Friday, April 1, 2011

Muslims for Peace: Reaching out can change your thinking

Harris Zafar is my friend now. Who'da thunk it? Not me. Before this friendship, I couldn't name one Muslim or Arab (American or otherwise) friend that I'd ever had. Not one. Not because I hated Arabs or Muslims but, to be honest, I wouldn't have reached out to them, because of fear, because of prejudice, because of differences, because of stereotypes, because I didn't see any reason I should.

Ahmadiyya Times | News Watch |
Source/Credit: Oregon Live | Blog
By Kristi Kernal | March 30, 2011

"Bigot" is overstating things. I don't think it goes that far. I hope not. "Prejudiced," on the other hand, hits the bull's-eye and is not -- in any way, shape or form -- overstated or exaggerated.

prejudice [prej-uh-dis] verb, –diced, –dicing.

-noun

1. an unfavorable opinion or feeling formed beforehand or without knowledge, thought or reason.

2. any preconceived opinion or feeling, either favorable or unfavorable.

3. unreasonable feelings, opinions or attitudes, especially of a hostile nature, regarding a racial, religious or national group.


Back in December, my husband and I went to a concert near Pioneer Courthouse Square. We got there a bit early, so we decided to walk down to the square to watch what was left of Portland's annual holiday tree-lighting ceremony.

When we got there, we saw a heavy police presence and a lot of yellow tape. It didn't phase me for a second because I figured it was just typical post 9/11 protocol for big-city public gatherings.

The next day we learned that the reason for all the cops at the square was that the FBI had foiled a terrorist plot to blow up the whole thing. It was a little surreal for us, but, again, that's life post 9/11. I'm getting used to it -- easy to do when you're fair-skinned and blue-eyed.

As I watched the media coverage unfold over the next few days on television, something stood out to me; someone stood out to me.

My attention was caught by a guy of Arab descent wearing a "Muslims for Peace" T-shirt, handing out some kind of brochure to people walking through Pioneer Courthouse Square.

Something in my heart sank, hurt and resonated with this total stranger as I quickly perceived what he was doing: damage control for his religion.

Man, could I relate to that. Big time.

Shortly thereafter, I happened to see a comment on a Facebook post about the terrorist plot. Even in the little profile picture of the poster, I recognized that face. It was the same guy I saw on TV handing out "Muslims for Peace" brochures.

Those kinds of "coincidences" might be just that. But I've learned in my 48 years of living and my 26 years of loving God that sometimes there's more to them than happenstance.

Harris Zafar is my friend now. Who'da thunk it? Not me. Before this friendship, I couldn't name one Muslim or Arab (American or otherwise) friend that I'd ever had. Not one. Not because I hated Arabs or Muslims but, to be honest, I wouldn't have reached out to them, because of fear, because of prejudice, because of differences, because of stereotypes, because I didn't see any reason I should.

I'm not proud of those statements.

Harris Zafar works with Muslim youth at the Portland Rizwan Mosque. When he's not working at Nike or out on the streets of Portland or doing damage control for his religion, he can be found doing a media circuit around the country with his message of peace. The Christian Broadcasting Network (Pat Robertson's) even did a piece on "Muslims for Peace" that I thought was nicely crafted and important for Christians to see and hear. Look it up sometime.

Recently, my friend Harris posted something on his Facebook wall that I immediately laughed about, until I started to think more deeply about it. Here's what he posted:

"In San Francisco airport and just went through the most thorough pat-down of my life at security. He should have bought me dinner first."

After finding his post hysterically funny (imagining this poor guy having to endure this), it dawned on me that this type of thing is probably typical, not only for Harris, but for other Arab- or Muslim-looking travelers. It matters that a human being has to endure this treatment when he's your friend and you care about him as a person.

I don't fly much, but in the times that I have post 9/11, I admit that I've taken a hard look at my fellow plane passengers to see if there are any "terrorist looking" people on board that I should be concerned about.

Homeland Security has conditioned us to pay attention -- to be alert for "suspicious-looking" packages and people. Our (my) stereotypes and prejudice have conditioned us to profile. And prejudge. And fear.

I don't have all the answers for the challenges of living in these challenging days, where terrorism is a real and present threat, but I know that I must face what is ungodly, un-Godlike, unbiblical, un-Christian in me. My ways of thinking have got to be challenged if I'm going to live a life that is consistent with the teachings of Christ. I don't know how to do that, apart from befriending -- actually taking the time and effort to get to know -- people whom I consider different from me.

I've been doing so for a few months now, and I'm telling you I'm better for it.

My heart hurt a lot as I thought of what my friend Harris must live with in terms of being regularly profiled -- racially, religiously. Here's a guy with a genuinely humble and tender heart. Here's a guy who's as committed to his faith as anyone I know. Here's a guy who's going above and beyond the call of duty to be a peacemaker. I'm honored to be his friend. I trust him.

Will Harris and I ever sit face to face and compare theology and religious doctrine? Maybe, but never in a way that disrespects his personhood or his faith. I wouldn't do that to him or anyone else.

If anything, I'd love to sit with him and just listen. Listen to what he loves about his faith. Listen to him talk about his kids, whom he clearly loves and adores. I'd love to hear about how he met his beautiful wife. I'm curious about what it was like for him growing up as a minority. Who knows, I might even put on a "Muslims for Peace" T-shirt and help him pass out a few brochures down at Pioneer Courthouse Square, if he'd let me.

Thank you, Lord, for stretching my heart and mind in ways I would never have imagined, even five short months ago.

Thank you, Harris Zafar, for being my friend. I'm so sorry for my former prejudices. I'm working on it.

Kristi Kernal
Beaverton


Read original post here: Reaching out can change your thinking

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