold medal! After stuffing myself with a kilo worth of meat, a large assortment of fruit was served. Just when I thought I couldn't put anything else down my throat, we all shared an icecream cake from one of my favorite cafe's in Tangier. What a meal! This definitely makes the Top 10 list of meals I've had in Morocco.
Although the meal was definitely nothing short of a highlight to my day, the main highlight happened earlier this afternoon. Two blocks from Haitam's house, on the way to the main street, is a wall that attracts a handful of beggars. Most of the beggars here are regulars that I walk by every day. Some of them are blind, others missing a limb (others two, three, or all limbs), and there are sometimes women and children. My heart breaks every time I walk by them. I pass by them daily, sometimes several times in one day. Besides not being able to speak enough Arabic with them, I'm left with limited options. (1) I can smile at them, hoping that it might brighten their day just a little bit. On the other hand, I have to wonder what it must be like for them to see me walk by and smile like everything is OK and life is wonderful. I usually take the risk and give a little smile. (2) I can give them some money. The problem with this is twofold: I have a limited amount of money because i have no income and secondly, if i give to one, i should probably give to all. Since I see them every day, when do i give them money? I can't do it every day, otherwise i might run out of money and be stuck in Morocco. Hey, maybe that's a good idea! ;) (3) I can give them food. This too has been a problem. During Ramadan, finding food during the day is more difficult than one might imagine and eating in public is illegal. With the food option out of the question (until after tomorrow), I'm left with options 1 and 2.
So today I passed by a guy who I see just about every day. I smile at him and he gives me a warm smile back. More than anyone else, I feel drawn to this guy. His smile is impressive and it touches my spirit, walking by him several times a day as he sits in his wheel chair with only one leg and an outstretched arm. Unlike the other beggars, he does not say anything or try to get peoples attention. He just sits there waiting for someone to notice him and give a smile so he can give one in return. I can tell he is African, so I assumed that he knew a little English. Today as I was walked back to the house, I was praying for him, praying that he would be there and I could get to talk to him for a bit. Sure enough, as I turned the corner, I laid eyes on him. I greeted him and Arabic and shook his hand. I made sure to shake his hand and put my arm on his shoulder like most Moroccans do when they greet each other. The power of touch is something that most people take for granted as part of their everyday life. When you live on the streets and live off of the change that people give to you, you are nothing more than an outcast, an untouchable. Humans need physical touch to survive and remain healthy, not just physically, but mentally and emotionally (there have been studies on it). Henri Nouwen, a Dutch priest/pastor for a mentally handicapped community in Canada/author, describes his day at an orphanage in poverty-stricken Bolivia, "The children were so starved for affection that they fought with each other for the privilege of touching me. How little do we really know the power of physical touch. These boys and girls only wanted one thing: to be touched, hugged, stroked, and caressed. Probably most adults have the same needs but no longer have the innocence and unself-consciousness to express them. Sometimes I see humanity as a sea of people starving for affection, tenderness, care, love, acceptance, forgiveness, and gentleness" (Gracias! pg. 44). With an exchange of handshakes and greetings in Arabic, I asked him if he spoke English. Being from Senegal he spoke mostly French, but could understand most of my English. I sat with him and talked for a few minutes. A man, whom I didn't notice, was listening to us talk. He was Moroccan and offered to translate for me, just to make sure my new friend Ibrahim knew what I was saying. When you step out of the status quo, people not only notice but are drawn to do the same. With a little act of love, walls come quickly down and all of a sudden a Muslim Moroccan, a Senegali immigrant, and a Christian from America are quickly joined together. What a beautiful sight. So I told Ibrahim that because I live just down the street, I will see him every day and I won't be the stranger who just walks by with a smile. Although I gave him some money, I told him that whatever he needs to let me know. I may not have tons of money to offer him, but what I do have is love and touch.
I tell you this story for a few reasons. I do not want to build myself to be a righteous do-gooder or anything like that... I am neither of those. I wanted to tell you about my new friend, a man who's smile is not only contagious but humbling at the same time. When you sit in the same spot every day with a humble outstretch hand and with one less leg than everyone who walks by, grateful for the smallest coin to drop from someone's hand and you can still put a smile on your face... that is powerful! I don't know Ibrahim's story, but that my next reason for writing this. Morocco attracts a lot of immigrants from Sub-Saharan Africa. Located only 15 kilometers across the Straight of Gibraltar from Spain (the EU), Tangier is the destination for thousands who flee their home country in hopes to pursue a better life in Europe. Although Europe is the goal, most do not get there. Some stay in Morocco, finding life in Morocco better than their war-torn and impoverished homelands. Others, who remain set on their original goal, attempt to cross the Mediterranean in makeshift boats. If they are not caught by official patrol or guard boats, they often capsize and drown. The narrow, but deadly, straight has claimed countless lives of those who tried to cross, as it did this weekend (see attached link to article: http://english.aljazeera.net/news/africa/2009/09/200991919917332747.html). The ugly truth is that people leave their dire situations to search for a better life, a life where they can live in peace and dignity, without the threat or fear that terrorizes them daily. Some have fled civil wars and others manage to escape grinding poverty. Despite your political views on immigration, these are people in desperate need of love... a love that comes from the God of peace, not in the unfulfilled dreams and policies of politicians and world leaders. The Bible speaks repeatedly about caring for the stranger and the alien. Even if you don't follow the Bible, I think the least we can do as decent human beings is to stretch out a caring hand to these poor and oppressed people. If we can attempt to put ourselves in their shoes, then we can begin to understand what life is like for so many people in this world.
I don't know Ibrahim's story. I don't know how he lost his leg. I don't know if he's attempted the most frightening and treacherous task of crossing the Mediterranean in a makeshift raft with the hope of starting a new life in Europe, or if he's lost family or friends in the process of doing so. I do know that he deserves the loving touch of a friend and a few bucks at the very least. I ask that you will be praying for Ibrahim. Though you don't know him, please pray for his life as a foreigner, an alien, an amputee, a beggar, and a beloved child of God. Pray that through his little bit of English and my little bit of French and Arabic that we will be able to communicate with eachother. More importantly, I would encourage you (I want to command you but that might just be too overbearing... so I challenge you) to love. Jesus says that of course we can love our friends, anyone can do that. But can we love those we don't like? our enemies? the marginalized? In America, there are plenty of marginalized people groups. Illegal immigrants may be a drain on the education system, but that's no excuse not to love them, to treat them with dignity and respect, to reach out a caring and helping hand, to invite them into our homes or out for a meal, or to put ourselves in their shoes and imagine what a day in the life of an immigrant might be like. May we learn from Ibrahim's smile to be grateful of all things even though all around us looks so much better. May we learn from and love the meek.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
4 Days, 2 Weddings
Yes, I know it's been a long time since I've written anything. These last few weeks can be best described as busy and hot. The long days of school, homework, studying, spending time with the family, and writing are starting to get the best of me. On top of the busy day-to-day life is the heat. For example, this morning it was 106 (41 Celsius) at 10am, and a high at midday was around 115 (45C). I'm hoping that it might cool down to 100 so that I can play soccer on Thursday without getting heat stoke.
My language learning continues to be challenging. I would love to say it has been rewarding since I've been here in Morocco, but unfortunately that is not the case. I am studying Modern Standard (or Classical) Arabic (FusHa) and Moroccans speak Moroccan Arabic (Darija). I wish I could say that Darija was just a close dialect of FusHa, but the more that I am here and the more I learn, I really believe they are two different languages. One of my Moroccan friends described Darija as "Arabic spoken with a really bad accent." On top of the difference in accents, many (or most) words in FusHa are not the same in Darija. It can be really frustrating when I learn a bunch of new verbs, nouns, and adjectives in the classroom, only to come home and not hear a single one spoken by my host family or on the streets. Of course, it was my choice to study FusHa over Darija and despite the frustration, I do not regret the decision. In other Arabic speaking countries such as Jordan, Lebanon, Egypt, or the Gulf, their dialects of Arabic are much closer to FusHa and someone speaking Darija will most likely not be understood by people in these countries. Therefore, I have to remember that it will pay off in the long run to have a strong foundation in FusHa instead of Darija.
Besides occupying my time with language study, I spent quite a bit of time at weddings last week. My host family was invited to a wedding last week in Meknes (about 45 min drive from Fes). Having heard so much about Moroccan weddings, I was thrilled at this special opportunity and even got myself a djellaba. Djellabas are long one-piece robes that usually have a hood. As the traditional dress of Morocco, I felt that it would be appropriate to wear a djellaba to the wedding. Mounia, her mom, her sister Sana, Sana's husband, their daughter Umeiema, and I drove to the wedding last wednesday. To my surprise, the wedding was quite boring. The six of us sat around and talked on the rooftop, where we waited until 11:30pm for the bride and groom to arrive at the house. Moroccan weddings differ between regions (even cities) and social classes. Umeiema, the 16 year old daughter of Sana, told me that weddings in Meknes were different than those of Fes, and I could tell in her tone that she had a strong preference towards weddings in Fes. Furthermore, this wedding was in a lower income neighborhood in Meknes and therefore, there were few people, little decorations, and the electricity continually shut off, sometimes for more than an hour. Once the bride and groom arrived, there was a bit of a celebration outside the house to welcome them in, but the party still did not meet my expectations. The highlight of the night was actually talking to the brother of the groom, Robin. The conversation began when I told him I was studying Arabic and having some difficulty with it. It wasn't like learning Spanish and even he agreed that Arabic was one of the hardest, if not the hardest, languages to learn. He spoke Arabic (Darija and FusHa), French, Spanish, English, and German fluently, and knew a bit of Italian. He asked if I was a Christian (I guess assuming that all people from America are Christians...?) and by answering yes, began a long discussion about the two faiths.
It was evident that Robin liked to talk... a lot! He was very outspoken and opinionated. He spoke English faster than I could and in my opinion, it was the most excitement going on at the wedding. Sana, Mounia, Umeiema, and grandma kept trying to get him to shut up (as not to bother me), but didn't mind. It was one of those situations where someone brings up one of the forbidden topics at the dinner table-- money, politics, or religion-- and everyone is uncomfortable except for the one or two engaged in the conversation. I guess that's how it was. He told me that he had read much of the Bible but expressed difficulty in understanding two things... 1). How Jesus could be the "Son" of God and 2). How Jesus could be God ("isn't he the son?") As you can imagine, this sparked some great conversation as we talked about God and language, especially in regards to the first concern. Language is an illustration of truth, it is not truth itself. Language is used to make a point, or illustrate a truth, but it is not perfect. In this case, there are a lot of connotations with language, especially with particular words, that can take away from truth. Jesus is the son of Mary. Both Robin and I agree on that. Jesus is the son of God. I stood alone on this claim. However, the word "son" in "son of God" is not the same "son" as "son of Mary". The problem is that Robin had trouble understanding this concept because to him, the definition of "son" is 100% objective and cannot be applied to the latter case ("son of God"). If "son" means a boy who is the product of a man having sex with a woman (you get the gist of the definition?), than the "son of God" means that God must have had sex with a woman to have Jesus. Many Christians would think that this is absurd because we have taken the term "son of God" for granted. However, it is critical that we look at the language used to illustrate truth. Can we really blame people for having difficult understand that Jesus was the "son" of God when we really dive into that? Also, it is worth mentioning the second concern about Jesus being God. Putting aside the "son of God" topic and discussing "Jesus as God" was also an issue incomprehensible. He expressed frustration and confusion in the idea of the Trinity, which was completely understandable. It wasn't the time to start explaining the trinity in the Cappadocian terms of God being one "ousia" (inner-being) and three "hypostases" (outer-being). Even this explanation can be problematic as it sounds as if there are separate parts of God, instead of these (3) hypostases and (1) ousia which are God. His simple metaphors of the trinity he shared with me such as, "someone can be a brother, a father, and a son all at the same time" didn't do it for him (neither does it do it for me), and all I could say was that God is bigger and beyond my ability to think or comprehend. The problem lies in the concept of trying to explain and describe an existence that is beyond ourselves. It is impossible and therefore unsatisfying to many people. The point of our conversation was not that he disproved Jesus as the "son of God" and I proved he was, or that he bashed the idea of a trinity while I argued for it, because neither of those happened. He questioned these things out of a desire to understand, not to talk me out of my faith in hopes that I would join his. It was a dialogue to critically look at the two faiths and make the most of this opportunity to interact and engage "the other" (me being a Christian and himself a Muslim). When talking about the purpose of man, he asked me, "what is the purpose of man? I answered, "To glorify God." He lit up and agreed, "Yes! To glorify God!" Despite the differences in the way we seek to glorify God with our lives, we can come together on that fundamental truth-- that our lives would earnestly seek to glorify our creator. And I cannot help but wonder, "what does this look like in the eyes of our creator?"
So, back to the wedding..... nothing too exciting happened besides some delicious food at 12:30am! Yup, dinner after midnight. I learned a few days later (at the other wedding I attended) that this was actually EARLY! After dinner, we decided to head back to Fes, as I has class the next morning and Mounia had to work. We said our goodbyes and headed to the car parked down the street. The time was just after 1am and there were kids playing a game of soccer in the street. There were about six kids, ages 6-12 (I assume) playing soccer in the street, being loud, getting in little quarrels, solving conflicts and disputes, and having a great time, all without a single parent in sight! It was amazing . The more I thought about it, the more I questioned the concept of safety. People ask me about safety in Morocco. This snapshot I have of kids playing soccer in the street in the middle of the night is so ironic because people are so scared of Morocco, or North Africa, or the Arab world, as if it were some evil place where violence and hatred is rampant. Yet, at 1am on a Wednesday night, the streets are still full of kids. Back in my upper-class suburban neighborhood in San Diego, there is not a single soul out at 1am (a little exageration), but there sure are not kids playing soccer by themselves (no parents around) in the streets!!! And even if kids wanted to go out and play soccer at 1am, I dont think that the parents would be too keen on the idea. Why? The first reason I guess would be "safety". "Its too late... It's not safe... There are a lot of dangerous people out this late" might be some of the responses from the concerned parents. The irony is that people assume "the other", or the unknown, (especially in the Arab world) is "not as safe as America" when in reality, that is far from the truth. With knowledge of, experience and interaction with "the other", we start to break down our stereotypes and misconceptions and begin to learn the reality of the world in which people really live. This is usually not a fun or easy process, but instead a painful paradigm shift that takes place within. I think Shakira's words, "I prefer an ugly truth to a beautiful lie" speak volumes. Although she was referencing the people of Colombia who live surrounded by a difficult reality, these words are relevant to those who are seeking truth. It is not always beautiful, but it is only truth that will set you free. Life is full of surprises and from my experience, it is the truths that are most difficult and shocking that are often the most important to accept.
Unfortunately, I am out of time to write about my wedding experience in Tangier (which was much more exciting than the one in Meknes, served dinner at 4am and went on until past 6am), meeting my good friend Taha at the airport in Tangier as he arrived back home after nearly 8 months overseas, and the other exciting things going on. I need to get back to my school work for APU (regarding Moroccan Family Organization) as well as a few Arabic assignments that need to be turned in tomorrow. I hope this update finds you well and may peace be upon you! Asalaama' Aleikum!
Ryan
My language learning continues to be challenging. I would love to say it has been rewarding since I've been here in Morocco, but unfortunately that is not the case. I am studying Modern Standard (or Classical) Arabic (FusHa) and Moroccans speak Moroccan Arabic (Darija). I wish I could say that Darija was just a close dialect of FusHa, but the more that I am here and the more I learn, I really believe they are two different languages. One of my Moroccan friends described Darija as "Arabic spoken with a really bad accent." On top of the difference in accents, many (or most) words in FusHa are not the same in Darija. It can be really frustrating when I learn a bunch of new verbs, nouns, and adjectives in the classroom, only to come home and not hear a single one spoken by my host family or on the streets. Of course, it was my choice to study FusHa over Darija and despite the frustration, I do not regret the decision. In other Arabic speaking countries such as Jordan, Lebanon, Egypt, or the Gulf, their dialects of Arabic are much closer to FusHa and someone speaking Darija will most likely not be understood by people in these countries. Therefore, I have to remember that it will pay off in the long run to have a strong foundation in FusHa instead of Darija.
Besides occupying my time with language study, I spent quite a bit of time at weddings last week. My host family was invited to a wedding last week in Meknes (about 45 min drive from Fes). Having heard so much about Moroccan weddings, I was thrilled at this special opportunity and even got myself a djellaba. Djellabas are long one-piece robes that usually have a hood. As the traditional dress of Morocco, I felt that it would be appropriate to wear a djellaba to the wedding. Mounia, her mom, her sister Sana, Sana's husband, their daughter Umeiema, and I drove to the wedding last wednesday. To my surprise, the wedding was quite boring. The six of us sat around and talked on the rooftop, where we waited until 11:30pm for the bride and groom to arrive at the house. Moroccan weddings differ between regions (even cities) and social classes. Umeiema, the 16 year old daughter of Sana, told me that weddings in Meknes were different than those of Fes, and I could tell in her tone that she had a strong preference towards weddings in Fes. Furthermore, this wedding was in a lower income neighborhood in Meknes and therefore, there were few people, little decorations, and the electricity continually shut off, sometimes for more than an hour. Once the bride and groom arrived, there was a bit of a celebration outside the house to welcome them in, but the party still did not meet my expectations. The highlight of the night was actually talking to the brother of the groom, Robin. The conversation began when I told him I was studying Arabic and having some difficulty with it. It wasn't like learning Spanish and even he agreed that Arabic was one of the hardest, if not the hardest, languages to learn. He spoke Arabic (Darija and FusHa), French, Spanish, English, and German fluently, and knew a bit of Italian. He asked if I was a Christian (I guess assuming that all people from America are Christians...?) and by answering yes, began a long discussion about the two faiths.
It was evident that Robin liked to talk... a lot! He was very outspoken and opinionated. He spoke English faster than I could and in my opinion, it was the most excitement going on at the wedding. Sana, Mounia, Umeiema, and grandma kept trying to get him to shut up (as not to bother me), but didn't mind. It was one of those situations where someone brings up one of the forbidden topics at the dinner table-- money, politics, or religion-- and everyone is uncomfortable except for the one or two engaged in the conversation. I guess that's how it was. He told me that he had read much of the Bible but expressed difficulty in understanding two things... 1). How Jesus could be the "Son" of God and 2). How Jesus could be God ("isn't he the son?") As you can imagine, this sparked some great conversation as we talked about God and language, especially in regards to the first concern. Language is an illustration of truth, it is not truth itself. Language is used to make a point, or illustrate a truth, but it is not perfect. In this case, there are a lot of connotations with language, especially with particular words, that can take away from truth. Jesus is the son of Mary. Both Robin and I agree on that. Jesus is the son of God. I stood alone on this claim. However, the word "son" in "son of God" is not the same "son" as "son of Mary". The problem is that Robin had trouble understanding this concept because to him, the definition of "son" is 100% objective and cannot be applied to the latter case ("son of God"). If "son" means a boy who is the product of a man having sex with a woman (you get the gist of the definition?), than the "son of God" means that God must have had sex with a woman to have Jesus. Many Christians would think that this is absurd because we have taken the term "son of God" for granted. However, it is critical that we look at the language used to illustrate truth. Can we really blame people for having difficult understand that Jesus was the "son" of God when we really dive into that? Also, it is worth mentioning the second concern about Jesus being God. Putting aside the "son of God" topic and discussing "Jesus as God" was also an issue incomprehensible. He expressed frustration and confusion in the idea of the Trinity, which was completely understandable. It wasn't the time to start explaining the trinity in the Cappadocian terms of God being one "ousia" (inner-being) and three "hypostases" (outer-being). Even this explanation can be problematic as it sounds as if there are separate parts of God, instead of these (3) hypostases and (1) ousia which are God. His simple metaphors of the trinity he shared with me such as, "someone can be a brother, a father, and a son all at the same time" didn't do it for him (neither does it do it for me), and all I could say was that God is bigger and beyond my ability to think or comprehend. The problem lies in the concept of trying to explain and describe an existence that is beyond ourselves. It is impossible and therefore unsatisfying to many people. The point of our conversation was not that he disproved Jesus as the "son of God" and I proved he was, or that he bashed the idea of a trinity while I argued for it, because neither of those happened. He questioned these things out of a desire to understand, not to talk me out of my faith in hopes that I would join his. It was a dialogue to critically look at the two faiths and make the most of this opportunity to interact and engage "the other" (me being a Christian and himself a Muslim). When talking about the purpose of man, he asked me, "what is the purpose of man? I answered, "To glorify God." He lit up and agreed, "Yes! To glorify God!" Despite the differences in the way we seek to glorify God with our lives, we can come together on that fundamental truth-- that our lives would earnestly seek to glorify our creator. And I cannot help but wonder, "what does this look like in the eyes of our creator?"
So, back to the wedding..... nothing too exciting happened besides some delicious food at 12:30am! Yup, dinner after midnight. I learned a few days later (at the other wedding I attended) that this was actually EARLY! After dinner, we decided to head back to Fes, as I has class the next morning and Mounia had to work. We said our goodbyes and headed to the car parked down the street. The time was just after 1am and there were kids playing a game of soccer in the street. There were about six kids, ages 6-12 (I assume) playing soccer in the street, being loud, getting in little quarrels, solving conflicts and disputes, and having a great time, all without a single parent in sight! It was amazing . The more I thought about it, the more I questioned the concept of safety. People ask me about safety in Morocco. This snapshot I have of kids playing soccer in the street in the middle of the night is so ironic because people are so scared of Morocco, or North Africa, or the Arab world, as if it were some evil place where violence and hatred is rampant. Yet, at 1am on a Wednesday night, the streets are still full of kids. Back in my upper-class suburban neighborhood in San Diego, there is not a single soul out at 1am (a little exageration), but there sure are not kids playing soccer by themselves (no parents around) in the streets!!! And even if kids wanted to go out and play soccer at 1am, I dont think that the parents would be too keen on the idea. Why? The first reason I guess would be "safety". "Its too late... It's not safe... There are a lot of dangerous people out this late" might be some of the responses from the concerned parents. The irony is that people assume "the other", or the unknown, (especially in the Arab world) is "not as safe as America" when in reality, that is far from the truth. With knowledge of, experience and interaction with "the other", we start to break down our stereotypes and misconceptions and begin to learn the reality of the world in which people really live. This is usually not a fun or easy process, but instead a painful paradigm shift that takes place within. I think Shakira's words, "I prefer an ugly truth to a beautiful lie" speak volumes. Although she was referencing the people of Colombia who live surrounded by a difficult reality, these words are relevant to those who are seeking truth. It is not always beautiful, but it is only truth that will set you free. Life is full of surprises and from my experience, it is the truths that are most difficult and shocking that are often the most important to accept.
Unfortunately, I am out of time to write about my wedding experience in Tangier (which was much more exciting than the one in Meknes, served dinner at 4am and went on until past 6am), meeting my good friend Taha at the airport in Tangier as he arrived back home after nearly 8 months overseas, and the other exciting things going on. I need to get back to my school work for APU (regarding Moroccan Family Organization) as well as a few Arabic assignments that need to be turned in tomorrow. I hope this update finds you well and may peace be upon you! Asalaama' Aleikum!
Ryan
Saturday, July 4, 2009
A Lesson Learned
After waking up before 7am for five days straight, I'm ready to sleep in a little bit on the weekend. Saturday is my day to sleep in, but not this weekend. At 7:30, I was abruptly woken up by jackhammers outside my room (which is just a few feet off the street). I couldn't believe that the one day I want to sleep in, the jackhammers outside are braking cement, and the whole house is basically shaking. I did my best to get back to sleep, but I had to just accept that I wasn't going to get to sleep in this morning. A few hours later, I was eating breakfast upstairs when I heard Mounia call from the kitchen, "Ryan, ajii" ("Ryan, come"). She had prepared several platters which included bread, pastries, olives, dates, and a huge platter with 2 pots of tea along with several bottles of water. She had me help her take the food downstairs and take it to the workers who were working outside to repair the waterlines. They took a break from their jackhammers and shovels and came to accept the snacks with much gratitude. At first, in my selfish, Western, and frustrated mindset, I almost asked Mounia why she was giving them all this food. I mean, they woke ALL of us up at 7:30 with their jackhammers, they've made a mess of the streets and have given us headaches the past few days with all their noise and dust, and NOW you're giving THEM food? What are you thinking!?!?!
Since I couldn't take all the trays down to them in one trip, she made me take the rest while she stayed inside. She wasn't being rude, but culturally sensitive (can someone even be culturally sensitive in their own culture.... or are they just being themselves?) I assume that culturally, she didn't feel like it was a good idea to go take the food to them. She could have done it in several trips but instead she had me do it. If she were to serve the (all male) workers, she might be looked down upon by others in the neighborhood as this kind act of providing the workers with some food might have been portrayed as something more (if you catch my drift). When a single lady does something like this for a group of males, it may carry sexually-charged connotations... in this culture, in this situation.
So, I was making several trips out to the workers bringing them food, water, tea, and so forth. They were so appreciative and I brought smiles to their faces. Yet, I was completely humbled because not only was it NOT my idea to bring this food, they assumed that this was a gift from me and it wasn't. It was these very workers that I was frustrated at and wanted to have nothing to do with. After all, they woke me up with their noisy equipment at 7:30 and I didn't get to sleep in (poor me). I felt completely unworthy to be serving this food when I had such animosity, or frustration, toward them. I learned a lot in this simple act of service. Never could I imagine myself, or someone else, taking refreshments and snacks out to some construction workers back in the States who were working with jackhammers at 7:30 on a Saturday morning in my neighborhood. For Mounia, there was no question of if she should bring them something to eat and drink. The question was how much can she bring them so that they are full and content; not tired, hungry, or thirsty. I will never forget this simple, yet powerful, act of service. May we all learn from this simple act. Would the world not be a better place if we took the time to serve our enemies (this morning at 7:30, they were my enemies!)? I think Jesus said something along those lines....
Since I couldn't take all the trays down to them in one trip, she made me take the rest while she stayed inside. She wasn't being rude, but culturally sensitive (can someone even be culturally sensitive in their own culture.... or are they just being themselves?) I assume that culturally, she didn't feel like it was a good idea to go take the food to them. She could have done it in several trips but instead she had me do it. If she were to serve the (all male) workers, she might be looked down upon by others in the neighborhood as this kind act of providing the workers with some food might have been portrayed as something more (if you catch my drift). When a single lady does something like this for a group of males, it may carry sexually-charged connotations... in this culture, in this situation.
So, I was making several trips out to the workers bringing them food, water, tea, and so forth. They were so appreciative and I brought smiles to their faces. Yet, I was completely humbled because not only was it NOT my idea to bring this food, they assumed that this was a gift from me and it wasn't. It was these very workers that I was frustrated at and wanted to have nothing to do with. After all, they woke me up with their noisy equipment at 7:30 and I didn't get to sleep in (poor me). I felt completely unworthy to be serving this food when I had such animosity, or frustration, toward them. I learned a lot in this simple act of service. Never could I imagine myself, or someone else, taking refreshments and snacks out to some construction workers back in the States who were working with jackhammers at 7:30 on a Saturday morning in my neighborhood. For Mounia, there was no question of if she should bring them something to eat and drink. The question was how much can she bring them so that they are full and content; not tired, hungry, or thirsty. I will never forget this simple, yet powerful, act of service. May we all learn from this simple act. Would the world not be a better place if we took the time to serve our enemies (this morning at 7:30, they were my enemies!)? I think Jesus said something along those lines....
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