These days adult-like thoughts mingle in her preteen mind with Halloween candy counts and wish-lists to Santa. At times her insight snaps my chin into a double take.
Tonight she says something that lights a blowtorch to my maternal-protection-reflex.
Breath catches in her throat. Her left hand curls and presses her eye, damming the leak. Pink hues flood her face. Her right arm clings to her side as her middle finger picks at her cuticles. Rebelling against the dam, moisture pools and spills from under her hand. And she finds her shaky voice.
“All the kids at school have Christian parents, but Baba (her dad), he’s Muslim.” She pauses. An involuntary whimper escapes between breaths,“ I hear the adults whispering that they hate Muslims. I don’t fit in, Mommy.”∗
I quake with anger. I wasn’t prepared to fight for my child to feel loved by my Christian community. Yet, I’m not angry at the Church. I know where my fight theater is.(Ephesians 6:12)
With truth, I try to untangle this lie from her.
Today I hope to untangle this lie from my Christian family too.
Somewhere along the way we traded the Good News edict (Matthew 28:19-20), and the power of our witness (Acts 1:8), for weapons of fear and self-preservation. Yet, fear shrinks our influence, swallows love and isolates us from those we are commissioned to love.
I know we can do better. I know we can make Muslim children feel precious. I know we can out-love our fear.
Muslims are not Terrorists. Terrorists are Terrorists.
Days after the San Bernardino attack in California, I’m sipping tea with my Muslim neighbor. This scientist, turned stay at home mom, and lead volunteer at the elementary school had this to say.
I was scared twice. As an American, I was scared for my family’s safety. As a Muslim, I was scared that other Americans would target and blame my family.
Since 1970 there have been 140,000 terror attacks worldwide. If Muslims committed all of them-which they didn’t- those terrorists would represent less than 0.00009 percent of the whole Muslim population.
Our fear is misguided.
Certainly, I could wow you with statistics to defend this point. But I don’t want to instigate your intellect; I want to liberate your love.
What Love Does
Ours is a love of profound counterculture ideals.
We sip drinks with outcasts in broad daylight . (John 4:6-9)
We wrap the wounds of the broken even though anointed religious leaders pass them by. (Luke 10:30-37)
We grow friendships with those who worship God, but don’t know Jesus. We have the answers they seek.(Acts 10:30-35)
As Christians we are free to love everyone different from us in religion and nationality. Love is our hallmark. Still the enemy uses fear to limit our love.
Even though I am married to a kindhearted Muslim, fear still tempts me. Occasionally, if I see men from an unfamiliar country dressed in traditional Islamic clothes, my gut tightens and my thoughts wander. I check myself. It’s just an outfit, Tara. It doesn’t tell me who that person is or how he treats his family. I can’t let fear author another’s story in my mind.
There is something wrong with this, Church family.
Immigrant and Muslim children are multiplying throughout the landscape of our society. If we host hate we forfeit the privilege of reaching this next generation.
Our daughter loves her father. But the hatred ripping through the sound waves of our nation preaches a different message to her.
Loved is our identity. Let’s publish that through the sound waves.
Be brave this week. Face your fear. Ask God to send someone across your path.
- Smile at someone you normally look away from.
- Pray for families at your local mosque.
- Send a Thanksgiving card to a predominantly Muslim nation’s cultural center.
- Attend a cooking class at the same cultural center.
- Volunteer for an ESL class serving immigrants and refugees.
You will discover Muslims are just like us. Mothers and fathers. Brothers and sisters. Dreamers and doubters. Comedians and creatives.
Enlarge the circle of your love. It will enrich your life and fulfil the great commission.
Do it afraid. You, Church, are the light of the world.
∗I asked our daughter if I could share her story. She agreed.
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