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.

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.

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.

Cuddles: yes, please

I came across this video today. It's about professional cuddlers. Sounds plain weird, right?

Well, as it happens, this strikes a chord with me.

I have a complicated relationship with physical touch. I often rant about how much I dislike the Belgian and French custom of kissing people on the cheek as a way of greeting them. I feel deeply uncomfortable having to kiss people I'm not close to. At the same time, I am a very affectionate person. As a little girl, I received lots of cuddles from my Mum. Often, I would sneak into bed with her after Dad had gone to work. Mum often gave me back rubs, stroked my hands and arms with her fingertips, or just held me close. I transferred such affectionate gestures in my romantic relationships, and even in my close friendships - I once gave a friend a foot massage on the night before her wedding to help her de-stress. Basically, I love hugs, cuddles and massages.

It seems pretty straighforward, right? I like physical touch from people I love and not from strangers. Well, actually, it's not that simple. Although I recoil from having to kiss distant aunts or cousins (or shop customers), I have been known to let strangers touch me and be quite happy about it. And children are always welcome to touch me - I let them cuddle me, brush my hair and even paint my face. It seems the basic issue is whether I feel comfortable around the person touching me. Obviously, this is the case for close friends and family, but sometimes, a stranger can just feel safe to me.

During what I refer to as my wild years (when I went out partying and drinking during an episode of depression), I received physical affection from a stranger with immense gratitude. I was very vulnerable at the time. I was struggling to recover from a hurtful breakup, I was away from my family and from my best friend. There were no cuddles in my life at the time. I went out with a friend, and we met a couple of gay men. My friend hooked up with a guy, and he gave her a back rub. I complained that I would like one too, so one of the gay men stood up behind me and gave me one. Just like that. Later on that evening, he held me and cuddled me. If he had been straight, I wouldn't have relaxed because I would have thought he was after something more. As it wasn't the case, I just enjoyed the physical affection I felt so deprived of. It was a beautiful thing that man did for me. His name was Lewis; I never forgot him.

This brings me back to the video. As human beings, we are physical creatures. We need touch. Yet, we live in a world where it can be increasingly difficult to receive the physical affection we crave, except in the context of a romantic or sexual relationship. Still during my wild years, I let a guy I'd met snog me in a club because he was holding me close to him. I remember thinking, "If this is the price to pay to get a hug, so be it." How sad is it that we have to put up with things we don't want in an attempt to fulfil a deep human need? More recently, my Grandma shared with me what she read in a book about palliative care: that elderly people long to be touched, too. They need physical affection as much as the rest of us, but are often denied it, especially if they are single or widowed. (I often hug my Grandma or hold her hand.)

We need safe people and safe places for cuddles. Not everyone will need or be comfortable with the same kind of touch. Yet, be it a hand squeeze or an all-embracing hug, it can really put a soothing balm on a lonely heart. If you can provide that act of kindness for someone, great. If not, maybe professional cuddlers can help.

A message to all Muslims

In the light of the crimes of Daesh, of the Paris attacks, and of the raised alert levels in Brussels, I want to send a clear message to all Muslims in the world:

My dear brothers and sisters, I love you.

This is not a mushy feeling. This is a conscious choice.

I know that the overwhelming majority of you are NOT terrorists and have no wish to hurt anyone. You are my human brothers and sisters. Each of you has a mother and a father. Each of you needs love and acceptance. Each of you cries when you hurt. Each of you smiles when you're happy.

We are all human. We are the same. I will not pretend you are all saints. But there again, I will not pretend I am a saint, either.

Some of you are kind, some of you are less kind. Some of you are hard-working and some of you are lazy. Some of you are educated, some of you are not. Some of you are short-tempered or even aggressive (hey, you know what? I can be awfully short-tempered and aggressive, sometimes). Some of you are meek and soft-spoken. Some of you are articulate and vocal to speak up for others. Some of you are incredibly honest, some of you lie.

Guess what? We're the same. I'm the same. Whether we are Muslims or Christians or whatever else, we are all human. We all have our faults and qualities. We all have things we feel proud of and some we feel ashamed of. 

We are all human.

I am making a conscious decision to love you. Because I know the minute I start hating you and feeling scared of you, the terrorists will have won me over. They will have turned my heart to hate and fear. They will have divided us.

I refuse to let them win. I refuse to let them take over my heart. I refuse to let them divide us all, when we are all humans.

I love you. It will not always be easy to love you - after all, it's never easy to love people, whoever they are. People can be damn annoying. People are not perfect. But I will strive to show you kindness always.

Love wins. Love trumps fear.

 My friends Sara and Lexi.

I'm not a serious blogger.

I think it's time I made a confession.

I'm not a very good blogger. I'm not very serious about my blogging.

I always seem to have an opinion on whatever world event is ripping the world apart. And because the Internet is such a great tool, I feel obliged to share it with the world. Only, if I am totaly honest, I'm not sure my opinion is worth that much. I don't necessarily research the issues I am blogging about. Most of the time, I have heard about it on the news and read a few articles and opinions online. If I'm very keen, I may have read a serious newspaper article or two. You know, real paper ones. Mostly, I will have had some kind of knee-jerk reaction to some other people's opinion that I deem unloving or closed-minded.

Because you know, I am a dumb idealist at heart. I dream and hope for a world where we can all live together in peace and harmony. And I strive to follow Jesus, and he said an awful lot of things about loving your neighbour, even loving your enemies, showing compassion and helping those and need. And he loves me, and helped me when I was in deep shit. So, I guess my naive idealism and my faith colour a lot of what I post. I have that silly notion that maybe if I join my voice to those who preach peace and love and forgiveness, maybe together we can counter voices of hate and make a tiny contribution to a better world.

So I write half-baked, not-so-well-informed, idealistic opinions online.

I guess that doesn't make me a very serious blogger, now, does it?

Ah well. Now you're warned.

Losing my religion

This may come as a surprise to many of you, but I don't really do religion. 

As far as I can tell, religion is a "system" to get you into God's good books.

It can be rituals, sacraments, and ceremonies. Christen or baptize your baby to ensure he'll go to heaven - or be baptized yourself in order to validate your faith. Say a mass for a dead person to shorten their time in purgatory. Have your marriage sanctified by a minister to make it valid. Don't get me wrong here - I know symbols are important reminders, and that as humans, rituals help us through the various stages of life, but they can never replace deeper realities, nor make us acceptable to God.

For some, religion is a set of rules to abide to. One side of that coin is pride: because I follow those rules to the letters, I am a better person than others, and surely God loves me more. I become judgemental of anyone who doesn't follow those rules - and I end up rejecting certain categories of people. The other side of the coin is a huge burden of guilt, because no one is perfect. No one can strictly adhere to any moral standard. We all slip up, and when it happens, we feel crushed: surely now God no longer loves me. I am worthless.

It can be praying, singing, fasting, reading a holy book. It can be charity work. At the end of the day, though, it's fundamentally flawed: religions are trying to get God to do something. Magic uses the same premises: you can somehow manipulate the surnatural to your own ends. But if there is a God, surely he is no puppet. You cannot manipulate God into doing what you want through prayer or fasting or good works.

When you get to the bottom of things, religions are man-made. I do not think they are inherently good. Human beings need to take responsibilities for their own actions, and maybe atheism helps in that one cannot use religion as an excuse for being bigoted or intolerant when one is an atheist. 

Even the apostle Paul didn't put any value in religion:
 
If others have reason for confidence in their own efforts, I have even more!
I was circumcised when I was eight days old. I am a pure-blooded citizen of Israel and a member of the tribe of Benjamin—a real Hebrew if there ever was one! I was a member of the Pharisees, who demand the strictest obedience to the Jewish law. I was so zealous that I harshly persecuted the church. And as for righteousness, I obeyed the law without fault.
I once thought these things were valuable, but now I consider them worthless because of what Christ has done.  Yes, everything else is worthless when compared with the infinite value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have discarded everything else, counting it all as garbage. - Philippians 3: 4-8

It's worth noting that the Greek word politely translated as "garbage" or "rubbish" in most English versions actually means "dung" or "excrement", and may have been as offensive as the English word "shit".

So basically... the Apostle Paul says religion is shit.

You see, faith is very different from religion. Deep faith is about relationship, not about religion. I believe God is a person we can somehow relate to. I could not love or respect a God who has to be placated through rituals and sacrifices and self-loathing. But that is not the God I believe in. I believe in a God who got his hands dirty. I believe he made himself man. He went through what we go through and made himself approachable. I would even go as far as to say that God learnt from this experience - now he knows what human life is like, because he's lived it. To me, that is an immense comfort, because it means he is not a far-off judge wagging his finger at me. He knows what I'm going through. He understands. He suffers alongside us. That, to me, is what makes him worthy of my love and devotion.

I believe in a God who loves us. No ifs or buts. God doesn't say, "I'll love you if you go to church" or "I'll love you if you fast for 40 days" or "I'll love you if you quit smoking" or "I'll love you when you're perfect". God's love is not conditional. We don't need to deserve his love: he's already given it to us. I believe in a God who came to live and die for us. That's pretty big love! And he didn't do it because we loved him... he did it because he loves us. 

 This is real love—not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as a sacrifice to take away our sins. [...]We love each other because he loved us first. - 1 John 4: 10, 19