The attraction of Islam: a community of faith & care

Commonweal, Jan 17, 2003 by David B. Burrell

Imagine trying to talk to people in Bangladesh, who have seldom met a Christian, about Christianity. Where would you begin? Perhaps with Jesus Christ, and then with the challenge to state religion that his followers posed, and then the organization of those followers into "churches" and the subsequent spread of Christian churches and splinter groups. A dull, depressing story, no? How to jazz it up? Probably with talk about saints, holy men and women who led inspiring lives. So in trying to convey the dynamic attraction of Islam, both here and in wide stretches of the world, I will speak primarily of the faith of my Muslim friends in very different societies. What excites me about these exemplary men and women is how their faith-filled lives challenge my own religious practice, revealing dimensions of my own failure to be more human. In short, these men and women stretch my own sense of what it means to grow in faith, hope, and love, yet in a direction intimated by the best of what I know and believe. But what is so interesting--and critical--in encountering another, if somewhat foreign, faith, is our response to it. And from my own experience, I can vouch that learning about Islam has usually been a challenge: a mix of fascination and fear, of expansion and contraction.

That ambivalence, albeit on a grander scale, has marked Western encounters with Islam from the start. Within a century of the Prophet Muhammad's death (a.d. 632), Islam came to dominate much of the world, from the borders of Europe to China. In Europe, this provoked the Crusaders' military response, the failure of which was reversed only five centuries later, when, in the mid-eighteenth century, a tide of Western colonization reached new levels with British victories in India and Napoleon's 1799 conquest of Egypt.

Let me begin to explain the theological and cultural attractions of Islam by sketching what Muslim friends have taught me. Bukhari, one of the early collators of stories relating the Prophet's life, explains that the Muslim way has three facets: islam, or the response to God's revelation of returning all to the One from whom we receive all; imam (or "faith"), our belief and trust in what God has revealed; and ihsan, the appropriation of this revelation in a life reflecting the goodness of God. Given these religious convictions, it is not surprising that Muslims begin each undertaking with the invocation: b'ism Allah ar-Rahman ar-Rahim ("in the name of God the merciful and compassionate").

In hearing these tenets of belief, what quickly becomes evident is the parallel between Islam and our own central statements of faith--a parallel that yet displays a profound difference. Think of it like this: While Christians believe that Jesus is the Word of God made human, Muslims believe the Qur'an is the Word of God made Arabic. Understanding this similarity-cum-difference is crucial for any relationship with Muslims. Our revelation is in a person, not a book. Nonetheless, we can appreciate the parallel between book and person in the Muslim practice of dhikr (or meditative recitation of Qur'anic verses), which is akin to our receiving Communion. In fact, the Muslim story of humanity in the face of God's gift of the Qur'an parallels Paul's declaration in the Letter to Titus:

   We ourselves were once foolish, disobedient, and led astray, slaves to
   various passions and pleasures, passing our days in malice and envy,
   despicable, and hating one another. But when the goodness and kindness of
   God our Savior appeared, Christ Jesus saved us, not because of any works of
   righteousness that we had done, but according to his mercy,   through the
   water of rebirth and renewal of the Holy Spirit (3:2-5).

Substitute "Qur'an" for "Christ Jesus" and "community" [umma] for "Holy Spirit" and you have the story Muslims tell of God's graciousness to them--and to anyone graciously shown the way to return to his or her creator. Furthermore, focusing on the decisive parallel of Qur'an to Jesus avoids fruitless wrangling about our respective books while it allows us to draw analogies that recognize differences. Salient features of our own faith can be understood while respect for theirs is maintained.

What might motivate us to seek such an understanding of Islam? Haven't we got it right? Haven't they gone wrong? And why should we be interested in conversing with Muslims? Haven't Western society and values triumphed, our economic and military hegemony been extended across the globe? Isn't Islam itself beset by violent paroxysms of cultural and theological self-understanding?

The fact is, while Western military and cultural influence may seem to be on the rise, liberal society's much-vaunted individualism and materialism are eroding the moral foundations of the West from inside. That is why there is such a palpable spiritual thirst in the West. Some Christian groups are struggling to find out how to respond to this inner disintegration and to temper the West's global over-reach. Others have adopted the contradictory stance of condemning the West's social ills while celebrating its hegemonic goals. In this context, a cool yet passionate voice addressing our religious ambivalence and malaise comes from the chief rabbi of the United Kingdom, Jonathan Sacks. His recent Dignity of Difference (Continuum) suggests that it is courageous people of faith and their allies in other religions who can jointly understand and perhaps redress the ills of the world. Pushing Sacks's thesis to the next logical step: I believe it is the lived encounter with persons of other faiths that can reveal why the West so often alienates others. Part of the reason for that alienation, I believe, is that the transforming power of our original revelation--be it Torah or Jesus--is no longer available to many of us. Muslim piety and practice can help open our eyes to God's real presence among us.