In the Smoke

For days following September 11, 2001, it was eerie in Manhattan. Bustling streets were haunted by the thousands of feet and voices that would never again echo down the pavement. Smoke and debris covered the ground like shockingly painful snow.

Beyond the physical ramifications and clear tragedy of the day, we were left in a state of questioning. To quote my favorite fictional President, "What's next?"

The days wore on and months turned to years. We sent men and women to battle in two far off countries. The outpouring of patriotism, solidarity, and compassion turned into something else, something a bit less idyllic. Patriotism became a political tool for some. Solidarity turned into partisanship. And compassion, well, that was inconvenient.

Now, ten years later we are left with a haze that affects us all and we need to be aware of it in ministry.

In college I had a very good friend freshman year in the dorms. We had gone to middle school together but she moved away before high school. Inadvertently, we ran into each other soon after beginning university. She was Muslim. She was a good friend. Four of us young women, a Buddhist, a Catholic (me), a Muslim, and a Catholic turned agnostic/atheist ate dinner together about once a week. My Muslim friend and I periodically turned our discussion to our faith. At a public and very liberal university, we both faced attacks periodically for our faith from fellow students and even some of the professors and TAs. However, she and I found solidarity with each other. She chose to wear her head scarf. Her mother didn't, if I recall correctly, and no one forced, coerced, or argued her into doing so. I don't think they would have succeeded if they tried. She was educated, eloquent, and faithful. She was the sort of friend you wanted in your corner.

We got strange looks at time. I would often have my Bible study things on the table next to me since I would dash down the drive after dinner to the next dorm where my Bible study took place. She would have her Koran and other materials for the Muslim student group she was very involved in at her elbow. My crucifix or cross necklaces would stand out even more vividly next to her beautiful scarves.

We would laugh and commiserate like every other student in that cafeteria - after all papers, exams, boys, the unique dorm food, concerned us just as much as anyone else.

But our friendship could go to other topics. She would understand when we talked of faith and the struggles of having value systems not held by the majority of students. She understood the pressure I faced when my hall mates went to the big party or talked of their colorful weekend exploits. She knew what it was like to go to a professor with a question about the class and end up defending your faith and your right to wear that crucifix or headscarf while maintaining your individual identity as an educated young woman.

Unfortunately she and I fell out of touch. As sophomore year came we both became increasingly committed to our respective campus ministry programs, work, school, and different groups of friends. As we lived on opposite ends of the large university, we no longer had the simplicity of a shared dining hall. I regret losing touch with her.

But I think of her often. When I read of those who wish to burn the Koran, I think of her. When I read articles about young Muslim women in the US who are pulled aside for pat downs each time they fly, I think of her. When I frustrate and anger myself by reading ignorant comments on news articles online that mention the words Islam, Muslim, or terrorist, I think of her. When I hear people who in fear and ignorance think all Muslims wish harm on others, I think of her. I think of her and I have great hope. When I see the wary looks otherwise good people give to those who look different, practice faith differently, I think of her.

I think of her when I face a room full of youth or young adults and we discuss identity, faith, prejudices, fear, hatred, ignorance, and true friendship.

It has been just over ten years since I last had a good conversation with Fatima, but I think of her often and pray for her safety, well-being, and joyful life often.

As I do for all men and women of faith and good-will.