"The Enemy Within"

READING

Karen Armstrong, a scholar of religion, former nun and author, has written a highly readable history of Islam. It was published in 2000. The second edition, published in 2002, includes Armstrong's reflections on Islam post-9/11. She writes,

"It has never been more important for Western people to acquire a just appreciation and understanding of Islam. The world changed on September 11. We now realize that we in the privileged Western countries can no longer assume that events in the rest of the world do not concern us. What happens in Gaza, Iraq, or Afghanistan today is likely to have repercussions in New York, Washington, or London tomorrow, and small groups will soon have the capacity to commit acts of mass destruction that were previously only possible for powerful nation states. In the campaign against terror on which the United States has now embarked, accurate intelligence and information are vital. To cultivate a distorted image of Islam, to view it as inherently the enemy of democracy and decent values, and to revert to the bigoted views of the medieval Crusaders would be a catastrophe. Not only will such an approach antagonize the 1.2 billion Muslims with whom we share the world, but it will also violate the disinterested love of truth and respect for the sacred rights of others that characterize both Islam and Western society at their best."

SERMON

One of the most frequent conversations in our household centers around travel. My husband David and I never get tired of looking at maps of the world - a diversion that has been greatly enhanced by "Google Earth," and talking about where to go next. Different factors weigh in each time, but this last trip, to Morocco, came about because of fear.

We had gotten down to the short list of places. David, who spent two years in Tunisia with the Peace Corps and has traveled extensively in the Middle East, is comfortable in the Arab world and familiar with Muslim culture. He is also adventurous and open to new experiences. I, on the other hand, tend to be cautious, always wanting to go back to the last place I really liked.

I had to admit that I felt hesitant about going to North Africa. I knew very little about it. The idea of traveling in the Muslim world tapped into fear I didn't even know I had. "Isn't that a good reason to go?" David asked.

It was a very good reason to go. As we prepared for our trip, I realized how truly ignorant I was about the part of the world known as Dar-Maghreb, the Arab countries of North Africa. I was only slightly better informed about Islam, which I was not required to study at divinity school, and have been trying to make up my deficiency ever since. When we decided to arrive in Morocco during Ramadan, the month-long Muslim observance of fasting and piety, I knew I would be immersed in an exotic mix of religion and culture that would challenge and educate me.

I welcomed the experience, even as I watched myself struggle with the uneasiness of being an American in the Arab world. I knew my fear was linked to my provincial attitude and my ignorance, not easy to admit. But being thrown into a foreign environment is a fast way to learn the truth. Without the comfort of familiar routines and the network of people and expectations that make up the day, I had little to think about except how I felt about being there.

Barbara Grizzuti Harrison wrote an evocative travel essay, "Into the Arabesque: On the Road in Morocco," in which she describes herself as entering the "landscape of dreams" there. "I never feel quite relaxed," she quickly adds. "I am in the midst of dazzling confusion: rivers do run through deserts; in casbahs, or fortified castles, streets are underground tunnels; and within the textural, visual newness - the total otherness and strangeness of Morocco - I detect hints, not easy to decipher and decode, of things I have apprehended before . . . ."

It helps to read about places before you visit them, but I rarely have time. So I didn't read Harrison's essay until we were well into our trip and I, having gotten sick in Marrakech, spent several days in my room reading about Morocco instead of being out in it. Only then did I realize that what had hit me was not only what I ate. In the same book where I found Harrison's essay, I read a description of the condition known as the "Stendhal syndrome." It refers to the "sick, physical feeling which afflicted French novelist Stendhal after he visited Santa Croce in Florence . . . a condition synonymous with being completely overwhelmed by your surroundings." It sounded familiar.

The incredible beauty of the place, combined with its "total otherness and strangeness," was too much to take in all at once. I felt over-stimulated. My dreams were a jumble of Arabic words, interrupted by the frequent call to prayer during Ramadan nights. So much that I saw was beautiful, I wanted to stay forever; and so much was strange, I wanted to go home.

It was a great trip. I learned a lot about Morocco and about Islam. The turmoil I often felt was instructive as well. It made me see how my fears were based on ignorance, a condition that needs to be addressed as urgently as the Stendhal syndrome. Travel, as David reminded me, is a good way to confront fear and then get over it: by meeting the people, hearing their stories, and learning about their faith.

We landed in Morocco towards the end of Ramadan. Our driver, Abdul, sped us towards Fez, the oldest Islamic medieval city in the world. But as the sun went down he pulled into a highway rest area, where other cars were also stopping so people could eat. Abdul disappeared briefly, into the men's room for the ritual washing of his hands, and when he returned, he opened up a plastic container of Moroccan sweets, traditional food for breaking the fast. "My wife made these," he said; "they're good, please try them."

We didn't know what to do. Let Abdul, who had nothing to eat or drink since the sun came up, keep his snack deservedly all to himself, or accept his generous offer? But he insisted. We were hungry too, so we ate what he shared with us.

That was our first encounter with Muslim piety. Welcoming the stranger and offering hospitality are core values of Islamic culture. Less than two hours into Morocco and I was already feeling ashamed of my fear.

The very next day, we quickly realized that we could not navigate the labyrinth of the Fez medina on our own, so we hired a guide to accompany us. This young man, who spoke several languages, including English, told us he had lived in New York for five years. He was a graduate student there when the terrorist attack on the World Trade Center took place. Not too long after, he was sent home to Fez, leaving his girlfriend and his future behind. I was touched by his apparent lack of anger or bitterness. Tolerant and worldly, he was upbeat about meeting his girlfriend in Paris at Christmas; he never made us feel responsible for what had happened to him.

Morocco is a gentle introduction to Muslim culture. I don't pretend that our experiences as tourists, interacting with people in the tourist industry, represent the whole reality of life there. But I tell you about my fear and my encounters with people because they are so basic and so instructive.

What I feared: hostility from people who hated Americans and refused to welcome us to their world, simply did not happen. When you meet them and hear their stories, you quickly realize that fear comes from not meeting people and not knowing their stories. You learn that just as in the tale about the two champions, the two warriors who got to know each other as people, you cannot fight someone when you know their story. You cannot fear them either.

If fear comes from what we do not know, then we need to learn what other people believe as well. Karen Armstrong pleads in her book that Westerners need "to acquire a just appreciation and understanding of Islam." Rather than feed our fear with "a distorted image of Islam . . . as the enemy of democracy and decent values," we overcome it by learning what Islam actually teaches.

Islam is a faith tradition as varied as Christianity and Judaism, with strengths and liabilities that are quite similar. Because we know less about the strengths of Islam, our fear takes us directly to its liabilities, especially the violent way in which Islamic fundamentalism has expressed itself recently. Fundamentalism jeopardizes all three religions, however. They all have their fanatics, people driven to act out hateful scenarios on innocent victims. None should be judged solely by its extremes. Neither should Islam.

At the same time, we Westerners need to take a look at our own culture of violence. In Morocco, I felt vulnerable not simply because of my ignorance about Islam, but because of my knowledge about my own country. We have caused others to fear us. We Americans are reluctant to travel in Arab countries because we are afraid of retaliation for what we have done. Our actions are as threatening to people in the Muslim world as Muslim terrorists are to us, probably more so. We too have contributed to a downward spiral of fear and misunderstanding. Even those of us who aspire to tolerance are caught up in it, if we do not acknowledge our ignorance and our guilt - the enemy within ourselves - the real cause of the fear that keeps us apart.

Each of us can do something about that enemy within. We can start, here and now, to overcome it, or we can travel halfway around the world. All that it takes, either way, is the willingness to learn what we did not know before.

Resources used to prepare this sermon include Anthony Nanson, "The Two Champions," in "One Hundred Wisdom Stories From Around the World," compiled by Margaret Self (Cleveland: The Pilgrim Press, 2003); Karen Armstrong, "Islam: A Short History" (New York: Random House, 2002); Barbara Grizzuti Harrison, "Into the Arabesque: On the Road to Morocco," in "Morocco: The Collected Traveler," collected by Barrie Kerper (New York: Three Rivers Press, 2001).