If I am not part of the solution, I am part of the problem.

When Trump first announced he was running as a candidate for the Republican party, I dismissed it as a joke. Then, as months passed, mockery gave way to disbelief, then to anger, frustration and indignation. How could such racism, bigotry, and misoginy appeal to so many people? How could someone whose speeches had no substance and no content convince voters? 

I cried and shouted and poured contempt on Trump supporters, and on all those who supported fascist politicians. I despised them for their perceived stupidity and bigotry and for their hatred. I felt proud that I was "not like them" (Parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector, anyone?).

Tonight, I read this article, and it dawned on me that like any other story, it's not all simple; it's not all black and white. It's not just stubborn Fundies. It's also people who have been left behind by an elitist system, and felt more support was given to minorities than to them. And they have been deceived into believing Trump will fix that. (Or that a fascist European politician will fix that.)

And suddenly it dawned on me. I cannot humilate them into changing their minds. I cannot bully them into behaving like decent human beings. I cannot even try to "educate" them because by doing this, I am only arrogantly putting myself above them. Humiliating and despising them will only reinforce the problem. 

The only helpful, Jesus-like thing I can do is the same thing I have been doing for Muslims in my centre for asylum seekers, despite my initial fears and misgivings about Muslims: love them. Reach out to them. Listen to them. Seek to understand them. Show them empathy.

So this is where I want to start. Holy Spirit, enable me, because I cannot do this on my own.

I want to follow Jesus, and I foolishly believe love will save the world. You may tell me I am a fucking fool. You're most probably right.

Why I am not a Muslim, and why I love Muslims regardless

There is a lot of negative talk about Muslims, and many people are hostile to Islam because of terrorism. I have written about this issue time and again. Indeed, I feel upset, sad and angry when people demonize all Muslims because of Daesh. The vast majority of Muslims are peaceful people who are appalled by terrorism and Daesh just as we are, and the majority of Daesh victims are actually Muslims. I also deplore the fact that whenever someone commits a crime and is of Muslim background, the media is quick to highlight it, whereas they seldom mention origin when someone from a "White, Christian" background is the culprit.

I have no personal issue with Muslims. I have Muslim colleagues and I work within a predominantly Muslim environment (a majority of the asylum seekers currently staying in our Red Cross centre identify as Muslims). I love working with them.

Lately, I had a conversation around faith with a Muslim friend. When I said I was a believer, he said to me, "If you were a true believer, wouldn't you accept the Word of the Prophet Mohammed, as he was foretold in the Bible?" 

This is interesting, because looking into Islam, ironically, played a part in my choosing the Christian faith:

"I met a Muslim. We discussed God and religion, and I read some booklets about Islam. As a result, some of my beliefs were challenged. Indeed, I had always thought that all religions all led to God. However, in Islam you had to obey lots of rules and do good deeds, and then maybe, if you were found good enough, God would accept you. On the other hand, I was being told in Church that as a sinner, there was nothing I could do to make myself acceptable to a perfect, absolutely good God, and that all I could do was accept what Jesus had done for me and commit my life to Him. That wasn’t the same thing at all – one belief system told me I had to work hard to deserve God’s acceptance, and the other told me there was nothing I could do and nothing I needed to do, because God had already done it all for me… all I had to do was receive His gift.

I was extremely confused. I could see both beliefs couldn’t be true at the same time, because in all logic they were self-excluding. But I had no idea which one was right. Both seemed to make sense. I knew I had to choose one or the other, and I did want to please God and do what He required, but I simply didn’t know which way was the right one.

I was more attracted to Islam because it fitted my views about God and religion: God wanted us to obey a certain set of rules and be good, and when we'd die He would weigh our good and bad deeds on a pair of scales and see which way it tipped. But I could not dismiss Christianity, because it could make sense too."

I am not going to get into why I don't believe the Bible foretold Mohammed; many Christian theologians have done it much better than I could. I am just going to explain why, personally, I cannot embrace the Muslim faith: because of Jesus. 

Muslim doctrine denies core elements of my faith. It denies the divinity of Jesus, while believing he really was God incarnate is crucial to my faith: God to me is not abstract and aloof, he is close to us. He got his hands dirty. He shared in the messiness of humanity. He knows our struggles because he's lived through them. I would go as far as to say that God LEARNT from the incarnation: instead of an "academic" knowledge of the human experience, he knows because he experienced it personally, which makes him able to fully empathize with us. As far as I know, this is absent from Islam. Second, Muslim doctrine denies Jesus's death. To them Jesus never died: God subsituted him for someone else and gave that other someone the appearance of Jesus. First, why the trickery? Why would God deceive us? Second, Jesus' death and resurrection is crucial to my faith. They bring me redemption and hope. Whatever your theory of atonement is, Jesus had to die, if only to fully identify with us in our humanity. His death reconciled us with God - he took our sins upon himself so we could be free of that burden, freed to do good instead. And if he didn't die, neither did he rise - and then where is the hope of our own resurrection? Jesus's incarnation, life, death and resurrection bring me a hope and peace that I have not found in Islam (I have read Muslim booklets explaining the faith, booklets designed to win over converts, as well as several passages from translations of the Holy Quran). This is why I am not a Muslim.

This being said, I have no personal problems with Muslim people. They are my human brothers and sisters, created by God and loved by God. He knows their hearts and I do not, so I cannot presume to know whether they are "saved" or not (whatever that means). I can only follow Jesus' command to love them. I work among Muslims every day at the center for asylum seekers. They are humans. They can be kind, loving, funny, rude, angry, hospitable, touching, humble, proud, they can be peaceful and they can be violent. They are human brothers and sisters, not better than us and not worse, either.

Finally, I think as Christians, we can learn from the devotion to God we see in Islam. Who among us prays 5 times a day? I know I don't. Who fasts from sunrise till sunset for 40 days? I know I don't. Who learns verses of the Holy Scripture by heart in order to be closer to God? I know I don't. So I have a lot of respect for my Muslim brothers and sisters.

A time of violence and grief

I just switched on the news, and there it was. Another attack from "jihadists", this time targeting a church and murdering a priest. Violence goes on and on (and if we take off our Western-centered glasses for a second, we'll realise such attacks on Christians is nothing new at all).

I feel like my arms and legs have been cut off.

I want to believe in love, peace, and this crazy idea that we can all live together as the human brothers and sisters that we are. Yet, such horrendous acts scream at me that it cannot be. That humans are always going to tear each other apart. That I'd better give up on hope and love and peace. That I should be afraid of Muslims - afraid of the men and women and children I look after at the centre for asylum seekers and of the many other Muslims who live in my country. That I should hide away from them, be wary of them, push them out of my life and even out of my country. Just in case.

I don't want to listen to the screams of terrorism. I don't want to stop loving the people I work with. I don't want terrorism to colour my dealings with the Muslims I come across.

Let us not forget that Daesh aims to divide us, to create a rift between Muslims and the Western world. Let us not allow them to create that rift. Let us not allow them to divide us. I have said it before and I will say it again: the majority of Muslims are as appalled as we are. Besides, in Daesh-controlled territories, they are targeted too. Blaming Muslims and rejecting them will only create more tension, more hatred, and more potential terrorists. This is why I want to love Muslims and offer them my friendship: because I believe this is the only way we can resist a spiral of hatred and violence. To me, this is the only sustainable weapon we have against terrorism.

If you are grieving for Father Jacques Hamel, do not forget what he stood for: he was a Christian, he believed in Jesus Christ. And Jesus Christ asked us to love our enemie and pray for them. Is it hard? Yes, it is. It is hard, painful, heart-wrenching, and dangerous. But this is what Jesus asks, and this is what Jesus did. He was brutally murdered, yet he prayed for his murderers. Jesus gave his life out of love for his enemies.

If you are a Christian, don't forget this: we are supposed to fight hate with love, persecution with prayer, evil with good. And if you are not a Christian, remember all that Father Jacques Hamel stood for, all he believed in. He would not want you to respond with hatred and vengeance.

Climb every mountain

Every year, Nicholas and I go to the French Alps for a couple of weeks. Nicholas cycles up the "cols" (mountain passes) that the Tour de France often goes through, and I hike in the mountains.

The first year, we went to the Col Agnel (Lamb's Pass), which marks the border with Italy. Looming above that pass is a 10,525-feet-high slate summit called le Pain de Sucre (the Sugar Loaf). It is a popular hike as you can enjoy a 360°-view from the top, allowing you to see Italian 12,602-feet-high Mount Viso, the beautiful Barre des Ecrins (Jewellery Case Range), and even the Mont Blanc on a clear day. I felt fascinated but I didn't have proper mountain hiking shoes back then, and decided not to risk it as the slope was very steep. I vowed to go the following year.

Alas, the following year, I sprained my foot on a ridiculously easy hike and had to stick to easy walks using hiking poles after that. And the next year, the Sugar Loaf was shrouded in clouds every time we up there.

So today, finally, I set off to hike up the Sugar Loaf. I had my good mountain shoes, a windproof jacket, and some food and water in my backpack. 

I had been walking for hardly half an hour when I noticed something moving up the slope. I squinted to see and realised they were six ibex (bouquetins) feeding. Unfortunately, my camera doesn't have a very good zoom, but here you can just about make them out.

I kept going up an easy track on the grassy slopes until I reached the Col Vieux (Old Pass), a mountain pass you can only reach on foot, as opposed to those you ride or cycle up, like Nicholas does. From there, the path got steeper and steeper. This doesn't necessarily bother me, when it means climbing amongst rocks you can hold on to. But this path was winding up in slate dust and stones that looked rather slippery, on a very steep rock face with a rather scary drop. And I had no hiking poles. Soon enough I felt utterly stuck.

Fortunately, a couple of fellow hikers passed by and I could ask for help. The man was very kind and reassuring and guided me along the path, and lent me his poles. His name was Jérémy, and his partner was Marguerite.

Reaching the top was breathtaking, and I don't think photos truly do it justice.

Mount Viso

We started the descent, which, paradoxically, was much easier as we took a different path that took us through some rocks we could support ourselves on. I was very grateful to those hikers for their help.

Fulfilling my dream of climbing up the Sugar Loaf leaves me with mixed feelings. I'm happy I did it, but I'm somewhat angry at myself for not realising how tricky the climb would be, and for not preparing accordingly. I feel I was careless, and put my life in danger. I don't know what I'd have done without those fellow hikers, and I'm grateful they helped me.

The Bible, homosexuality, and abomination

Last summer, I described how my beliefs about homosexuality had changed over time.

In Biblical times, the main purpose of couples was to produce offspring to ensure the continuity of the family line and the perennity of the group. If any people felt love and attraction towards the same sex, they probably weren't encouraged to form a lasting bond, as it would have been of little social use. Much more visible, however, would have been the sexual abuse of young boys - and therefore, it would have been vigorously condemned by anyone with a strong sense of morality. So, if Bible authors were familiar with abusive homosexual behaviour, but not with committed, faithful same-sex relationships, they would have called it wrong and immoral. This notion has been brought forward before by scholars and Christian LGBT advocates, and they've argued the case much more convincingly than I can. But recently, something unexpected came to support this theory for me.

I never thought that working in a centre for asylum seekers would help me better grasp the issue of homosexuality, and why it seems, on the surface, to be so adamantly condemned in Scripture. Yet, meeting people from different cultures throws a very interesting light on the morality of this issue.

In our center, we have been holding discussion panels about life in Belgium, and mentioning things such as gender equality, freedom of religion, and LGBT rights. The question of gay marriage got a variety of responses. Many people, including those coming from a Muslim background, were very matter-of-fact about it, saying that we all need to respect the life choices of other people. Some people from Africa got their Bibles out and emphatically argued that homosexuality was inherently sinful. 

But what I found particularly interesting was this: many of our residents from Afghanistan or Iraq, when confronted to Western acceptance of homosexuality, state dryly that there is no such thing in their country. Some Afghans even protested, "Pedophilia is illegal where we come from!". Aghast that they would make such a comparison, I dug further. They explained to me that in Afghanistan, there is no such thing as two men loving each other the way a man and his wife do (or at least, they're not aware of it). What they have often witnessed, however, is the abuse of young boys by older men, not only back home, but also during their journey to Europe. Hence the way they recoil from the very mention of homosexuality, and the way they were quick to state that such things were illegal. Of course, we explained to them that pedophilia is illegal (and immoral) in Europe too, and that being attracted to someone of the same sex is totally different from child abuse. But I find their comments and reactions very enlightening. If the only type of homosexual relationship you'd ever witnessed was one of abuse and control, driven by lust and the desire to overpower the other person, rather than committed, loving relationships, you'd find the practice despicable, no doubt. You would be very likely to call it... an abomination. Wouldn't you?

"What did Jesus’s death change?"

I often go and visit my Grandma. She was raised a Catholic, but lately she has come to question both the teachings she received, and her own faith. We often have long conversations about it together. Last time we met, she asked me this:

“What did Jesus’ death change, exactly? People still kill each other. There are still wars, there is still suffering. So what did his death achieve?”

This is both a simple question, and a deep, rich theological one; one that is not easily answered. But I keep thinking about it since she’s asked me, and about what Jesus’ death means to me.

Something strikes me: not only did Jesus know it he was going to get himself killed, not only did he do nothing to prevent it, but he talks like it’s all part of a plan. He meant to die. If this is the case, his death must have had a purpose.

Jesus is well-known for the Beatitudes, which give an idea of happiness that runs contrary to the way things work in the world: blessed are the poor… the meek… the merciful. This rings beautiful, but not quite true, does it? The poor suffer, the meek see their right denied, and the merciful are taken advantage of. Those who assert their rights and forcibly take what they want seem to be the ultimate winners. Harder still, Jesus said we should love our enemies, pray for those who harm us, and not resist evil people.

Ad he certainly lived by those words. As I said in Friday’s post, he came to serve; and when he was arrested, not only did he not resist, but he rebuked those who wanted to defend him. He lived out his teachings to the very end.

Jesus’ death demonstrates the depth of God’s love. If you believe, like I do, that Jesus is God made flesh, then his death is the ultimate sacrifice of love – giving his very life to us. Some people are willing to die for a cause (or even to kill). God certainly doesn’t kill for a cause, and he doesn’t die for one, either: he dies for people. He dies for us. As St Paul puts it, one could possibly die for a good person; but God loves us so much he died for us even though we turn our backs on him and on everything good. He shows us how far he is willing to go in his love for us. He demonstrates that God and humanity don’t have to be enemies.

Scripture indicates that sin (the evil inclination to look after our own interests at the expense of everyone else) causes alienation. It separates us from God, it causes conflict between us and within us, and it separates us from nature as we damage and destroy it. Jesus takes humanity’s sin upon himself in all its ugliness and horror (and fully identifies with our humanity, even though he never sinned). By doing so, he sets us free from the dominion of evil. This is redemption: not only are we forgiven for our wrongdoings, but we are free to serve good instead of evil.

However, as my Grandma pointed out, evil still seems to have the upper hand in our world. I think part of the answer lies in the fact that redemption starts in individual hearts. Jesus frees us, individually, from the grip selfishness and evil have on us, so we can strive to do good instead, and be his co-workers to transform the world – to redeem it. But he doesn’t force himself on anyone. If we choose to remain in sin, selfishness and hatred, he will not force his love on us. It is ours to accept – or reject. And as long as people reject love and goodness, there will be evil in the world.

Yet the story is not complete if we stop at Jesus’ death, and we cannot fully apprehend the meaning of it if we don’t take into account what came next.

Death is the ultimate alienation, isn’t it? When one is dead, one is no longer able to have a relationship with anyone – not with God, not with others, and not with the world. Death is presented by the Bible writers as the final consequence of sin. But what if Jesus defeated death?

His early followers claimed that the tomb was empty, and that they saw Jesus again – alive. If this is true, then he truly has defeated death. He has shown us that his death indeed changed something: he has reversed the very power of death. He claimed that whoever believes in him will live, even if they die… His resurrection demonstrates that this wasn’t an empty claim.

Jesus’ resurrection also gives us hope of a life to come, not just for us individually, but for the world. Today, as St Paul said, the whole world is suffering in birth pains – but this means new life is coming. The work is in progress, but one day it will be completed. This is our hope and our faith. 

In this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.

 

In this dark world, it's not only because I believe in Jesus' life that I have hope: it's because I believe in his resurrection, and thus, I believe he has defeated death and evil.

Tonight, I remember

Tonight is not about me, or us, or about terrorism.

Tonight is about absolute love. Tonight is about Jesus of Nazareth. Tonight is about the God who comes down to earth to live, suffer and die with and for us.

Jesus' disciples believed he was the Messiah, a King sent by God who would bring about peace and justice. Yet, he didn't come on a war horse. He didn't come to conquer.

He came to serve. He gave his time and attention to the poor, the sick, the needy; to women and children. He spent time with the despised, the lowly, the "sinners". He washed his friends' feet.

And then, he gave his life. He talked about loving enemies and not resisting an evil person - and when they came to arrest him, he did not resist. In fact, he rebuked his friends when they tried to defend him using violence. He was tried unfairly, condemned unjustly. And he died.

He died because he loved us. He died, as he said, as a ransom: his death redeems us. To redeem means "to buy back". You redeem a slave to buy his freedom. Jesus, through his death, redeemed us from evil to buy our freedom, so we could belong to good instead of evil. 

Tonight is about the One who loved us enough to suffer and die for us. Tonight I will forget about the world and its strife, and remember Jesus, who overcame evil with good, overcame hate with love, overcame, incredibly, through his death.

Let us fight terrorism

22 March 2016. I was having breakfast when I heard the news. Terrorists had struck Brussels.

I felt immense grief. My heart went out to victims and their families. I have no idea how such pain and terror must feel.

All the same, I remember that this pain and terror is part of daily life for millions of human beings in Syria, Iraq, Afghanistan or Yemen. My heart grieves for those suffering every day all around the world.

And I feel overwhelmed by the same fear and grief than after the Paris attacks: fear for Muslims, as Daesh tries to create a rift between them and the rest of the Western population.  

Just as I did in November, I refuse to be consumed by fear, hostility and hate, and more than ever, I stand by my decision to love my Muslim brothers and sisters and to pray for my enemies. 

I choose love. I choose to fight terrorism in my own way. Would you join me? 

Terrorism, by its very definition, aims to terrorize us, and, in the more specific case of Daesh, to drive us apart from each other through fear, hostility, hate and rejection. If we're scared, the terrorists have won. And if we are overcome by fear and hatred for those who are Muslims, for refugees and strangers, they have won, too. So here is my plan to fight terrorists:

1. Let's not give into fear. Let's not allow them ruin our lives. We will all die, my friends, but, contrary to people in the Middle East, we are very unlikely to die in a terrorist attack. So let's not be afraid to go out, travel, go to big cities such as Brussels, Paris or London. Let's carry on with our lives and enjoy our freedom.

2. Let's not give in to hatred. Let's reach out to the other, the stranger. Let's welcome everyone without prejudice, whatever their nationality, ethnicity, religion; whether they have been living among us for decades or whether they have just arrived as immigrants.

3. Let's build relationships. If we have friends who are from another culture (even - gasp! - Muslims), let's spend time with them, deepen our friendship. Let's ask them about their culture, their passions, their values. We live in a multicultural society: they are among us. They're our neighbours, our colleagues, our local shopkeepers. They sit next to us on public transport. So if we don't know them, let's get to know them! Let's say hello; let's invite them for coffee, for a meal or for a movie.
 
4. Let's get informed. Let's not believe everything we see in the media (especially social media). Let's check information - check sources. Let's read serious articles and books about issues that concern us. Let's talk to people who are insiders and know their stuff: ask Muslims about their faith. If we want to know about refugees, let's ask the refugees and people who work with them (ask me about my work! I love to talk about it. What would you like to know?).
 
5. Let's celebrate diversity - the human race is made up of so many beautifully different people!

6. If we are believers, let's pray. Let's pray for peace, for love, and for unity; let's pray for compassion and mutual understanding. Let's pray for God's Kingdom to come - the Kingdom of reconciliation that Jesus came to bring.

I love this picture of my two friends, Lexi and Sara, because to me it represents friendship beyond our differences. My hope and prayer is that events such as the Paris and Brussels attacks will bring people together, not drive them apart.

Salah: prayer.

On Friday, Salah Abdeslam, one of the terrorists responsible for the Paris attacks, was arrested in Brussels. He had been on the run for several months.

When I heard he had been captured, I felt relief - relief that a dangerous individual is now in the hands of the police, and is no longer a threat. My heart goes out to all those who have lost loved ones in the attacks. I am glad that justice will be done and that Salah will be held accountable for what he did.

However, I have no urge for violent retaliation towards him. First, because I don't want to sink down to hatred and violence. Then, because I have that crazy notion that he is not all that different from me: Salah Abdeslam is a human being.

It reminds me of the post about Hitler  holding a little girl's hand that floated around the internet a while ago. Here is an extract:

"Yeah. It’s fucking scary [the picture]. It really is. Do you know why?

It’s because you’re seeing that he wasn’t, in fact, a monster. You’re seeing in this picture that he was a man. He was a man, and that’s really the saddest part of it all.

[...] The number one mistake anyone could ever make in history is making the assumption that only inhuman monsters are capable of doing terrible things.

Stop dehumanizing Hitler just so you can reassure yourself that “normal” humans aren’t capable of doing bad things."

This is true of Hitler, and this is true of Salah Abdeslam. Evil is part of human nature. I am not saying it's a good thing at all - I am appalled and scared at the evil I see in human beings (including in myself). I am just saying that we should face up to this: as human beings, we are all capable of terrible evil. And sometimes, there are reasons why people fall into evil.

Before I go any further, let me be 100% clear: I do not condone terrorism and violence, and I grieve at destroyed lives. I do not seek excuses for those who engage in such acts. I am; however, willing to try and understand why they do.

If I had been born a second- or third-generation Muslim immigrant, torn between two cultures; if to most white people I had never been anything but "the Arab", or even the "fucking Arab", if I had been denied job opportunities on that ground alone... if I had felt despised and rejected by the society in which I lived, and then someone had come along and told me, "Come, sister, you will be respected and valued with us. You will be part of something great. You will be a hero. Others will no understand why you do it, but you will accomplish something great for God." Would I have believed it? Would I have been caught up in the lie and violence? I hope not, but maybe I would have. I do not ask that we excuse them, only that we understand why young people become violent radicals - and be willing to change our own behaviour so we don't become part of the problem too.

I also believe that all humans can change if they decide to do so. No one has to remain a monster. More than that, I believe that in Jesus, the opportunity is given to everyone to turn themselves around ("repent") and receive God's transforming love. In fact, this is why I am strongly against the death penalty: when you kill someone, you rob them of the chance to change and become a better person, forever.

Salah was supposed to blow himself up but backed out. It could be self-preservation kicking in, it could be something else. He may have had second thoughts about killing other people. In any case, I am glad he did not blow himself up. He is apparently cooperating with the police, so I hope this will help further dismantle the terrorist network he was a part of. I also hope he will feel genuine remorse for his actions.
 
You see, when I heard Salah Abdeslam had been arrested, the first thing that popped into my head was to pray for him. Pray for a fair trial, pray that he won't become the number one scapegoat of a much larger problem. And pray that the grace of God may touch his heart and transform it for good, somehow.

In Arabic, Salah means "prayer". And so I pray that this young man's life may be radically changed and become a true prayer - a testimony of a changed life.